Cosmic Collision (Percy Jackson / Marvel)

Chapter 8

AGENT 007

I had not been talking a lot these past few days. It was frankly disturbing. But I was unfamiliar with the whole surroundings, and at the moment, observation was key. Patience was a virtue I could hold onto a little longer.

Damn. I'm going soft.

The SHIELD Agent Coulson was looking quite disturbed, and it was something much more serious than what he had disclosed. Also, the other man, that Stark person was extremely intriguing. His persona radiated a familiar vibe, but I just couldn't seem to place it.

I sigh and look out to the side of the road. The cool wind is quite refreshing, and the traffic is slowly getting thinner. I happened to check my rear-view mirror, and caught a glace of a SUV who had been trailing me for the past two minutes. It was not that suspicious, considering that there were not many turnings here, but then again, it managed to perfectly stay two vehicles behind my ride.

I started speeding up, and became pissed off that the other bloody vehicle was doing the same. Why would it go through the trouble of making itself known, but not do anything right away. The person now knows that I wouldn't go to the proper place now. Why still bother?

Something was way off. And I just could not pin it.

Suddenly my vision blanked and I lost consciousness

ELIZABETH

This was not as hard as I thought it would be. Tony was just the gullible fool I had needed him to be. As soon as I got what I needed, I could finally get out of here.

Huh. The times when we were kids and were best friends seemed like a lifetime ago. None of that ever mattered now. It was just an investment into the future. A risky gamble.

And one, that looks like it paid off in time.

I was a child prodigy. Just like my two friends were. But the only difference was that our friendship had too many differences. Tony and Fred both had families that cared for them. They both had food, and clothes, and love. I was just the girl from the foster home who would come to school wearing hand-me-downs and bruises. 

Such a foreign concept- love. Relinquishing control to someone else. Giving them the power to change who you are, your very essence. All it does is demean you. It doesn't empower people- it weakens them! 

All those people with love. Idiots. Most of them will realize one day. I am already lucky. And that's all I ever told myself- trying to convince myself to believe it. 

Not that I ever did, but it would be nice to have someone care for you like you mean a lot to them.

Let me just tell you this. I have been on my own for a long time, and in that span of time, I have done things you couldn't imagine yourself doing. Eaten out of dumpsters, sleeping on the wet pavements in cold months, fighting creepy horny perverts- the pitiful list still stings. But once I joined the agency, I knew I had some hope. I had hoped for a family, but couldn't seem to work with a basic team. I just ended up requesting solo assignments and started training harder. 

Its like an itch in your skin, you know? The urge to prove yourself. The need to conquer one's fears. So obsessive.

When I was young, I had seen an artist play a piece on his violin. I was spellbound; rooted to the spot. 

It was the first time I felt that nauseating rush of endorphins, the aftermath of the emotions. And then I cried. Like a little baby. The song meant so much, and the artist- he looked so peaceful in his zone. It was just him and his music in a tranquil ethereal bubble. That comfortable peace.

So a few months after I joined the agency, ( gosh this is so clearly imprinted in my mind), I happened to be passing a music store. There happened to be the most beautiful violin I had ever laid eyes on, just perched there by itself behind the spotted glass. It was so elegant and timeless!

 To you, it may have been any regular instrument, but I was so happy in a long time. I bought the beauty immediately, and rushed home as soon as I possibly could.

I drew all the curtains, until the only thing I could see was the beams of light from a crack gleaming and dancing on the polished wood.

 I slowly took the bow out. My hands were actually trembling. I, a seasoned killer, was afraid of the consequences a simple violin would have on me. Slowly moving the bow against the strings like I had seen so many times before, I let out a shaky breath and closed my eyes. Tears were streaming down my face. 

The sound- it, it was beautiful ... I didn't care that it was squeaky or out of tune, or that it was just a random sound. It was just perfect. 

Since that day, I started practicing with a feverish frenzy- determined to take control of my life like it was the tunes I kept practicing. And this addiction did help me. I became more focused. The weight of my past became lighter and more irrelevant. 

I became nearly unstoppable. Nearly.

When I was on a mission in a small town called Whitefish, in Montana, a bomb supposedly exploded surrounding us with fire. It was smoky and my eardrums were ringing so loud that I could hear the blood roaring in my head. I tried to sit up, and look at what was happening, but the gas station opposite the restroom we had stopped at was covered in flames.

The weird thing is that I thought I saw something. It was almost like a dragon, but then again I was probably hallucinating from the shock. Still.

  It was only much later, when I woke up in a dingy hospital, with crumbling walls and a pounding headache, that I was told what happened. I had fainted due to suffocation from the smoke and had suffered from partially burst eardrums and a mild concussion, but it was almost healed. 

All this resulted in me not being allowed to be a field agent for 3 months. Apparently you have to recover completely. Who knew. 

One month into the torture, one of our agents was found dead. Every finger sanded of. The agent had been tortures, and in his back was a simple word. Of all the words, there it was carved into the skin in deep gashes- the clotted appearance indicating that the agent had been alive during the torture. 

Elizabeth.

And that bought the blame to me. I was now a primary suspect in the murder of someone I hardly knew. Always having been a solo agent, nobody really knew me, or tried to stand up. After all that I had done, this is how it all turned out.

With no other choice, I had to pull out some old contacts and seek help. This did not bode well with the agency. They took it as an involuntary admission of guilt and started chasing me. I barely escaped the last two times. And that was where I needed Tony.

He didn't have to know about any of the bad details until later. I just needed to be proved innocent. That's all.

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