Chapter Text
You didn’t even realize you’d been stabbed at first. For a few, blissful moments, your mind seemed to detach itself from the situation. It was like you were observing everything from outside your own body, and in this momentary state of disconnect you wondered if this was all just a horrific nightmare. Surely that would explain the sense of numbness you felt.
Should you pinch yourself? That’s what they did in the movies wasn’t it? To check if they were awake?
You tore your eyes away from the knife that was still lodged in your stomach to look at your trembling hands instead. You tried to move them to test your theory, but they wouldn’t budge.
You blinked, trying to fight off the exhaustion that was clawing at the edge of your consciousness. You were tired, and your body wanted to give into it, but something in the back of your mind was screaming at you to stay awake. That it would be dangerous to give into the darkness.
You heard a muffled sound somewhere beyond the fog of your mind and looked up to locate the source of it. It took a second for the image to come into focus, and when it did, so did a glaring clarity.
The pain hit you like a freight train. It was so blinding that it felt like you were being stabbed a second time. It radiated from your stomach and shot through your body like wildfire. You couldn’t help but gag at the sensation as you doubled over. You fell back into something hard, but you barely felt the impact, the pain from your stomach demanding every ounce of your attention. You grabbed onto whatever was closest to you to stop yourself from falling over completely. Your eyes were too glazed over to register what it was, but whatever it was mustn’t have been sturdy enough to support your weight, because a moment later you found yourself face down on the floor anyway.
You groaned out loud as you felt the knife shift within you as your body collided with the floor. You wanted to rip the damn thing out, but you’d seen enough horror movies to know that was a bad idea.
The argument above you drew your attention, and in a morbid kind of way you were thankful for the distraction, because now you had something far more important than the blinding pain to focus on.
Surviving.
Your assailant was still in the room. In your apartment.
You wished you could say this was some kind of horrible accident, a wrong place wrong time type scenario. But would that really make it better? The pain you were feeling was bound to be the same either way, so maybe not. Regardless, you knew your attacker. Well, kind of. You’d met him a handful of times, but you weren’t really on a first name basis. He was a lackey, evidenced by the fact that he was currently losing his shit over the fact that he’d accidentally stabbed you in the stomach. You suppose in hindsight that it hadn’t been the best idea to try to knock the knife out of his grip when he’d produced it to threaten you into submission. You weren’t exactly Bruce Lee.
Unfortunately for you though, the knife currently lodged in your stomach was the least of your worries. The bigger threat, the one that was going to be harder to escape beyond just getting out of your apartment right now, was the person on the other end of the line. The person the idiot in front of you worked for. The person you had worked for, in a way: Detective Murphy.
It had taken you way too long to realize he was dirty. That he was taking advantage of your ability, using it to hurt people. You had always been so careful, so cautious about who you placed your trust in. But after you’d woken up from your coma, your emotions had been all over the place. You’d been desperate for any kind of human connection after being lost in the depths of your own mind for so long. Detective Murphy had taken advantage of that, and you’d easily believed his lies masked behind kindness. You thought you were helping people. You thought you were helping him help people. He was supposed to be the good guy, the hero.
You scoffed.
You were beginning to think heroes didn’t exist. Not even the ones you’d seen on TV sometimes.
“Boss, what do I do now?” the lackey’s voice suddenly dragged you from your thoughts, reminding you of the urgency of your situation.
A loud sigh could be heard through the phone’s speaker and the detective’s smooth voice followed. “It’s such a shame. You really were a great asset. But now that you’ve gone against me, I’ve got no choice. Especially with your gift. You understand, right?”
You swallowed the lump in your throat at the implication.
“Take care of it, Bill.”
Ah. So that was the lackey’s name.
You were about to be killed by a guy named Bill. There was a movie like that, wasn’t there?
Bill put the phone down on your kitchen table between the two of you and clenched his trembling hands as he stared you down.
“Sorry about this. Nothing personal,” he shrugged, eyeing you warily.
Thankfully for you, it seemed like ‘taking care of people’ wasn’t high on his list of job credentials. Stabbing you really mustn’t have been part of the plan after all, and now that his only weapon was firmly lodged in your stomach, he seemed unsure about how to proceed. You could use that moment of hesitation to your advantage.
Using every ounce of strength you had, you grabbed onto the chair that you had dragged down with you when you fell earlier and threw it straight at him. You knew it wouldn’t do much damage, especially in your weary state, but all you needed was a moment’s distraction.
While Bill fumbled with the chair, you pushed yourself to your feet and darted for the fire escape outside your living room window. Thankfully the window was already open. Without sparing a second to look back you shot through it, falling unceremoniously onto the ladder outside. You heard stumbling inside and forced your body back up. Somewhere in the kerfuffle the knife had managed to dislodge from your stomach. You had no idea where it went, but you had bigger things to worry about.
Your eyes widened in horror as you saw the patch of red spreading out across your sweatshirt, and you slammed your hands over the wound and pressed as hard as you could while you ran down the stairs of the fire escape two at a time. You were pretty sure it was adrenaline alone at this point that was keeping you going, and you weren’t sure how long that would last with you bleeding out like this.
When you reached the bottom, you took off down the alley and then turned onto the bustling streets of New York. Your eyes whipped around frantically as you stumbled through the crowd. You were trying not to panic, but you had no idea what to do now. There were plenty of people around you, many of them giving you weird looks as you clutched your stomach. You could ask somebody for help, but what then? They’d likely call 911, and you were afraid of mentioning anything about Detective Murphy, having no idea who else in the police force was on his side. He’d probably be scanning the police radios looking for any mention of you anyway since the moment you’d escaped Bill.
Speaking of Bill, he was sure to catch up with you soon if you kept going like this. You weren’t exactly moving at super speed.
You groaned as somebody’s bag slammed into your stomach as they passed you, sending a fresh spike of pain through you. You scrunched your eyes closed as the aftershocks rattled your body. You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep this up. You could already feel the fatigue clawing its way back in, and suddenly it was a struggle to keep your heavy eyelids open.
You blinked and a flash of yellow passed in front of you. When your eyes were finally able to focus, you got an idea.
You couldn’t risk an ambulance and the alerts that would send out, but maybe you could flag down a cab and beg them to drive you to the hospital instead. You stepped closer to the curb to try to flag down the next one, but to your irritation they drove straight past. You tried again, and then again, but they zoomed past you like you were invisible. Or like you were too much hassle.
You clicked your tongue in irritation as the fourth one sped past you without slowing.
Well. If they weren’t going to stop, you’d just have to take matters into your own hands. Your vision was beginning to blur at this point, but thankfully New York cabs were the most obnoxious shade of yellow imaginable, so it was hard to miss them. When the next flash of yellow began its approach at a pace that you were pretty sure wouldn’t kill you, you took a deep breath and jumped out in front of it just before it reached the spot in front of you on the road.
Thankfully the driver had quick reflexes, because a fraction of a moment later the tires were attempting to screech to a halt in front of you. The car still hit you of course, your body flailing over the hood like a ragdoll, but the impact was dull compared to the pain already surging through your body. The car had slowed enough that you merely landed on the hood rather than flying over the vehicle completely.
You heaved to get breath back into your lungs nonetheless, the impact still knocking the wind out of you.
A moment later somebody was above you, the sun directly behind them obscuring their face for a moment.
“Are you okay?” a frantic, feminine voice asked you, and you struggled to determine the slight accent behind it in your frazzled state.
They moved closer when you didn’t answer, bringing their face fully into view, upside down in your vision as they were leaning over you from above.
Your breath hitched in your throat at the sight of the woman standing above you. She was beautiful, with wavy auburn hair and vivid green eyes that looked like they were staring straight into your soul.
She was looking at you expectantly, her eyes darting between your own frantically, and you realized she was probably still waiting for a response to her question.
“You’re too pretty to be a taxi driver.”
Okay, that was definitely not what you had intended to say. Had you hit your head when you’d collided with the vehicle?
Despite the apparent tension of the situation, your out-of-pocket statement managed to draw a small smile out of the stunning woman still leaning over you.
“I’m not a taxi driver,” she said in a tone that you may have pegged as amused but slightly condescending if your brain wasn’t currently scrambled.
She’d obviously come to the same conclusion you had about your current mental state by the way she was looking at you like you were some clueless child.
Wait.
She said she wasn’t a taxi driver.
The cogs finally began to turn in your brain.
Shit.
You’d jumped in front of some random person’s car.
Shit.
You moved your arms to push yourself up and off this woman’s hood, but a firm hand against your chest kept you in place.
“Don’t move, darling. I’m going to call for an ambulance.”
“No!” you shouted, wincing when you saw the woman’s brows furrow in concern. You sounded too defensive, but there was no way you could let her call an ambulance.
You heard murmuring around you and suddenly became hyper aware of the small crowd that was beginning to gather around you. You couldn’t afford to cause a scene, not when Bill was likely to be right on your heels. Your eyes scanned the faces around you warily, wondering if you’d wasted so much time gawking up at the pretty woman above you that he’d caught up.
Paranoia began to claw at the back of your mind.
“I-I need to get out of here,” you stuttered out, trying again to push yourself up.
Again she held you steady, leveling you with a stern gaze that had your insides doing somersaults for some reason.
“You need to go to the hospital,” she insisted.
“I’m fine, really.”
It sounded like a load of shit, even to your own ears, but the panic at the thought of being caught by Bill was rising rapidly. You had no idea what you’d do now, maybe try to hail another cab? Try to jump onto another hood? Could you even manage that again? Your mind was racing against time you didn’t have.
“I’d really feel more comfortable if you-”
“Can you take me?” you cut the woman off, your throat constricting uncomfortably as the words tumbled out of you without you really thinking about it in your panicked state.
“What?”
“Please? Can you take me? You can’t call an ambulance. I uh, I won’t get in. I’ll run away,” you tried to come up with any excuse to get this woman on your side as the crowd began to thicken around you both.
The woman smirked at this, and you gulped at the knowing look in her eye.
“Detka, I don’t think you’ll be running anywhere.”
You chuckled nervously under her scrutiny, and without even thinking about it you removed your hand from your stomach to scratch at your head, a nervous tick of yours.
“Oh my gosh,” the woman exclaimed, apparently finally becoming aware of your other injury as the blood staining your sweatshirt became glaringly obvious with one of your hands removed.
You slapped your hand back over the wound and stared at the woman pleadingly.
“Please, no ambulance.”
The woman looked conflicted as her eyes flicked between your wound and your face, before finally letting out a huff and running around to the passenger side of her car. You heard the car door open, and a moment later she was back above you. You tried to push yourself up again, but she simply pushed your hands into your stomach, giving you a stern look that told you to keep them there.
You certainly were not expecting her to spin you around and lift you off the hood of her car like you weighed nothing at all, and then delicately place you into her passenger seat, strapping your seatbelt into place for good measure. You knew you were small, but damn if the swift action didn’t make you feel tiny.
You heard her saying something outside the car, maybe to the crowd that had gathered, but your consciousness was really beginning to dip at this point so you couldn’t make out any of the words. You just hoped nobody else had called 911.
You felt her slide into driver’s seat beside you a moment later, but your eyes remained closed. It suddenly felt like the hardest thing in the world to keep them open. She pressed something into your hands, and in your half-awake state you registered from the feel of it that it was some kind of fabric.
“Press it into the wound,” she almost shouted, and you wondered if it was because she could tell you were fading out.
You did as she asked without protest.
“Stay with me, Detka,” you heard her say, and you really wanted to obey, but it was getting harder and harder to fight against the darkness that seemed to be clawing you into its depths now that you felt even remotely safe for the first time all day.
“I’m Wanda. What’s your name?” she asked when you didn’t acknowledge her for a few beats.
You mumbled something incoherent in response, too far gone to know if you’d actually answered her or not.
Wanda.
What a pretty name.
It was the last thought that occurred to you before the darkness finally consumed you.
…
The smell of bleach and antiseptic hit you before your eyes even opened and you immediately knew where you were. The low, persistent beeping off to the side somewhere acted as further confirmation.
You groaned as you blinked your eyes open, the light of the room feeling overly invasive and instantly giving you a headache. You scrunched them closed again and sucked in a few, shuddering breaths in an attempt to stave it off. When the pain eventually felt bearable, you slowly opened your eyes again and glanced wearily around the room.
As expected, you were in a hospital. You couldn’t help but wince as you took in the stark white walls and generic still life fruit paintings that hung on the wall. You supposed it was a cliché notion, but you hated hospitals. How could you not? You’d spent 4 years of your life rotting away in one of these places. You certainly had no desire to return to one, especially so soon.
Your eyes flicked to the door. You had no idea how long you’d been out. The clock above the door told you it was 5.10, but it was analogue, so you had no way of knowing if it was the evening or early morning. You couldn’t see any windows from your vantage point in the bed with the curtain pulled halfway across, and the room’s lighting was dimmed just enough that you supposed either could be possible.
You hoped you hadn’t been here all day and night. Not with Murphy very likely looking for you. New York had plenty of hospitals, but it was only a matter of time before he narrowed down your location to this particular one. Especially if it’d been the closest to your apartment.
You tried to rack your brain for the details of the events that led up to you being here, but your head was fuzzy and your thoughts felt scattered for some reason. You remembered being stabbed. You were unlikely to forget that any time soon. You remembered running down the fire escape and onto the street after that, but that’s where the details started to get hazy. Had you hit your head? You couldn’t remember.
You clicked your tongue in irritation.
You wrenched the blanket off your bottom half and pushed yourself up into a sitting position. Your stomach protested painfully at the sudden movement, and you had to slam your eyes shut as the room began to tilt and sway around you. You sucked in air through your nose, taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to keep the oncoming nausea at bay.
You really hated hospitals.
When you finally felt steady enough to open your eyes again, you clenched your teeth and slowly pulled the drip needle out of your arm to let it dangle beside your bed. You noticed a fancy looking handbag sitting in the visitor’s chair there.
You frowned. That definitely wasn’t yours.
Had somebody come in to visit you already? A social worker maybe? But that didn’t make sense. You hadn’t had to deal with social workers regularly since you were a ward of the state. Since you’d aged out of the system while you were stuck in your coma, they hadn’t really had a reason to check in on you much since. The bag was too fancy for the meager salary that most social workers made anyway. Maybe it was a hospital counselor or something? You supposed your injury may have raised some kind of red flag and warranted the unwelcome presence of somebody for you to talk to.
You groaned at the thought.
Another, more morbid possibility began to take root in your mind. Did Murphy already know you were here? The bag looked expensive. Maybe it belonged to somebody who worked for him, his lawyer maybe, sent to make sure you got out of the hospital under their supervision and make sure you didn’t talk. That way they could deliver you to him directly and he could finish the job Bill had started.
You shuddered at the thought.
Your eyes darted to the door again. Deciding that you couldn’t stand waiting around to find out, you swung your feet over the side of the bed and grit your teeth as you slowly pushed yourself to stand. The wound ached with a dull throb, but you noted with relief that it didn’t feel as bad as it had when you’d escaped your apartment earlier. You supposed that meant the doctors had probably given you painkillers, and you silently dreaded the inevitable agony you’d feel when they wore off.
You grimaced when you looked down and saw that you were dressed in a hospital gown. You tentatively lifted it only to realize your jeans and sweatshirt had been removed at some point. You couldn’t see them anywhere around your bed either.
“Shit,” the curse slipped off your tongue without you thinking, and your eyes instinctively darted towards the door to make sure you hadn’t drawn any unwanted attention.
After a few moments of nothing but a suffocating silence, you finally let go of the breath you’d been holding.
Your eyes homed in on your chart attached to the end of your bed. You limped your way towards it, desperate to see what the damage was and what they already knew about you. You sighed in relief when you saw the name ‘Jane Doe’ printed across the top of the document. At least they didn’t know who you were yet. That meant that the handbag likely didn’t belong to one of Murphy’s goons either. You hoped, anyway.
Your eyes scanned the rest of the chart, noting with relief that the damage from the stab wound had been minimal and no internal organs were hit. You’d been given two different kinds of medication, both of which you couldn’t pronounce the names of, but you figured one at the very least was for the pain. Your eyes flicked to the door again, wondering if it would be easy to find the room where they kept the medication stored in this hospital. You took a few tentative steps towards the door, intending to peek out into the halls to give you a better idea of your surroundings.
Before you reached it though, a gruff cough from behind you stopped you dead in your tracks.
“You know you can just press the button to call for the nurse.”
You whipped around to see an old man with the thickest moustache you’d ever seen laying in the bed next to yours.
You grimaced. You hadn’t even realized there was somebody else in the room, the curtain pulled across the side of your bed offering you just enough privacy to not have line of sight to him from there.
You cleared your throat awkwardly.
“I don’t need the nurse.”
You turned back towards the door, choosing to ignore the man. You didn’t have time to get caught up in small talk. You peeked your head out, your eyes darting up and down the halls warily. There was a nurse’s station about 15 yards away to the left, and several doors on either side of the hall to the right. There was only one nurse at the station, and few people in the halls. You considered a moment, trying to figure out the best course of action, when you were interrupted by the old man again.
“You sure you don’t need a nurse? I can hit my button if you like?”
“No!” you practically shouted as you spun around, wincing at the volume of your voice and checking back on the hall to make sure you hadn’t alerted the nurse at the station. You sighed a breath of relief when her eyes remained glued to the screen in front of her. “No, I’m fine. Really,” you said, returning your gaze to the man.
“If you’re sure,” the man said after eyeing you for a moment. “I’m Stan by the way. What’s your name?”
You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to remind yourself that he was probably just being friendly, if a little nosy. Still, you didn’t really want to tell him your real name. The less people who knew, the better. You clutched the chart in your hand harder for a second, an idea popping into your head.
“Jane Doe,” you said with a smirk as you waved the chart in the air.
This drew a chuckle out of the man, which soon turned into a ragged cough. You felt bad that your first thought was that he was going to drag too much unwanted attention to the room rather than being concerned for his health. Thankfully for your conscience and his wellbeing though, the coughing died down just as quickly as it had begun.
“You okay?” you asked awkwardly, not really sure what else to say.
“I’ll be fine,” he said dismissively, waving his hand in the air. “I’ve been in and out of this place more times than I can count. I practically live here at this point.”
Your shoulders relaxed slightly at his casual demeanor, momentarily distracting you from the urgency of your need to get out of there.
“Are you sick?”
“No, just a clumsy fool,” he said, showing you his bandaged arm. “I was trying to fix a broken gutter on my house, and I lost my footing on the ladder and the damned rusted thing scratched up my arm.”
You eyed the man somewhat amusedly. He definitely looked too old to be climbing ladders and repairing gutters. Something told you he was the type of person who came in here often despite the doctors begging him to take it easy.
“Should you really be doing house repairs at your age? What are you, like a hundred?” you asked with a smirk, figuring from your short exchange that he seemed like the type not to take anything too seriously.
As expected, he laughed at the jab, firing one back of his own without missing a beat.
“What are you, like 12?”
“Touché,” you replied with a snicker.
You usually hated jabs at your size, but you figured you’d deserved that one.
“Was that your mom in here earlier?” he asked, and your brows furrowed at the question.
It took you a moment to connect the dots before your eyes landed on the handbag again. So somebody had been in the room with you before. A woman apparently, though you had already guessed that much by the style of the bag. You still had no idea who it was though, and that worried you.
Your previous sense of urgency snapped to the forefront of your mind. You needed to get out of there. Fast.
“Yeah,” you answered casually.
Obviously it was a lie. But you didn’t want to give the talkative man any more reason to strike up conversation, so you gave him the answer he’d question the least.
You tried to hide the way your skin bristled at the thought of your mother waiting by your hospital bed. You swallowed the lump in your throat and shook your head. There was no point in dwelling on things that would never happen.
“She said she went to grab a coffee I think, if you’re looking for her.”
You hummed in response, not really hearing what he’d said as your scattered thoughts tried to refocus on your goal of escaping the hospital undetected. You placed your chart back on the end of your bed and were just about to turn towards the door when a vaguely familiar voice caught you off guard.
“Sweetheart, what are you doing out of bed?”
You blinked as your eyes landed on the woman in front of you, and it took a moment for the cogs in your brain to turn and for you to remember why she looked so familiar. Your eyes finally widened in recognition.
Wanda.
You couldn’t believe you’d forgotten about her. Forgotten that you’d jumped onto her car thinking it was a taxi and that she was the one who’d brought you to the hospital in the first place.
She was still here.
You had no idea how long you’d been out for, and she was still here. The thought caused your stomach to flutter and sink at the same time.
Your brows furrowed as she stared at you expectantly, and you realized in the back of your foggy mind that she’d asked you a question. What was it again?
She must have sensed your confusion, for she smiled softly and stepped towards you to hold onto your arm as if to steady you. Her touch was warm, and you couldn’t help but lean into it slightly, even though every instinct you had was screaming at you to get out of that damn room already.
“You shouldn’t be up and moving around,” she scolded lightly as she guided you back to sit on your bed and placed a cup of what smelled like coffee onto the bedside table.
“I wasn’t,” you defended weakly, unable to meet her eyes for some reason.
“Liar.”
Your eyes darted towards the source of the voice, and you couldn’t help the look of betrayal that flashed in them. You thought you and Stan had developed an amicable kind of hospital-roommates-relationship, but here he was, ratting you out at the first chance he got.
“What?” he defended with a smirk as he shrugged his shoulders. “You shouldn’t lie to your mother.”
Your eyes widened as they snapped back to meet Wanda’s. Your mouth opened and closed uselessly as you struggled to find the words to tell Stan that you’d lied and also apologize to Wanda for the insulting implication. Sure, she was older than you, probably by at least 10 years, but there was no way she looked old enough to be your mother.
You noticed that she didn’t seem offended though. In fact, she seemed more amused than anything. A small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth, and suddenly your face felt incredibly hot. You tore your eyes away from piercing green, suddenly feeling claustrophobic under her gaze. It didn’t help that her hand was still resting against your arm, her touch radiating a warmth that rivalled the heat of your face.
After a few, excruciatingly painful moments of silence, Wanda finally cleared her throat softly.
“I’m just a friend, actually,” she said politely.
You kicked yourself for not saying something as simple as that, for not defending both your honors. You couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered at the word ‘friend’ though. Now that you thought about it, you probably wouldn’t have been brave enough to use such an assuming word after all.
“Oh I’m sorry Miss, I thought she said you were her mother. My mistake.”
“Oh? She did, did she?” Wanda said, and you didn’t have to look up to meet her gaze to know that she was smirking even wider.
‘Stan, you’re killing me,’ you thought as you stared daggers into him.
He merely shrugged in response to your glare, finally turning away to apparently mind his own business now that he’d already made things incredibly awkward.
You wrung your hands together in your lap. You could feel the heat of Wanda’s gaze on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it. You were sure your face was bright crimson at this point, and you were hoping that the hair covering your face was enough to shield your embarrassment from her.
After a few more moments of silence that felt like they stretched on for an eternity, she finally removed her hand from your arm. Despite the circumstances, you found yourself instantly missing the contact. A second later though, she was tapping your knee and urging you to swing your legs back up into the bed. You obeyed wordlessly, still unable to bring yourself to look at her as she repositioned the pillows behind you and then pulled the blankets back over your bottom half. She tucked them in securely around your sides, but not tight enough to aggravate your wound.
You had no idea why she was helping you out so much. She didn’t say anything while she was doing it, and the entire ordeal only served to make you feel even more embarrassed as you truly did feel like a little kid getting tucked into bed by their mom or something.
Your heart clenched painfully at the thought, and you shook your head, refusing to let it lodge itself in your mind.
“Thanks,” you mumbled, hoping to break the awkward silence and distract you from thoughts of your own mother.
Wanda hummed as she removed the bag that you deduced was hers from the chair beside your bed and sat down in it instead.
“You’re welcome, Detka.”
As she settled beside you and took a sip of her coffee, you finally found the courage to look up at her. She was smiling at you fondly, and you couldn’t help but offer her a small smile in return. She really was beautiful, and now that you weren’t on the verge of passing out like when you’d first met, you realized that she looked vaguely familiar. You wracked your brain for where you might have seen her before, but you only came up blank. Perhaps she just had one of those faces?
Her smile turned into a smirk after a moment of your silent staring, and you realized you must have been incredibly obvious about it and averted your gaze again, feeling embarrassed for the umpteenth time since she walked into the room.
“How are you feeling?” she asked as you played with the edge of the blanket.
“Fine,” you lied.
Well. You weren’t sure it was entirely a lie. Physically you didn’t feel the worst. Your head still felt a little fuzzy, but whatever painkillers the doctors had given you seemed to be doing the job. Mentally you were a raw nerve ending, but it’s not as if you could confess that to a complete stranger.
She hummed in response.
A peek in her direction told you that she probably knew that you were lying. It was like her brilliant eyes could see right into your very soul. But she didn’t dispute what you’d said, and you were grateful for that small mercy.
Your eyes flicked to the clock again as you swallowed the lump in your throat.
“Um, thanks for driving me here, but you don’t have to stick around or anything. I’m sure you’re busy and-”
“You don’t need to worry about that, it’s no trouble at all,” she said, and your stomach did that weird flutter and clench thing again at her kind words.
You were warring with yourself. Part of you longed for her to stay, the part that craved the affection and care that you’d always been so starved for. The more logical part of your brain reminded you of the urgency of your situation though.
You clenched the edge of the blanket in your hands. What could you say to convince her to leave?
“Ah, you’re awake,” a voice from the doorway interrupted before you could think of anything.
You looked up to be greeted by a man in a white coat, presumably your doctor.
“How are you feeling?” he asked as he picked up your chart and read over it.
“Fine,” you repeated the same lie you’d told Wanda.
“How’s the pain on a scale of one to ten?”
You considered a moment, figuring you could at least be honest about that part.
“Maybe a three or four?”
“That’s good to hear. We gave you painkillers during the surgery, so you shouldn’t need any more for a few hours still. Now, you didn’t have any personal belongings on you when you came in, so you’re still in the system as Jane Doe. Can you tell me your name?”
You chewed the inside of your cheek, considering.
You chanced a glance at Wanda, who was simply looking at you encouragingly. You had no idea if you’d managed to tell her your name in her car earlier. But then, surely she would have told it to the doctors if you did?
Taking a chance, you decided that it would be in your best interest if they didn’t know.
“Um, I don’t r-remember,” you stuttered out, hoping that your anxiousness added to the ruse that you felt lost, and not that you felt guilty about lying.
The doctor hummed as he stared at you a moment. You resisted the urge to swallow the lump that had formed in your throat, worried that it would give you away. You didn’t dare look at Wanda.
Finally the doctor tore his eyes away from you and returned them to your chart.
“You might still be in shock. There’s a chance you have a concussion too. Wanda told us that you took a tumble over her car?”
You nodded dumbly in response, not trusting your voice.
“I wouldn’t worry too much, your memory should come back to you relatively quickly. There was no indication of brain trauma in your scans, but we’ll keep an eye on it. I’d like to keep you overnight for observation.”
You resisted the urge to scoff. You certainly had no intention of staying the night.
“As for your primary injury,” he began, hesitating a moment as his eyes darted between Wanda and you. “We have to report incidents like this to the police, so you’ll have to give them a statement before you’re discharged.”
You stiffened at the word ‘police’, your mind racing with a thousand horrifying possibilities as you thought about Murphy finding you here, weak and defenseless in your hospital bed. Would he be the one to respond when he found out about a young woman with a stab wound? Or would he send someone else to kill you before the police even showed up?
You gripped the blanket in your hands tighter; the sound of your blood pumping in your ears drowning out the doctor’s voice in front of you. It felt like the walls were closing in around you all of a sudden, and your chest was clenched so tight that you were finding it hard to breathe. You heaved to get air back into your lungs, but no matter how much you sucked in it still felt like you never had enough.
The corners of your vision began to tunnel when suddenly you felt a warmth on your hands. Your vision was too blurred to tell what it was, but it felt safe for some reason. You closed your eyes and focused on it. You could feel a slight tugging at the edge of your mind, but you were so preoccupied with the warmth on your hands that you barely paid it any mind. If you had, you would have recognized the familiar sensation for what it was: the feeling of somebody attempting to use telepathic abilities.
Maybe if you’d noticed the sensation then, a lot of other puzzle pieces would have fallen into place much sooner in your mind.
You blinked your weary eyes open to see that the source of the warmth was a hand that was covering your own. It was tracing small, slow circles over your knuckles that were white from how hard you were gripping the blanket. You instinctively relaxed at the sight, and when your eyes trailed up from the hand to the source of its owner, you found warm green eyes greeting you.
Wanda was taking deep breaths, and you found yourself mimicking the action without even realizing it. The room slowly came back into focus and your breathing steadied out. You looked down again at Wanda’s hand that was still resting over yours, and you found yourself silently hoping that she wouldn’t pull away. As if she could read your mind, she gave your hand a squeeze. You glanced up at her, giving her a small smile as thanks, and her nose wrinkled as she smiled warmly back at you.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
You gave her a shaky nod in response. You weren’t sure if it were entirely true or not, but you were far too drained all of a sudden to verbalize anything more enlightening.
She eyed you carefully for a moment, before turning her attention to the doctor, “Perhaps we can leave the talk of police until tomorrow?”
The doctor looked like he might protest, but then another voice was filling the space.
“I believe the policy around this is that you have 24 hours to inform the authorities. Surely you can wait until the girl’s head is a bit clearer?”
You hadn’t even noticed that somebody else had walked into the room. You wondered grimly how long they had been standing there. Had they witnessed your almost panic attack?
For the second time that day, if it was still in fact the same day, you were awestruck by the beauty of a stranger. The woman standing behind the doctor had deep red hair that was pulled into an intricate braid and vibrant green eyes. She was eyeing the doctor with a raised, expectant brow, and something about her radiated controlled power. You thought she was probably the type who always got what she wanted, one way or another, and even though her scrutiny wasn’t currently aimed at you, you couldn’t help but shrink slightly in her presence.
The doctor held his own, for about three seconds. His eyes darted between Wanda and the new woman warily. Eventually he let out a sigh and adjusted his glasses, giving the new woman a look like he didn’t want to go against her, and relented to the request.
Your brows furrowed. You weren’t sure why he listened to her, or Wanda. They weren’t related to you in any way. Hell, you didn’t even know who the other woman was. Still, you supposed you should be grateful rather than question the why too much.
Wanda and the mystery woman had just bought you much needed time.
The doctor droned on about how to take care of the wound and yourself for the next few weeks, and you knew the information was important, but you couldn’t help but zone out as your mind raced with thoughts of Wanda and the mystery woman and how the hell you were going to get out of there without anyone noticing.
“You’ll be discharged if everything comes back all clear tomorrow. Is there somebody we can call to come and pick you up?”
You blinked, only just returning your attention to what the doctor was saying and slightly caught off guard by the question.
“Can’t I take myself home?” you asked, not wanting to give away the fact that you had nobody to call.
The doctor frowned and opened and closed his mouth like he was considering his next words.
“Your discharge papers will need to be signed by a legal guardian.”
You resisted the urge to groan out loud but couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes.
“I’m 21,” you said indignantly, and you hoped that they wouldn’t question the fact that you knew your age but apparently not your name.
You heard a small chuckle off to the side and were surprised to see that it had come from the mystery woman who had stepped up to stand beside Wanda. She was smirking at you, and the small action made you relax slightly. The intense aura she’d been emitting earlier seemed to have dissipated. A little. Perhaps your initial assessment of her had been slightly off?
The doctor cleared his throat, returning your attention to him.
“You can sign yourself out in that case, but I’d still rather discharge you knowing that you’ll have somebody else around to help you while you recover. The antibiotics can make you drowsy, and there’s always the risk of infection with wounds like yours. You might need assistance changing the dressing as well.”
You chewed your bottom lip.
Shit.
The lack of dependable people in your life was suddenly painfully glaring. You supposed before this week you’d probably have asked them to call Detective Murphy in this scenario. The irony of that thought was not lost on you.
“Um,” you began as you wracked your brain for an acceptable lie to tell him.
Maybe you could just make up a phone number? Pretend it was somebody you knew and hope he didn’t call it until after you’d snuck out?
“She can stay with us.”
It took you a moment to realize that it was Wanda who had spoken. You blinked, your brows furrowing as you brought your eyes up to meet her gaze. But she wasn’t looking at you. She was looking at the mystery woman. You could see it in their eyes that they were having a silent conversation, the kind that came from years of knowing each other intimately.
Wanda’s words registered in your mind again. She’d said ‘us’, not ‘me’. She knew this woman. They lived together. They…
Oh.
“Uh, t-that’s okay. You don’t have to,” you stuttered out, your face suddenly feeling incredibly hot.
“We want to,” Wanda reassured, turning back to face you and giving your hand a squeeze. The same hand she had yet to let go of you only now realized.
Your eyes darted to the still unnamed woman, fear setting in that she would be angry at the contact between you, but she simply stared at you with a measured, slightly amused expression.
“I don’t want to be any trouble,” you tried.
“You won’t be,” Wanda assured you with another squeeze of your hand, and part of you almost wished you could stay with them for real.
The doctor exchanged more words with Wanda and the other woman, but you found yourself zoning out through most of what was said. Your thoughts were far too preoccupied with this newest development and how the hell you were going to get yourself out of it.
Did you want to get yourself out of it?
Eventually the doctor left, and you were left alone with the two women at the center of your newfound distress.
“This is my wife, Natasha,” Wanda spoke up when you finally blinked up at them, and you wondered by the knowing look on her face if she knew you hadn’t heard a thing the doctor said.
You couldn’t help but be in awe of the two of them. Individually they were both gorgeous, but together they were simply radiant. You didn’t think it was fair. That two absolutely stunning women got to be so happy together. You shook that thought from your mind though.
It wasn’t your place to feel…jealous? You weren’t sure if that’s exactly what you felt, but it was the closest thing you could think of in your tired state.
“Nice to meet you,” Natasha said formally, a stark contrast to the warm, almost familiar way in which Wanda had been treating you.
You found yourself thankful for the detachment at that moment though. Your mind still felt so foggy, but the reminder that these women were still strangers and merely a hurdle in your plans of escape gave you a bit more clarity.
“Nice to meet you too,” you croaked out, adding as an afterthought, “Thank you both for the offer to stay with you.”
Obviously you had no intention of doing so, despite the way your heart fluttered at the thought, but you thought at the very least you could be polite. Maybe it would be easier to persuade them to leave if you gave them the illusion of compliance.
“It’s no problem at all, we have plenty of space,” Wanda said, giving your hand another small squeeze.
“This type of injury is no joke,” Natasha added. “The doctor was right about infection. It’ll be better for your recovery to have assistance.”
The certainty in which Natasha spoke about your injury sparked your interest. It was like she was speaking from experience. Had she been stabbed before? You wanted to ask, and you realized that like Wanda, there was something oddly familiar about Natasha too. Were they a famous couple or something? Maybe you’d seen them on TV?
You shook your head. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter. You’d never see them again after today anyway.
The three of you talked for a bit longer, just idle small talk. You were thankful that they seemed to believe your concussion and slight amnesia story, because they didn’t ask any personal questions.
You observed the way they leaned into each other and smirked and laughed so casually at each other’s jokes. The way they looked at each other like they were the most important person in the world to each other. You hoped one day you’d have someone like that.
Soon a nurse was bringing you dinner, and you finally had confirmation that it was the evening rather than the morning. You hadn’t thought to ask earlier.
You definitely weren’t hungry, but the stern look that Wanda was giving you had any protests dying in your throat. It seemed like they were intent on waiting until you had eaten to leave, so you figured you wouldn’t delay that process any longer than necessary. The food was unappetizing, you’d eaten enough hospital food to last you a lifetime, and the entire process was less than enjoyable, but finally you managed to shovel the last spoon of mashed-potato-pea-slop into your mouth with a grimace.
“Do you need anything?” Wanda asked as she moved your tray to the end of the bed.
“I’ll be fine. I think I’m just going to pass out.”
You could feel yourself crashing, the food seeming to add to the feeling of weariness, but you struggled against your heavy eyelids. You couldn’t afford to fall asleep.
“We’ll be back in the morning,” Wanda said, tucking the blanket up higher around your body. “Do you want us to be in the room when you talk to the police?”
You couldn’t help but flinch at the question, your entire body going tense. You knew they both noticed it by the way they looked at you: Wanda like she was staring into your soul and Natasha like she could see right through you. They exchanged a look, but neither of them said anything when you politely declined their offer, saying that you could manage it on your own.
They started to get ready to leave, but you got the impression that Wanda was trying to delay the process by how she fussed over your blanket and pillows again, making sure you were comfortable enough for the umpteenth time. Eventually Natasha reached out and grabbed her hand, giving her a look that you couldn’t decipher. Whatever silent conversation they were having, Wanda finally relented. She paused as she looked down at you, as if considering something, before she shook her head and stepped towards the door after Natasha.
Despite the incessant fluttering in your stomach, you found yourself thankful again for Natasha’s intervention. Wanda’s coddling was starting to make you feel even more sleepy, and you were worried if she stayed any longer that you’d pass out for real.
“See you in the morning, Detka,” Wanda said as they finally left you alone.
Well, as alone as you could be with Stan snoring in the bed beside you.
You took a deep breath in the sudden stillness of the room. Part of you felt relieved that they were finally gone. You frowned as you realized another part of you now felt lonely in their absence.
You let out a small scoff, mindful not to wake Stan.
You were being ridiculous. You barely even knew these women. They were practically strangers. You’d gotten through everything else in your life going at it alone. You could get through tonight too. And then tomorrow. And the day after that. And every day after that. You had no choice but to.
You glanced at the door, noting from the foot traffic walking past it that the halls seemed busy right now. You wondered how long you’d have to wait before they quietened down enough for you to make your move.
The longer you stared at the door, the heavier your eyelids became, until eventually it was a struggle to keep them open at all.
Maybe a small nap wouldn’t hurt? You’d only close your eyes for a few minutes.
Just a few minutes.
…
When you opened your eyes, you were somewhere unfamiliar. It was a locker room of some kind, with rows of blue lockers and benches running along the middle between them. You currently stood at the end of one of said rows, in front of a mirror over a sink.
You blinked, your mind feeling hazy as you tried to wrack your brain for how you’d gotten from your hospital room to this place. You didn’t remember leaving. You only remembered staring at the door and then…
A familiar kind of rippling effect drew your attention in the corner of your vision, and you slowly realized that you hadn’t left the hospital at all.
You were in somebody else’s mind.
Your brows furrowed at the off balance feeling of it. You didn’t remember intentionally seeking anybody out, and waking up in somebody else’s mind could be disorienting even if you’d intended to do it. You were certain that this time you hadn’t. As the owner of the mind you currently occupied stepped into view in the mirror in front of you though, your entire body tensed. You hadn’t been intentionally looking for him, but of course your own paranoia had dragged you here anyway.
It was Detective Murphy.
He leaned over the basin and washed his face. As he turned the tap off, he looked up into the mirror. He stared at his own reflection for a moment, but then his eyes shifted slightly, and your breath hitched in your throat. For a second it looked like he made direct eye contact with you through it.
But that was impossible.
Your hands trembled as your eyes seemingly locked, and you could tell by the rustling of the paper towel in the dispenser that a small breeze passed through the room.
Murphy smirked at the empty air where you stood before looking back at his own reflection.
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
A lump formed in your throat.
Your eyes whipped around you, only confirming your suspicion that he was in fact, alone in the room.
“I know finding people is your forte, but I’d say I’m getting pretty close,” he said in a smug tone.
He wasn’t looking your way anymore, but a shiver ran down your spine nonetheless as he let out a dry chuckle. You cursed yourself for ever trusting this man with knowledge of your ability.
“You see I’m good friends with Anita from dispatch, and I asked her to inform me of any young women fitting your description who were admitted to hospitals with a stab wound to the stomach. Now, New York’s a pretty big place, but would you believe there were only three possible matches in the last 18 hours?”
Your chest tightened as you swallowed the lump in your throat.
“There’s a Sarah Evers and a Jane Doe at The Brooklyn Hospital Center, and another Jane Doe at NYU Langone Hospital. Now which one could be you?” he asked, tapping his chin as if this whole ordeal was some kind of sick game. “Judging from what Bill told me, I doubt you were in the right state of mind to come up with a fake name as you were being brought in. So that leaves me with the two Jane Does. Two different hospitals, but they’re not so far apart…”
Your heartbeat in your ears was so loud that you were sure Murphy would have heard it if you were actually standing behind him for real.
He’d almost found you.
He…
“I wonder which one is you? Do you think I’ll get it right on the first try?” he said as he tilted his head to the side, a sadistic smile spreading across his face.
He was looking back in your general direction again. Your eyes weren’t seemingly locked like before, he was only guessing after all, but the effect it had on you was immediate. Your hands clenched into fists and the mirror in front of him cracked. His smile deepened and you kicked yourself internally for losing control and only confirming his suspicions.
“See you soon, kiddo.”
You jolted awake with a gasp. Sweat was clinging to your forehead and your hands were trembling violently. Your stomach was throbbing too, but you barely registered the pain as your mind raced at a mile a minute and you fought the urge to vomit.
You had to get out of there.
He was coming and you had to get out of there.
Now.
Your frantic eyes locked onto the clock, and you groaned out loud when you saw that it read 5.15. You’d almost entirely slept through the night. An uneasy sense of déjà vu washed over you as you threw the covers off your legs and pushed yourself to your feet. As you stood, the pain in your stomach suddenly became glaring, and you couldn’t ignore it anymore. You stumbled back into the bed, gasping for air as the pain wracked your body. It felt way worse than earlier, and you realized grimly that you must have fallen asleep before the nurses could give you another dose of painkillers.
You scrunched your eyes closed, but no matter how long you waited the pain didn’t abate, and you didn’t have time to stand around. You clenched your teeth and pushed yourself up again. The room was much darker this early in the morning, but you fumbled at the side of your bed and finally found the switch for a bedside lamp.
Your eyes widened as they landed on a small plastic cup with two white pills inside it on your bedside table, as well as a cup of water next to it. You eyed the pills like a lifeline, hoping they were the painkillers. You almost tossed them back immediately, but something in the back of your mind screamed caution.
What had the doctor said? You remembered he said either the painkillers or the antibiotics made you drowsy, but you couldn’t remember which one. You couldn’t afford to be drowsy right now.
You clicked your tongue.
Why had you been so stupid and not paid attention to what he’d said?
You eyed your chart for a moment, but remembering that you couldn’t even pronounce the names of the medication, you figured that would be useless too. You ripped the bedside curtain beside you open in a huff. Stan’s sleeping form came into view as you did, and a thought struck you.
You tiptoed to the door, observing that the halls were empty and there was only a single nurse at the nurse’s station. You grabbed your chart from the end of your bed and padded over to Stan’s.
“Stan,” you whispered, hoping to wake the man up without alerting the nurse.
When he didn’t move, you whispered a little louder. Still nothing. You clenched the chart in your hand tighter and waved your arms through the air in frustration, your eyes instinctively checking the door again.
Deciding that you really didn’t have the time, you shoved Stan’s shoulder maybe a little too roughly for his age, and he finally snorted his was back into consciousness.
“Jane Doe?” he asked groggily as he sat up. “What’s going on?”
You felt bad about the way you’d woken him, but you didn’t have time for pleasantries.
“You said you’re in here all the time right? Do you know what this medication is?” you asked, shoving your chart in his face and pointing to the two types you’d been prescribed.
He seemed confused at first, but something about your expression made the question he was about to ask you die on his tongue. Instead, he pulled his glasses from the bedside table and switched on his own lamp. You winced as the room became even brighter, hoping it wouldn’t alert the nurse.
He took a few moments to read over the names of the medication and then squinted his eyes as if trying to remember. You resisted the urge to shuffle on your feet, reminding yourself that he was doing you a favor.
“This one’s a small white pill, it’ll be for the pain,” he said, pointing to the first unnecessarily long name. “And this one is bigger and brown, almost like a capsule, it’ll be to fight off infection.”
“Which one will make me drowsy?”
He considered a moment.
“The antibiotics,” he said. “The brown one,” he added at your confused look.
You chewed the inside of your cheek as you stared at him a moment, wondering if you should trust his judgement. He wasn’t a doctor, but you didn’t exactly have the luxury of time on your side. In the end, the pain in your stomach ended up winning out against the fear of being drowsy, and you padded back to your own bed and swallowed the pills down with a single mouthful of water.
“Is everything okay?” Stan asked, but you ignored his question and whipped your eyes around the room, searching for something you’d been unable to locate the day before.
“Do you have any clothes?” you asked him instead of answering his question when you realized that your clothes were definitely not in the room anywhere that you could see.
Your sweatshirt had been covered in blood. Maybe they’d thrown it away?
“I’ve got a change in my night bag,” he said, his eyes flicking to the bag below his bedside table before eying you warily.
“Can I borrow them?” you asked urgently, making a move for the bag without waiting for his answer.
He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t stop you from grabbing the bag either. You wrenched the curtain around your bed as you unzipped the old leather night bag. The clothes inside weren’t ideal, and they were at least a size or two too big, but they would have to do. Thankfully Stan, or his wife maybe, had packed a belt to go with the khaki pants. You pulled them on, wincing the entire time as your stomach screamed in protest, the painkillers you’d just taken not kicking in yet. The pants were too long, but you rolled them up at the bottom and then fished out the green polo shirt. You tucked it into the pants to make it look less like you were a kid trying on your dad’s clothes and finished off the look with a brown cardigan that you also had to roll up the sleeves of. You were sure the outfit looked out of place on you, but you hoped people would just think the odd fashion sense was because you were a hipster or something.
You wrenched the curtain back open and stowed Stan’s bag back under his table.
He watched your frantic movements carefully and eventually let out a sigh.
“You’d better take the shoes too,” he said, pointing to a pair of old leather boat shoes on the other side of his bed.
“Are you sure?”
Taking a spare set of clothes was one thing, but you doubted he had a spare set of shoes. They looked well-worn too, like he’d had them forever.
“I don’t know what kind of mess you’re in Miss Doe, but it seems like you need them more than I do right now.”
His eyes were kind and wise, like he’d seen so much in his long life that this was probably on the ‘less weird’ side.
“Thanks,” you eventually relented, figuring you would look less suspicious walking around the hospital without bare feet.
Like everything else, the shoes were too big, but his socks were thick and you pulled the laces tight.
As you rose to your feet, your gaze landed on Stan again. You chewed the inside of your cheek, considering.
“What is it?” Stan asked, as if sensing your desire to ask him something.
“Can I ask you one more favor? Maybe two actually.”
You knew you were pushing your luck, but you weren’t sure how you’d survive the next few weeks without them.
“Hit me,” he said with a grin, and again his casual demeanor managed to relax you, even just the tiniest bit.
“Do you know where they store the medication in this hospital?”
Five minutes later you were shoving the page of your chart that had the name of your prescribed medications on it into your pocket and walking to the door. You paused at the threshold to look back at Stan.
“Take care of yourself, old man.”
“Good luck.”
You gave him a small smile.
“I’ll pay you back for the clothes one day,” you said, giving him a wave as you walked out.
“No you won’t,” he called after you.
You couldn’t help but snicker. He was probably right.
You approached the nurse’s station with feigned urgency; a concerned look plastered across your face.
“Excuse me, the man in room 28 looks like he’s having trouble breathing.”
The desired effect was instant. The nurse instantly got to her feet and brushed past you in a hurry, heading for your room. When she was halfway there, you triumphantly held up her key card that you’d swiped from her pocket as she passed you. You silently thanked your old roommate Jessica, from one of the group homes you’d lived at for a while, for teaching you the trick.
With your destination in mind, you silently padded down the halls. You tried to keep your expression neutral as you walked, to dissuade any prying staff from asking you what you were doing. Thankfully it was still early so the halls were practically empty save for a few janitorial staff and a couple of nurses. You went over Stan’s directions in your mind until you were finally standing outside a room labelled ‘Medication Room’.
You took a deep breath, looked up and down the hall to check that it was empty, before pressing the nurse’s key card into the pad. The door clicked open and you dashed inside, closing it behind you. You immediately ducked behind the nearest shelf once you were inside in case there was anybody else in the room, but to your relief, it was empty.
You pulled the scrunched chart out of your pocket and scoured the shelves labelled antibiotics first. It took a painfully long time to finally locate the small bottle of brown pills, your eyes darting to the door to the room every time you heard a slight shuffle beyond it. You had to constantly look back and forth between the ridiculously long names on the chart and on the shelves. It took even longer to find the painkillers.
Your hands were trembling by the time you finally shoved the second pill bottle into the oversized pocket of Stan’s pants. You scrunched the chart back up and shoved it in too, taking a deep breath in an attempt to steady yourself.
You had no idea how long you had taken in there, but every minute that passed was another minute that Detective Murphy was heading towards this hospital or the other one. You prayed that he went to the other one first.
You paused in front of the door, pressing your ear against it and listening for any sign of movement on the other side. When you didn’t hear anything for a few moments, you tentatively twisted the handle and pushed it open.
You had intended on taking a sharp right turn, leaving in the opposite direction from which you’d come from your room, in case Murphy really was here. The door swung open to the left, and you sighed a breath of relief when you noticed the hall to the right was clear. You turned slightly to close the door behind you, and as it closed a person came into view behind it.
You froze.
Standing there, leaning against the wall with their arms crossed, like they knew you were in the Medication Room the entire time and were just waiting for you to come out, was the last person you expected to see.
It was Natasha.
Her green eyes bore into you, and you felt yourself shrink underneath the scrutinizing glare. Your breath hitched in your throat and your hand instinctively went to your pocket to try to hide what you’d done.
Natasha's eyes flickered ever so slightly, and you knew for a fact that she’d caught the movement.
You gulped as she pushed herself off the wall gracefully. She took a few steps towards you so that she was standing right in front of you, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet her intense gaze.
“Malyshka, what are you doing out of your room?”