Spectrum ⇒ Avengers [ 1 ]

Synesthesia

"I highly doubt we have anything in your size, but there's no harm in looking, is there?" Simmons asks me as I trail along behind her. For a plane, it's surprisingly big- there are actual floors, like its a building. It's comfortable, too. We might as well be travelling in a flying apartment.
"Uh- I'm sorry about earlier." I say nervously. Even though I still don't feel like I can trust these people, she seems genuinely sweet. I try not to rely too much on my colours to make a judgement on things, but her voice is like cherry-blossom, and it's calming to listen to. Maybe it's just because she isn't American- it's nice to know there's someone from my part of the world here with me.

"Don't worry, I understand. No harm done, is there?" She asks brightly. "You scared Fitz, but I'm sure he'll get over it." Guilt washes over me. Scaring people is definitely not what I want to do, especially if these people are genuinely going to help me. "Now, let's see- there's a sweatshirt here that I think belongs to Skye, she's not too tall..." She passes a grey sweatshirt over to me. The S.H.I.E.L.D logo is embroidered over the heart. "And sweatpants are probably the best option. You won't fit jeans." I have a sudden vision of the seams of the sweatshirt ripping apart by green muscles, and swallow.

"Thank you." I say in little more than a whisper, taking the clothes.
"Just get changed in there, and I'll go and find you something to eat. You must be starving." She hurries off as I open the door, revealing the small room I woke up in. Now my vision has returned, I see that the bed is makeshift, the covers strewn around on the floor. A camera blinks at me from the corner. Cautiously, I take a bed sheet and throw it over the blinking object. No way in hell are they watching me get changed.

Predictably, the clothes are way too big. The sweatshirt isn't too bad- maybe I can pull of the baggy look- but the sweatpants are awful. Eventually, I have to roll them up at the ankles until the fabric bulges around my legs, and I tie the middle together so it they don't slide off my waist. It's lucky that there isn't a mirror, because I look ridiculous. I could do with a shower, and there's no doubt that my hair is a complete mess. There are scratches on my legs and arms, too, that I vaguely remember making in the hospital, along with livid red marks at my wrists. What had Doctor Millett called them- ligature marks? Where I had been tied down, obviously.

Shivering, I push the sleeves back down and yank the sheet off the camera, making my way back to the door. When I push it open, it smacks straight into someone, who responds with an 'oof''.
"*Cac!" I curse, quickly pulling it back. The tall man- what was his name, Ward?- is rubbing the side of his face and laughing.

"I can officially say I've been hit by a hulk now." He says casually, leaning against the wall and looking me up and down. "And that's the strangest curse word I've ever heard."
"Then you've never been in an Irish pub." I say, crossing my arms defensively. My Irish is rough, slightly shaky- most people in Ireland use the English as their primary language, but many speak Irish too. I can just about understand people, and I've picked up dad's old habit of interweaving it with my English. Somehow, it makes me feel closer to him.

"No, I can't say I've ever had that experience." He agrees, holding out his hand. "Grant Ward." I stare at the outstretched hand for a moment, suspecting some kind of trick, but then take to avoid the awkwardness of the situation.
"Brynn O'Donnell." I say shortly, looking up and down the corridor. His voice is a similar blue to Hill's, but even darker, almost black. I much prefer the pink of Simmons' voice.
"Well, good to have you on board, Brynn," he moves past me. "Just try not to smash the place, it's just been given a new paint job." My mouth falls open as he disappears around the corner.
"Tú beagán ... dúr ... Argh !*" I curse after him, clenching my fists. The last thing I want is a reminder of why I'm here, and he's given me just that. I'm trying to block out the memory of the green skin and the rage, and now it's all flooding back. "Damn it..." No, I definitely do not like Grant Ward.