What If...

The MCU

"You've been out for a few days, I was worried you weren't going to make it."

My head snaps up to greet my cellmate, who sits huddled in a shadowed corner, the darkness of the space preventing my eyes from identifying the unknown prisoner. That and the heavy grogginess resting behind my eyelids, my movements sluggish as I sit up tenderly. The only thing that I can pick out about the stranger is the voice—male and somber.

I attempt to stand but the man stops me. 

"Please don't." I am surprised by his meek and demure tremor, as if he should be in a position to direct and command, but life has stripped him of the privilege. "You have a concussion. You need rest."

He appears friendly so I attempt to smile for his benefit, although it comes out strained. "I think I've done enough resting."

By the slight movement of his blurry form, I can only assume that he is shaking his head. "You've been unconscious. Your brain needs to shut down naturally to speed up the healing process." He shifts in the darkness, pressing into himself as if seeking comfort. "Your Occipital Lobe took some damage, but it should heal with enough rest."

My lips part as I form a coherent thought, although a weighted heaviness in my head make the process quite difficult. "Are you a doctor?"

"I was a doctor. I'm not much of anything anymore."

I cross my legs underneath me, squinting at the man to ease my sensitive eyes. "I take it you bandaged me up."

He nods quietly.

"Thank you," I appreciate sincerely. "Do you mind if I ask you something?" The light shrug is all I need to continue. "When did they take you?" I see him twitch, unprepared for my question.

"Ten years ago."

My mouth opens in shock. "Ten years ago? They've kept you in here all this time?"

"Yes."

My heart aches for this kind and timid doctor, isolated and caged like an animal for an entire decade. "I'm Allegra," I tell him, a soft smile twitching the corners of my mouth. The man surprises me by standing, pacing cautiously towards my form, and his face is revealed to me for the first time. 

"I'm Bruce."

He is an older man with streaks of grey in his otherwise chocolate curls. A somber smile hangs across his face, graced with time, but not yet overcome by it. Glasses perch upon his nose, slightly cracked, and his nose looks out of place—like it has been broken one too many times. He is shorter than myself, I can mark right away, but not by much. Though kind upon first glance, there is concealed rage in the glint of his iris, caged by the pain he has endured. 

"Dr. Bruce Banner?"

The frail man smiles sadly, a lone hand wiping his glasses absentmindedly against his shirt. His pair of spectacles slips out of his hands as he attempts to clean them, and he fumbles around awkwardly to retrieve them. A blush coats his face as a trembling hand returns the specs to his face. "You've heard of me?"

"Everyone thinks you're dead." I do not know if that was tactless, but thankfully, he does not take offense.

"Yes, well, no point in looking for a ghost." He sits beside me on the cot, and it is now that I finally note the room's features. White, plain, and sterile—they could do no better for us. "They, uh, took my lab." He twiddles his thumbs restlessly. "They took..."

"What did they take from you?" I move closer, eyes shining with sympathy as I look upon the caged doctor. He appears so lost and broken by his hope. It pains me that he is here—rotting away in a cell, when he could be doing so much more for the world.