Beth POV:
I've changed my mind- this is much worse than my previous situation.
Give me medieval aliens any day. Working on an evil take-over-the-world machine? A breeze! Dealing with a kidnapper who flusters me beyond all reason? Sign me up! At least all that was entertaining, to say the least. But none of it compared to being bored...
Bored...
Bored...
BORED!
After my nap, which I guessed had been about two hours judging by the fact that most of my tiredness had faded, I had gathered my consciousness enough to look around my newly refurbished cell.
Aside from the bed that wasn't actually terrible, a digital clock on a tiny, wooden nightstand flashed the time in bright red numbers: 7:36 AM. And I don't know how that Snape-wannabe got it set up so fast, but there was an actual toilet in the corner of the room. I definitely used it the second I noticed it. Don't judge me- you try going three days with only one bathroom break!
A naked bulb screwed into the ceiling allowed me to see much better than before. Not that there was much to see- the room was missing one very important thing.
Where were all the books?
I had been sitting here for fourteen hours and twenty-seven minutes since I discovered the clock at 7:09 PM, and so far I had stared at the wall, tried to sleep more, failed to sleep more, banged on the walls, screamed in hopes that it would bring Loki here like it did last time, and stared at the wall some more.
The screaming brought nothing but a sore throat, so I stopped after about two minutes when my shouts for help devolved into incoherent screeching.
Once, about five hours in, an unfamiliar person with Tesseract-blue eyes that were all too familiar had unlocked my cell and entered with a tray, on which sat a cup of water and what looked like a grilled cheese sandwich. Finally, I had thought past the growling of my stomach. It's been more than three days since I've eaten!
They had completely ignored all of my many questions, placed the tray on my bed, and marched out of the room. Desperately, I ran towards the door, but they simply removed some sort of keycard from the lock and marched off, paying me no mind like I was nothing more than some item they had checked off their to-do list.
Drawing myself lazily back to the present, I rushed to the tray and crammed half of the grilled cheese into my mouth. I had to remind myself to chew, but honestly, I didn't care. I was so hungry! My thirst was at manageable levels, since Dr. Selvig had kindly shared nearly half his water bottle with me, but my throat was still quite dry from all the screaming.
After I finished my meager meal, I flopped back onto my bed, flipped over, and dropped my face into the thin, grey blanket, wondering idly if Loki had decided to leave me to die. Without water, food, or books, I wouldn't last long. I pressed my face harder into the blanket, resolving not to move until someone showed up. That lasted about ten seconds; I figured out the hard way that this particular blanket was not very breathable. Before long, I reluctantly raised my head and took several deep breaths.
I looked over at the clock, which now displayer the time 7:51, and quickly did the math in my green notebook that I had recently noticed on a shelf inside the same nightstand that held the clock. Make that fourteen hours and forty-two minutes.
Wait... that gave me an idea.
I jumped up and ran to the barred door of my cell. Inspecting the lock, I was delighted to find that it was an electronic lock rather than a mechanical lock, which meant I could fry it with the right tools. My heart pumping at the speed of light, I ran back to the clock, picked it up, and inspected it. Four screws on the top held the case in place, and two on the front secured the part that displayed the numbers.
Never mind that I had no idea how to use a digital clock to fry anything. I would cross that bridge when I came to it.
I didn't have a screwdriver, but why would I let that stop me? I jammed my fingernail into one of the screws on the top plate and twisted, relieved when it rotated easily. With a little coaxing, the screw popped off, and was soon joined by the other one. I carefully removed the top and looked at the inner workings.
Then I remembered that I had no idea how to use a digital clock to fry anything. In frustration, I flung the clock across the room. It hit the stone wall with a clatter and fell to the floor in several pieces.
Okay, that's a no-go. Other options, I thought. I flopped down in a cloud of sulk on my bed.
Abruptly, I sat up. I had noticed a faint clicking and whirring sound, like machinery. It was coming from outside my cell, and getting louder. My eyes widened and my heart started to race as my mind explored all the possibilities for what this sound could be. The whirring was punctuated by heavy, rhythmic thuds that sounded almost like... footsteps?
I needed a weapon, in case this was an enemy. I cast my gaze frantically around the small room, but the only things light enough for me to lift were pillows and the shards of plastic from the broken clock, neither of which would be very helpful. As the thuds got louder, I leaped off the bed and scrambled to the only corner of the room that wasn't visible through the barred door. I hopped wildly on one foot to remove my shoe (what? It was the only thing I could think of!) and held it up threateningly as the footsteps paused outside my door. Something large blocked the light from the hall, but I couldn't see what it was from my vantage point.
My blue sneaker held threateningly in my hand, I waited to see if the thing would leave if it couldn't see me. Being hunted by machines? Norse deities trying to take over the world? What has my life come to? I asked myself.
Suddenly, I heard the loud sound of something charging up, followed by a deafening blast. The door burst apart in a shower of smoke and metal, one of the jagged shards slicing my arm as I lifted it to protect my face. I cowered back in shock as a metal figure emerged through the dust with his arm raised to fire again.
My mouth hung open, the taste of dust coating my tongue. Before me stood a humanoid figure made of red and gold metal plates, with a circle in the center of its chest that glowed the same white as its eyes. It turned its head, scanning the room in a slow circle, but it stopped when it saw me quivering in the corner with my shoe held up, ready to smack it.
I tilted my head, curious but wary. The gold plate over the robot's face slid up, revealing that it wasn't a robot after all. There was a man inside there!
I gave him my best scary face and lifted my shoe higher. I wasn't taking any chances.
"Whoa, whoa. Calm down, kid," the man said.
My brows furrowed. "O...kay. Who are you?"
"You don't know who I am?" He looked affronted when I shook my head. "...Tony Stark? Genius billionaire? Iron Man?" he said disbelievingly.
Oh. That dude. My family had seen him on the news last summer.
"Oh, yeah," I retorted, immediately annoyed by his full-of-himself attitude and playboy reputation. "The rich dude with the funky suit. Why 'Iron Man,' anyway? Shouldn't it be, like... Gold-Titanium Alloy Man, or something?"
Mr. Stark looked mildly impressed, but his face quickly returned to its former arrogant blankness. "That doesn't have nearly as much of a ring to it."
Well, I didn't necessarily like him, but at least he was supposedly a hero... sort of. The point was, I didn't have to worry about him attacking me.
"You're supposed to be a hero, right?" I asked, hands on my hips. "You going to get me out of here or what? I've been here for three days- I'm tired, hungry, and cranky, and trust that you don't want to deal with a tired, hungry, cranky, and angry teenager."
He threw me a sideways half-amused expression. "Oooh, I'm so scared."
"Just- are you going to get me out?" I shot, trying not to give him the satisfaction of laughing.
Mr. Stark gave me an annoyed look. "Well, that is why I came here. C'mon," he gestured with his metal-plated arm.
"Hang on," I said.
I bent over and stood on one foot to put my right navy sneaker back on, then joined the titanium twit at the door.
"So, why'd you attack me with a shoe, anyway?" he asked as I attempted to brush the dust out of my messy curls and hoodie.
"There was nothing else I could use as a weapon, and I figured it was better than nothing."
"Whatever you say, Cinderella," he quipped.
I rolled my eyes and followed him into the corridor.
As we walked, Mr. Stark stared straight ahead while I attempted to hide my furtive glances at him. I mean, come on. This was Iron Man! I didn't have to like him to acknowledge that it was pretty cool that he came to rescue me! I craned my neck under the guise of popping it, trying to get a better view of his suit. I'd read all about it when it came out, and it was incredible! The amount of ingenuity needed to come up with a perfectly clean energy source and then weaponize it-
"You're staring," Mr. Stark interrupted, glancing at me as we strode through the halls.
I looked up from his arc reactor to his face. "Well, it's not every day I see a man with a night light in his chest," I retorted.
He huffed a short laugh. "C'mon, Cinderella. We're almost to the surface. Try to keep up, unless you want me to carry you- which I wouldn't be opposed to."
I shot him an annoyed look and speed-walked until I was well ahead of him. Mr. Stark looked amused as I confidently rounded a corner.
"Wrong way, toots," he informed me.
I huffed and returned to his side, scowling.
"My name is B- Elizabeth," I muttered at Mr. Stark, who wasn't even attempting to hide his amusement.
"'Kay, Balizabeth. I've got to say, I think I prefer Cinderella," he taunted.
I scrunched my nose at him. "It's Elizabeth; I just hesitated. Is that a foreign concept to you, Mr. Sarcastic Rude Face?"
He made a face that wasn't exactly a smirk, since he wasn't smiling, but that conveyed so much arrogance and perceived smugness that I wanted to slap it off his face, then stomp off and find my own way. How hard could it be, right? Who cared that Iron Man himself had rescued me? I didn't need his help!
The dimly lit corridors cast long, deformed shadows on the floor. I looked around as I tried to stay ahead of him, trying to psych myself up, but then second guessed myself. If Tony Stark, Iron Man himself, had come to let me out of my cell, something bad must be going on that I might need protection. Otherwise, why couldn't the police come get me?
Before I could make up my mind, we reached the top of a set of stairs, at the top of which was a sturdy metal door. Next to it was a keypad, similar to the one outside my cell.
"JARVIS, if you will?" said Mr. Stark.
"Of course, sir," replied a robotic voice from his helmet.
I gave Stark a quizzical look, but he ignored me. The door beeped once, a light on the keypad flashing blue, before I heard it unlock. Mr. Stark reached for the door, but my hand shot out and grabbed it before he could. I raised my eyebrows in challenge, to which Mr. Stark stepped back with an indulgent smirk.
With that, I pulled open the door. Light immediately blinded me, a stark contrast (yes, ha-ha, no pun intended) with the dimness of this place. I squinted against the harsh glow. When my vision adjusted, I stared around me in shock.
I was in Manhattan, as Loki had told me, but it was in ruins. Rubble lay in piles along the street, black smoke drifted from scattered fires, and sirens wailed from varying distances. The razed city was thrown into harsh relief by the fading light of the evening. I gazed at the destruction in shock, my mind frantically working to connect the dots.
Then I saw the corpses.
I ran towards the bodies lying in the rubble.
"Hey, where are you going? It's not safe!" Mr. Stark yelled after me.
I ignored him. I sprinted to one of the corpses and stood over it, fear twisting in my gut. At first, I thought they were humans in some sort of weird armor, but when I got closer, I saw that they weren't humans at all. The momentary relief that brought me was washed away by horror when reality sunk in: these weren't human. But they were humanoid. Which means they were probably aliens. Loki's army, my mind reminded me in a daze. This is Loki's army.
The creature was muscular, almost freakishly so, with grey skin covered in metal plates and protrusions. It had some sort of weapon attached to its right hand that looked like a laser gun you might see in a science fiction movie. It lay face down on the street, its golden helmet askew.
I stared at it as my breathing sped up. Is this body part of Loki's army? How did he die? Is it over? Are Cath and my parents okay? Questions shot through my brain in rapid succession, too fast for me to lend any thought to any one of them. My eyes were wide, my heart racing as I stumbled back with my hands presses to the sides of my head. Dang it, not now! I thought as anxiety began to reach its cold tendrils through my veins. Breathing hard, trying not to have a panic attack when I could still be in danger, I was too lost in my thoughts to notice the crunch of footsteps in the gravel.
"Kid!"
Suddenly, a cold, metal hand wrapped around my forearm. No no no no no- I let out a small, helpless shout and tried to pull away, struggling wildly. I yanked my arm as hard as I could, my free arm flailing wildly, but the metal fingers didn't budge. As I freaked out and blindly tried to get away, a voice broke through my terror.
"Whoa, whoa, hey, kid. It's okay. It's okay."
My vision cleared. It was Mr. Stark. He held me out at arm's length, looking concerned. I slowly calmed enough to stop struggling, chest heaving and eyes wild.
Once he was sure I wouldn't make a break for it, Mr. Stark let go of my arm. I took a step back, trying to calm my racing heart. Slowly, my gaze traveled up to meet his eyes. Sun glinted off the red and gold metal of his suit, which, in the light, looked pretty banged up. Long scratches ran down every inch of the suit, and some of the red paint was scraped off. There was a sizeable dent in the left leg, but since it didn't look like it was hurting him, I decided not to mention it. Mr. Stark seemed like the kind of person that would freak out if his prized possession got scratched, but I had a feeling a lot worse than that had happened.
"Hey. You good?" he asked, as if talking to a spooked animal. I nodded. "Good. She's back."
I realized we were facing each other and turned back to the alien corpse.
"What happened here?" I murmured shakily.
Mr. Stark paused, trying to figure out the right thing to say. "Well, you got kidnapped by Reindeer Games, right?"
My eyebrows drew together. "Who?"
"Reindeer Games. Loki. You know, because of the horns?" Stark wiggled his hands above his head.
"But his helmet's horns don't look anything like reindeer horns. They don't branch. So they look more like an ibex or something," I countered. Honestly, if you're going to make up dumb nicknames, you might as well make them accurate.
Mr. Stark gave me a look. "Look, the point is, you got kidnapped by Loki, right?"
I nodded slowly like it was obvious- which it was. I'm beginning to wonder if this guy is a genius.
"Then you know he's trying to take over the world. Well, since I'm assuming he forced you to build his machine, I'll start there. He took the machine to the top of my tower-"
"Stark Tower?" I interrupted. "That big ugly..." I stopped at Mr. Stark's warning expression. "...source of clean energy?" I finished weakly.
He huffed. "Yeah, don't interrupt. So, he took the Tesseract machine to the top of my tower and used it to open a portal and let an army of aliens he called the Chitauri through it. We stopped him and closed the portal, but not before he managed to cause a lot of destruction."
"Who's 'we?'" I inquired.
"The Avengers."
I raised an eyebrow in a 'that-tells-me-nothing' expression.
"That's what we call ourselves. We're sort of like a team," he explained. "Me, a scary spy assassin, a wannabe Robin Hood, an enormous green rage monster, a god, and a patriotic dude with a shield."
"Okay... I have many questions." When Stark made a 'go on' gesture, I continued. "I know "wannabe Robin Hood" is Hawkeye, "green rage monster" is the Hulk, and the patriotic dude with a shield is probably Captain America, but isn't he dead? And hasn't the Hulk killed lots of people? And what do you mean a god? And-"
"Wow, you weren't kidding when you said a lot of questions," Mr. Stark blurted. "Uh, let's see; no, yes, and I mean your buddy's brother, Thor, god of Thunder." He said the last part in a mocking, fake British accent.
I stared at him for a long moment. "I request elaboration."
"Well okay, if you "request elaboration." Cap was frozen under the ice for seventy years until we dug him up about a month ago. The Hulk has killed a lot of people, but his alter ego is a... timid scientist named Bruce Banner that wants more than anything to keep the Hulk from hurting anyone. Thor is Loki's adopted older brother from Asgard. You need me to explain Asgard to you?" he asked half-sarcastically.
"O...kay. Fine. Willing to accept that," I said, tossing back my head. My odd-colored hair was thrown out of my face, but wisps immediately drifted back down into my eyes. "Any chance you have a hair tie?"
To my surprise (not), Stark shook his head. I shrugged and forged on- I had plenty more question I needed answered.
"So the battle's over?" I asked.
"Yeah," Mr. Stark confirmed.
"Are my parents okay? I know you don't know them- heck, I don't even think you know who I am-"
"You're Elizabeth Jamie Olsen, a freshman at Cornell University. Mechanical engineering major. Your parents are Colleen and Gideon Olsen, ages 46 and 45, both employed as chemical engineers in Harlem," Mr. Stark rattled off.
I stared at him in surprise.
"I had JARVIS run a facial scan on you back in the bunker. Your sister's cute," he smirked.
I started to glare, then thought better of it and laughed. "She's way too good for you, Alloy Man. You'd be better off flirting with Loki."
Stark looked disgusted at the idea... too disgusted. I raised an eyebrow slightly but didn't say anything. Something you have to tell me, Stark?
"Anyway, that's not the point. Do you know if my parents are okay? They don't live that far away, and I'm worried they might have gotten hurt."
Mr. Stark's face grew solemn, and his expressive brown eyes shifted around nervously. An awful, sick fear bloomed in my stomach, and I looked up at Iron Man with a suspicious expression. He avoided my eyes.
"Mr. Stark?" I demanded. "Are my parents okay?"
He sighed. "Look, kid, we can't talk about this here. Your sister's worried about you. She's here in New York. Let me get you to her, then we can talk."
At that point, I was scared. The only reason Cath would leave Germany was if something really bad had happened. Reluctantly, I nodded. Mr. Stark then squatted, turning with his back to me.
"You want me to climb on your back?" I blurted incredulously.
"Unless you'd rather I carry you bridal style," he countered, turning his head to give me a roguish smirk.
I rolled my eyes, took a deep breath to dispel any nervousness about riding on freaking Iron Man's back, and strode sharply forward. I wrapped my arms around his neck, but the suit was sleek and hard to hold onto, so I grabbed one wrist with the other hand to secure my hold. I wrapped my legs around his hips for added stability, and did a thumbs-up right in front of Iron Man's face to signal that I was ready to go.
Mr. Stark's faceplate slid down over his face. I couldn't see him from the front, since I was on his back, but what I could see of his side profile was really cool-looking (not that I would tell him that; his ego didn't need any inflating).
With a final glance back to see if I was secure, Iron Man fired up his thrusters and launched into the sky.