"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.
"You okay?" Simmons is standing at the other end of the hallway. Clearly, she doesn't want to get close to me, and when I snap out of my thoughts I realise why- my fists and teeth are clenched. Obviously she thinks I'm about to turn into that thing again.
"Fine." I mutter, letting my hands uncurl. She doesn't look convinced, but begins to approach me anyway. She's holding a brown paper bag and a bottle of water, and I take them carefully. "Thanks."
"No problem. Call me Jemma." It's a pretty name, and I nod. "If you don't have any objections, I was wondering if we could perhaps talk about the transformation." There's something almost eager in her voice. I wince. "I was just hoping- well, I've always wanted to study Doctor Banner, and his work is extraordinary- but of course if you don't want to..."
If I say no, I get the feeling she'll deflate like a balloon. "Yeah. Sure." I mutter, trying not to smile as her face lights up.
"So when did you realise you were changing?" Jemma asks. I'm sitting on a cleared lab bench, eating an apple. I chew the piece I've bitten off, swallow, and clear my throat.
"I, erm, looked down and my hands were turning green." I glance at my hands again. Nope, brown as ever. It's okay, I think. Just stay calm and you won't change.
"And how did that feel?" Her hands are poised over a tablet, ready to take notes. There is a vial of blood on the side, and although I'm no scientist, I suspect it's mine.
"Painful." I wince. The violent silver sound of my bones cracking is still fresh in my mind. "It felt like I was dying. I thought I was having a heart attack, or something." She pushes a strand of brown hair out of her eyes and taps something out.
"And you don't remember any of your previous transformations?" Jemma pushes. I look at my feet, still bare, hanging above the floor.
"No, I- nothing solid. My memories are sort of... Fluid, at the moment. I can grasp onto the colours, but I can't associate them together very well."
"The colours?" Internally, I curse. I hadn't meant to reveal that. Setting the apple down, I try and think of a way to explain what goes on in my mind.
"When I hear sounds, I see colours." I say, rubbing my eyes. "It's like- I don't know, it's like a screen in the corner of my eyes or something. Like, if I told you to imagine green, you can see it, can't you? But it's not there." Jemma leans forward.
"Is this a side effect of the experimentation, or-"
"No." I shake my head. "I've always had it. Your voice is pink," I say resignedly. "Like cherry blossom, really pale. No two sounds are exactly the same colour."
"Fascinating." She whispers to herself. And then- "I think you probably have synesthesia."
"Synes-what?"
"In basic terms, it means two or more of the senses are linked. I've heard of people who have sound and taste linked- they hear a noise and taste something. You seem to link sound and sight." I raise my eyebrows.
"It's not a disability or something, is it?"
"Not at all- Synesthesia is a neurological phenomenon in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway." She recites. I blink.
"What, did you swallow Wikipedia or something?" I ask. She laughs.
"You're not the first one to ask me that. Now, just hang on-" she starts typing furiously into her tablet, before making a small hissing sound of success. "Here we go. It looks like you've got a branch of Synesthesia known as Chromesthesia, which is the association of sounds with colours."
"So other people see what I see?" I ask, finally interested in something she's telling me.
"Not exactly. It says that people rarely agree on what colour things are. Apparently composers Liszt and Rimsky-Korakov famously disagreed on the colour of music keys."
I sit back, drumming my fingers on the side. "Well, at least I'm not 100% a freak." Jemma looks up.
"You shouldn't say that," she says, sounding a little upset. "Doctor Banner is a hero, not to mention a brilliant doctor, and he's got what you've got." She makes it sound like an illness. If only it were that simple.
"Easy for you to say, you're not the one that can rip tables apart." I retort, thinking of the splinters in the carpet of the hospital room. What did the other patients think happened? What did Doctor Millett think? Surely they were told to keep quiet. "Wait, does this Banner guy know that his blood is inside some Irish teenager?"
"I believe he's being informed, yes." Jemma says warily. "It might help to shed light on where they got the blood- and who supplied it."
"And have you heard of this Tarantula person?" I push. She looks more uncomfortable now.
"I'm really not supposed to say anything, it's all classified-" she says nervously. I glare. "Look, we don't know much about her. She's a complete mystery! And wherever she got the skills needed to do anything like this, I don't know."
"Anything like what?" I ask, confused. "How much skill do you need to inject someone with some blood?" From her face, I can tell she knows she's said too much. "Wait, what else did she do?"
"I should really go-"
"No, you can't just run out on me!" I leap down from the table. "Tell me what she did!"
"You've got to keep your blood pressure down!" She says urgently, the pink blush colour of her voice turning to fuchsia. "Brynn, please, take a deep breath." I quickly look down at my hands and gulp. The skin's getting paler. "Go on, deep breaths. You've got to get your heart-rate back down." Unthinkingly, I do as she says, shutting my eyes tightly. "Imagine a balloon inflating and deflating." Jemma suggests. Eventually, I feel the thumping of my heart get back to normal. Thank God. Destroying an airplane in a fit of anger isn't something I wanted to be connected to.
"Sorry." I huff out a breath. "God, I'm so sorry." When I open my eyes, Jemma is about three shades paler. "I didn't mean to scare you or anything- god." I wrap my arms around myself as if I can somehow hold the monster inside me back.
"No, I'm sorry. You're right, you should know." She moves closer, and her voice drops to a whisper. "The blood wasn't enough. Agent Hill found the remains of a laboratory and compound near where you were found in Ireland, and we believe they were trying to completely recreate Doctor Banner's accident. You were exposed to Gamma Radiation." My head whirls, but I manage to stay calm.
"The remains?" I choke. "They didn't find any people?" Her face is sad.
"No. A few dead men believed to be hired thugs, but no one of importance- it looked like the place had been evacuated and torched to the ground shortly after you escaped."
Jake, I think. Oh god, what happened to Jake? And the girl with the plaits- Freya! That was her name, wasn't it? And there had been others, but I can't remember...
"I'm sorry, Brynn, that's all I know." She jumps away from me as the door opens. It's Fitz, the one I attacked. He sends me a disgruntled look, and then glances at Jemma.
"We're landing."
[ A/N : Cac = shit! // Tú beagán ... dúr ... Argh = You little...stupid...argh!
Hope you're enjoying the story so far, as well as the appearances of our favourite Agents Of Shield! At time of writing, 21 people have read this! That's amazing! Thank you each and every one of you!
Question : Do you watch AOS? If so, who is your favourite character?
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