The sound of shoes squeaking against the clean and polished floor from behind me has me halting in my tracks and turning around so that I was facing the way in which I had just come from. Much to my surprise, I am greeted with the sight of none other than Stephen Strange surging down the corridor towards me, his face mask hanging loosely from around his neck as he moved.
"Is there a reason why you're following me?" I ask him as politely as I could as he finally comes to a halt in front of me. "Or is it just coincidental that you're heading down the same corridor as me?"
The corners of his mouth flicker up ever so slightly in what I'm assuming is amusement at this. "I told you that I wasn't going to tell you where Barkley was until you tell me what you want to talk to him about."
"Well, lucky for the both of us, you don't have to," I reply before turning around and taking off down the corridor once more, knowing perfectly well that he was following behind me. "Your doctor friend already told me where he is. I don't think that she likes you very much, by the way."
A glance out of the corner of my eyes provides me with the sight of him rolling his own green ones. "Oh really: what gave that away?" He retorts, his words dripping with sarcasm. Despite the fact that he was making it rather difficult for me to like him, I can't help but snort in amusement at this. "It doesn't matter: I didn't become a doctor to have people like me."
"You became a doctor to save lives, right?" I ask though something in his face at his words suggests otherwise. I knew that generally, if people didn't become doctors for the greater good and saving lives, then they chose to undertake medial careers simply because of the money. And something told me that this was the case for Stephen Strange beside me, his silence all but giving it away.
"Ah-so I'm going to take a guess and say that you're not an ER doctor then?"
He clenches his jaw at this, clearly deducing that I had figured out his true intentions for becoming a doctor in the first place. "I'm a neurosurgeon," He informs me stiffly. "And a good one at that. My talents are wasted on that butcher-shop."
I can't contain the chuckle that escapes past my lips at his defensive tone, though at the same time, I can't help but feel slightly appalled. What kind of doctor would describe the ER as a butcher shop? I don't voice my surprise out loud to him, however. Instead, I decide to go with a lighter response: "And I never said you weren't. There's no need to be so prickly, Strange. I'm not here to question your credibility of being a Doctor."
"So why are you here then?"
He was stubborn, I'll give him that. I was sure that he could tell that his constant questioning was beginning to get on my nerves and he probably thought that I was mere seconds away from giving in and telling him what my intentions were for Doctor Connor Barkley. But unluckily for him, I was just as stubborn. So putting on the best, innocent smile that I could, I ask him sweetly as we round a corner, "Wouldn't you like to know?"
He mutters something unintelligible under his breath, quiet enough so that I can't hear what it is that he said even though I was standing beside him. Judging from the brief look of annoyance that filtered across his face, I had a feeling that it wasn't exactly what you would call a compliment. Eventually, he lets out a weary sigh and concedes, "Look, if you're here for some sort of vigilante business that you can't tell me then that's fine. But I still want to know how and why it involves Barkley."
The smile on my face is quickly replaced with a look of curiosity, discerning a hint of an underlying warmth in his tone as he spoke. This revealed to me that he didn't simply want to know what I was doing just for the hell of it, but because a part of him genuinely cared about the Doctor and wanted to look out for him.
But I couldn't tell him: not when there was too much at stake here. If this somehow got back to Fury and he found out that I was digging into something that I wasn't allowed to know, then there was a chance that he could make my search more difficult then it already was. As well as this, I didn't know how much I could tell him, especially when it involved SHIELD. Still, wanting to ease some of his discomfort, I explain to him in a much gentler tone than before, "He's not in any sort of trouble if that's what you're thinking."
His bark of laughter at this echoes throughout the empty corridor, much too my astonishment. "Oh no, I already knew that. Connor's probably the most cautious and rather plain person I know if you ask me."
"White picket-fence life, sort of plain?"
"Hm, not exactly," He drawls, his brows creased as he spoke. "I mean he has the whole picket fence thing. A dog too and a daughter but I wouldn't exactly say that our doctor hasn't got any pickets missing from his fence."
"Meaning?"
"His wife died," Strange explains, his words causing my heart to clench with both sympathy and horror for the Doctor that wasn't currently with us. "Something that he hasn't really gotten over just yet."
"How did she die?"
"A brain tumour. By the time that they found it, it was inoperable. She didn't stand a chance."
My heart sinks with even more sympathy towards the kind Doctor whom I was going to see, though I don't voice my sympathies for him out loud to his colleague beside me. For whatever reason, I had a feeling that if I did so then he would only reply back with something arrogant or rude, which I didn't think was appropriate. So instead I only murmur quietly, "We all lose someone eventually. Some quicker than others."
He says nothing at this. The only visible sign that tells me that he even heard me in the first place is the small twitch in the corner of his mouth. Though it wasn't in the form of a smile ghosting his lips. It was more of a grimace, and it doesn't take me long to realize that there was a chance that he had lost someone. I knew that it wasn't my place to ask him, however: that and I didn't want to be as nosy as he had been. So instead I ask quietly, "If you know that he's not in any trouble, then why do you want to know about what I have to talk to him about?"
He only shrugs. "Curiosity is in my nature."
"Curiosity, or just plain nosiness?"
He lets out a dry chuckle at this, a bitter smile staining his lips. "Call it what you want, but either way I do intend on getting answers."
"Well, you're only going to be met with disappointment then Strange. Because I don't plan on giving you any when-I've said it once and I'll say it again- it doesn't concern you."
He lets out yet another low whistle, though this time a shake of his head accompanies the sound. "You may as well save yourself from all the trouble and just tell me what you're doing here."
"Tell me: being this nosy part of the whole job?" I snap, my patience starting to wear thin now.
"Nope. Is being rude a part of yours?"
"Touché."
"And for your information, I'm not being nosy. I've said it once and I'll say it again: It's called being curious," He corrects, his words causing me to roll my eyes as we turned down yet another hallway and I can't help but feel that the echo of my words from earlier was in some way shape or form his attempt of trying to mock me. I remain silent however as he continues, "You can't blame me. It's not every day that a vigilante shows up at your work, demanding to see one of your colleagues even though he's never mentioned that he knows a certain famous, world-known vigilante."
"He doesn't," I reply automatically without really thinking, cursing myself in my head when he smirks at the small piece of information that I had just accidentally let slip to him. "Or he does, but only recently. And I wouldn't exactly call us friends, but- seriously, this isn't even any of your concern. And I wouldn't exactly call myself a vigilante either."
"And why's that?"
"I don't think it necessarily fits the bill."
"Oh, then what would?"
I stop dead in my tracks at this, hearing a harshness that was underlying each of his words. He stops in front of me and judging from the dark expression on his face, I realized that I somehow managed to strike a nerve with him. Or anger him for reasons that I didn't know. Which was completely absurd, seeing as how it had been me trying to get away from him and his annoying questions and not the other way round. Determined to find out what this may be, however, I ask him coolly, "Do you have a problem, Doctor Strange? Or are you this rude to every person you meet?"
"Only people who deserve it," he quips back.
"So why the hell do I deserve your rudeness?"
"I don't know. I guess it has something to do with the large numbers of victims that you've sent to the hospital in the past year," he replies dangerously low, his eyes blazing with a fury that had me reeling back, along with his words. "Your involvement in the Harlem Incident and the Queens Fiasco, not even a few weeks later put hundreds of people in this very hospital and a lot of them didn't make it."
I feel as if I've been slapped in the face by his words, my stomach churning with unease to the point where I'm afraid that I may physically throw up. The anger within me quickly disperses and is instead replaced with a feeling of the utmost horror, my heart clenching with it as I saw the truth in his words: something that I had tried not to think about in the past year and a half.
"The Harlem Incident wasn't my fault," I reply as evenly as possible, but there was still a shake to it despite my best efforts. "And neither was the Queens one."
The sound of his laughter echoing off the walls causes me to blanch as I realized that he had more to say. "No, but you were involved. You fought. Actions always have consequences, Miss Hathaway. And in this case, your actions resulted in horrible and catastrophic consequences that a lot of people are still suffering from."
A small voice in the back of my head warned me that this could be his attempt to push my buttons and work his way under my skin, a larger part of me couldn't help but agree with him. Despite the fact that the Harlem Incident hadn't initially been my fault, I knew perfectly well that I had caused harm and damage. Though my intentions of protecting the people from Blonsky and trying to stop him from wreaking havoc, I hadn't achieved this. People had gotten hurt from our fight. I wasn't just talking about physically either: emotionally and financially as well. Dozens of buildings and small business had been destroyed by our fight, leaving many homeless and others desperately looking for other ways to earn money, their shops having been burnt or smashed to oblivion.
People were still mourning for those who had been caught in the crossfire.
The same could be said for the Queen's Fiasco. Once again it hadn't initially been my fault but I had still unintentionally inflicted damage.
We had fought. I had fought. And the consequences of doing so were, as Strange had put it, horrible.
"I was trying to save lives, Strange," I murmur in a voice barely above a whisper, trying to convince myself more than him that this was true.
His scoff sends sharp jabs of pain in my heart. "Well you did a pretty poor job of doing so, didn't you?"
A spark of anger ignites within me at this, both suddenly and unexpectedly. For some reason, his words caused me to snap out of whatever guilty state that I had found myself in and my eyes narrow. "I'm sorry, but do you not remember the big, orange thing that was tearing the street apart? Or has that detail escaped your mind? The Abomination was the one who was hurting people. I was just trying to stop him when no one else could and would."
He remains silent at that.
But I wasn't quite finished yet. His words were causing a river of anger to flow through my veins and I didn't think that I could control myself at that moment, even if I wanted to. "That thing was tearing Harlem apart and it wasn't just going to stop there. If the Hulk and I didn't stop him, then no one would have been able to. I didn't have a choice."
"Everyone has a choice," He spits out, my words seemingly only angering him even more. "You just chose the wrong one."
"So you're telling me that I should have just stood by and watch? Watch as the bullets and the rocket launcher did nothing to slow him down?" I retort, hearing the bite to my tone as I spoke. "Or just watch as Ivan Vanko's drones attack innocent people? Blow up buildings?" When he once again remains silent, I can't help but add dryly, "Yes. Because that's the most ideal choice, isn't it?"
Something similar to amusement briefly flickers over his hard glare at this. "You're rather sarcastic."
"And you're rather hypocritical," I sharply reply, watching as his brows crease in confusion at this. Elaborating, I continue, "You're standing here criticizing me for my choices when yours aren't all that great either?"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"You're apparently a brilliant neurosurgeon. Why don't you ever work in the ER? Or the butcher-shop, as you so blatantly put it."
The tick reappears in his jaw and any humour that had briefly appeared in his face vanished completely. The work that I'm doing is going to save people for thousands of years to come. I think I'll save my abilities for that, rather than in the ER where you get to save one drunk moron with a gun."
"Your point?"
"Why save one when you can save thousands?"
"Because even just saving one makes a difference. Something that you clearly don't understand."
His eyes narrow into angry slits at this, and I notice that he takes the smallest step forward. Glaring down at me, he seethes, "You don't know me."
"And you don't know me," I snarl, my voice as sharp as razors. "Yet for some strange reason, you think you do."
The sound of someone awkwardly clearing their throat from behind me causes for both Stephen and me to whirl around to find the source of the noise. To my surprise I find that none other than Connor Barkley is standing behind me, his hands shoved into the pockets of his work pants and a face mask covering the bottom half of his face. When he sees that he has both of our attention, he quickly reaches up to remove it, revealing a tight and wary smile plastered to his lips. "Am I interrupting something?" He asks.
"No, I was just leaving," is Stephen's surprising reply, his words causing me to turn around to face him once more. To my bewilderment, he wore a smile on his face though I could tell it was fake: he wore it to mask how angry he was from our heated confrontation, clearly not wanting Barkley to know about it. "I was just showing Miss Hathaway where your office was."
"Yes-thanks for all the help," I can't help but reply dryly, sending the Doctor one last final glare. Even though I had only known him for a short period of time, I could see what it was that Claire seemed to dislike him so much. The man was infuriatingly arrogant. If I had really thought that Tony was beforehand, I didn't think so now. He was a saint compared to the Doctor in front of me.
He easily detects the sarcasm underlying my words. While his eyes harden at this, the smile remains. "My pleasure," He replies coolly. With a nod towards the curious and silent doctor behind me, he turns on his heel and walks off in the direction that we had originally come from, not looking back as he goes.
I watch him go with the glare still stuck to my face, though I quickly replace it with a smile before I turn around to face Connor once more. When our eyes lock, he sends me a knowing smile. "I see you've met Stephen?"
Unfortunately.
"Yeah. He's, uh..."
"A bit of a dick?"
My eyes widen to the point where I'm afraid they may pop out of my head at his unexpected words. But I find that a small, sheepish smile involuntarily creeps onto my face when his widens. "Yeah. I guess you could say that."
Connor chuckles warmly at this. "He's an intelligent man, but he does have an arrogant streak. Despite this though, he does mean well. It just takes him a while to warm up to people."
Something told me that he wouldn't be warming up to me any time soon, not after the conversation that we had just had. I don't say this to Connor, however, and instead decide to change the subject of conversation. "You're probably wondering why I'm here?"
He stares at me curiously. "Does it have something to do with Steve Rogers?"
"No-"
"Or is there something that Fury wants me to do?"
I shake my head. "I'm here on my own accord. And like I said: I have some questions for you."
He stills at this and I can't help but notice the way that his muscles in his arm tighten as he clenches his hands together in an almost nervous fashion. I don't call him out on it, however, and instead remain silent as he adds on rather stiffly, "What do you want to talk to me about?"
"The Hoult Massacres-"
He suddenly leaps forward at this and unexpectedly grabs me by the arm. Before I have the chance to react, he drags me forward and down the corridor, an urgent spring to his step. Noting that his grip on me wasn't that hard and he, therefore, meant me no harm, I decided to let him drag me rather than putting up a fight.
He leads me into what I'm assuming is his office which has a simple desk with papers and charts spread across it. On his walls are all of the certificates that he's earned over the years, as well as some posters with diagrams of skeletons and other internal body parts on them. In the corner is a bed for his patients to sit on for when he does check-ups. But the thing that catches my attention the most is the school photo of a small, brunette, blue-eyed girl with a toothy smile on his desk. No doubt this was the daughter that Stephen had mentioned. Judging by the photo, she appeared to be around ten years old.
When the sound of Connor locking the door behind me echoes throughout the surprisingly quiet room, I turn back around once more to face him. To my astonishment, he was half-leaning against the back of his door. The faint look of dread and the way that he had so suddenly visibly paled since I had first started talking to him was enough to make me recoil back in shock.
Something was wrong.
But before I get the chance to say anything, he asks me rather breathlessly, "How? How do you know about the Hoult Massacres?"
I blink a couple of times in shock before ten guilt washes over me as I fully comprehended what it as that he was asking me. Briefly tugging at my bottom lip thoughtfully, I admit, "When Steve and I came back yesterday, I went looking for Fury. But then I heard the two of you talking...and I heard you mention the Hoult Massacres."
He closes his eyes with dread at this, yet I still press on, "I would have let it go, but it wasn't the first time that I had heard about them. When I was in New Mexico last year, another SHIELD agent mentioned them to me. they were surprised when they realized that I had never heard about them before."
"Lydia..."
"And then you mentioned my Mom yesterday," I add quietly, watching as he flinches at this. "I realized you knew her, and it didn't take me long to put the pieces of the puzzle together and realize that she was somehow involved in whatever the Hoult Massacres were. So I followed you yesterday so that I knew where to find you-"
"And now you want answers," He finishes faintly, his face still pale.
"Yes. About the massacres and about my mother."
He shakes his head much to my dismay, as he finally pushes himself from the door and begins to slowly move towards the chair in front of his desk. "I'm not sure that telling you is the best idea, Lydia."
"Really? Because I think it would."
The corners of his mouth flick up ever so slightly briefly in amusement at this, though it doesn't quite meet the worry filtered throughout his dark eyes. "I'm sure you do. But...I-if I told you anything, then I'm putting you at risk. There's a reason that this has all been buried," he informs me as he sinks down into the soft seat.
Despite his warning, I do nothing but ever so slightly tilt my chin up. "I can take care of myself, Doctor."
"I'm sure you think you can. But you can't. Not against this. Not against him."
If he was trying to convince me to walk out the door and leave this all behind me, then he was failing miserably. Crossing my arms defiantly over my chest, I explain firmly, "I've spent the majority of my life searching for answers that no one has been able to provide me with. I've been met with nothing but disappointment in the majority of my searches. So if there is an opportunity for me to finally get some answers, then I'm going to take it. I don't care if me knowing is dangerous, I don't care if Fury wants to keep it from me, and I sure as hell don't care if it paints a target on my back. All I now is is that you can help me. So I'm asking you, to help me."
A silence falls over the two of us at this, though I make no move towards the door. Instead, I do the complete opposite and stalk over to the bed, allowing him to take a moment to register what I just said. Once I reach it, I quickly hoist myself up and shift where I sit so that I face him still. When he sees this, he only shakes his head and let out a weary sigh. "It's clear to me that you're just as stubborn as your mother was."
I smile tightly at this. "I've been told that before."
He only nods his head, his distant eyes focused on the ground beneath his feet as mulls over this. Wanting him to understand that I wasn't going anywhere any time soon, I only shift on the bed so that I became more comfortable, deciding to let out a slightly obvious sigh to accompany this.
He glances at me from the corner of his eyes, clearly catching on to what I was trying to say. Letting out another sigh of his own, he explains, "Before I was a regular Doctor, I used to work for SHIELD. Oh no, not like that," He adds, clearly seeing the confusion that had seeped onto my face at this. "I know what you're thinking but no, I was never a spy. Fury had me working as a nurse in the infirmary at the base. Back in 1987, it was just me and my sister. Our parents had died in a car accident, and we needed the money to keep me in medical school so that I could get a proper job and pay for everything. Money was so tight that my younger sister even got a job at SHIELD. She was seventeen at the time."
"Who was she?"
"Lily Barkley."
I feel my eyes widen at this, instantly remembering where I had heard the name before. Back in New Mexico, when Gran had sent me the photo of my mother and her friends, Lily Barkley had been the one in the photo beside my mother. The one who had died in a car accident a month after my mother had passed. And despite the fact that they shared the same last name, I hadn't put together the fact that both she and the Doctor in front of me were related, let alone brother and sister.
"I was twenty-two, and she was eighteen at the time. If Fury hadn't of given us the jobs, then Lily and I would have been toast," He explains, not registering my shock. "Through working with SHIELD I got to meet a lot of good agents. Melinda May. Jenna Donaldson. Amelia Hampton."The last two names sound just as familiar to me as Lily's name did, and when I remember where it is that I've heard them before, my brows rise up in realization. "STRIKE team Alpha," I half whispered, remembering the caption underneath the photo that Gran had sent.
Connor nods at this. "Lily was a part of it. And through the team and her, I met your mother."
I feel myself stiffen at this. Despite the fact that I knew we were going to be discussing my mother at some stage, it appears that I still wasn't one hundred percent ready to do so. But I remain silent, knowing that I was finally getting some answers that I had been waiting for for a long time. Specifically, answers about my mother and who she really was.
"She and Lily were best friends. The two of them were inseparable, so I got to know her pretty well too," Connor explains in a small voice, his eyes focused on his shoes. "You-you look a lot like her. Especially with the hair. But her eyes were green and a little rounder-"
"What was she like?"
"Stubborn, like you in that department," he says, his eyes briefly flickering up to lock with my own as he shot me a crooked smile. "But she was also kind. And strong-she was probably the strongest person I knew. She had a habit of getting herself into trouble, but she was smart enough to always dig her way back out. She had a good sense of humour as well. She always had Lily and I laughing at something."
So really, she wasn't anything like the woman that I knew.
I don't voice this out loud to him, however. Instead, I tilt my head curiously which causes my blonde waves to fall over one of my shoulders. "If you don't mind me asking, Doctor, from what you've told me I gather that you knew my mother well. She died when I was twelve, and in those twelve years I've never met or heard of you. Or Lily, for that matter."
He swallows thickly at this, reaching up with his hand to tug at the neckline of his navy shirt. "Your mother and Lily got into a fight before you were born. I don't know what it was about, but they never reconciled. By that time, I had finally gotten into med school and was constantly busy with work. You mother was the same with SHIELD, It just grew hard for us to keep in touch with one another."
I feel my brows furrow at this. "How did that work, Lily and my mother working on the same team?"
"That team disbanded after the Hoult Massacres. Beforehand, the four of them had been close friends. They all trusted one another with their lives and because of this, they were good at the job. They were SHIELD's best and it was always the four of them. But in early 1987, he came along," He explains, his expression turning dark. "Richard Hoult."
"He wanted a job at SHIELD. He was an excellent fighter and had what people called photographic reflexes. Whenever he watched someone move a certain way, or do some form of martial art move, he could instantly replicate the movement without learning to do so. He could also replicate someone's voice, even if he had only heard it for a short time."
"He was gifted?"
The doctor lets out a bark of laughter at this, though it was bitter and lacked any humour. "He said he was and everyone believed him. He told everyone that his parents had been scientists and had experimented on him as a child when he was younger, which is why he could do the things that he could. But they apparently died before they could share their findings and experiments with the rest of the world. I called bullshit from the get-go. But SHIELD...SHIELD saw him as an asset. An asset they thought they desperately needed."
Some things never change, I can't help but think at this.
"So SHIELD accepted him, and he quickly moved up the ranks until he became a part of STRIKE team Alpha. And for a while, everything was fine. They continued to complete mission after mission successfully and their superiors at SHIELD were happy. As far as I knew he got along with each of the STRIKE teammates. Lily always told me that there was something off about him, but that he was polite enough for her to tolerate him.
One night, Amelia was at the base late doing some paperwork. On her way out, she overheard someone talking to an unknown third party, sharing highly classified SHIELD information. When they hung up the phone, she walked into the room and found that Richard was there, she confronted him. She discovered that Richard Hoult wasn't who everyone at SHIELD thought he was."
"Who was he?"
"Anthony Masters. Though some called him Taskmaster."
"He was sent by an unknown organization to infiltrate SHIELD and gather Intel to share with them. Whoever this organization was, we didn't know. Amelia claimed that she could hear him speaking at least three different languages over the phone, which made it hard for both her and SHIELD to discern who exactly this organization was. Not that it mattered. When Amelia threatened to reveal him to SHIELD, Anthony grew angry. He attacked her. Amelia was one of the best agents I knew, especially when it came to hand to hand combat, But against Masters...she didn't stand a chance. He left her for dead before he then took off."
"But she didn't die," I reply, remembering having briefly read her file after Gran had sent me the photo. "It says on her file that she's living in Paris."
Connor smiles fondly at this. "That doesn't surprise me. Amelia loved Paris and told me that when she retired she always wanted to move there. But you're right: she didn't die that night. Lily was training and I was meant to pick her up. On my way towards the building, I found Amelia laying on the footpath. He had thrown her straight through a fourth-floor window. She had multiple lacerations over her body, five broken ribs and a cracked one. Her arm had been snapped in half, she was missing a finger and she had suffered a blow to the head. The bastard had stabbed her as well. I thought she was dead. When I found out she wasn't, I managed to keep her alive long enough for the paramedics to arrive. In all honesty, it was a miracle that she survived."
My blood chills at his words and I can't help but blanch as I picture the smiling brunette with the startling grey eyes in the photo that Gran had sent, the way that Connor had just described her. From what he had said, I gathered that the fight had been a brutal one. That, and that Anthony Masters was dangerous. Highly dangerous. Dangerous enough to leave a highly skilled agent almost dead.
And possibly dangerous enough to kill sixty more.
"When Amelia recovered and told everyone what he had done, he ran. Knowing what he was capable off, SHIELD sent seventy agents after him. They tracked him down in the middle of the Arizona desert and tried to take him out. He killed sixty of them."
"Oh my God."
"It was a slaughterhouse," Connor continues, ignoring my shocked reaction. "He killed agent after agent after agent-"
"How?" I can't help but interrupt. I just couldn't comprehend what he was saying. "Seventy to one, and I'm assuming that the SHIELD agents had weapons! They should have taken him down easily!"
"That serum that his parents supposedly injected him with," Connor starts to slowly explain. "It made him stronger as well. He just failed to share that secret with SHIELD when he first enrolled and was always careful enough to ensure that he never showed it. He was strong enough to quite literally, tear off someone's hand without even breaking a sweat." Noticing how my mouth parted in both shock and horror at this, he adds grimly, "And if you think that that was the worst of it, you're wrong. I was there. I saw everything. It was enough to give me nightmares and quit my job at SHIELD. As a Doctor, I've seen some pretty gruesome stuff. But that-" he breaks off, shaking his head. "I'll spare you from the gory details. But in half an hour, he tore sixty SHIELD agents apart. It was a massacre."
"What about the other ten?"
He hesitates, turning his head to finally look up at me after all this time. His eyes were wide and filled with pain as he recounted snippets of what was ingrained in his memory from that day, his hands trembling slightly where they rested on his lap. Part of me is tempted to tell him that he didn't have to go on to save himself from reliving these traumatic events, though I can't bring myself to say the words. Not when he was this close to telling me everything that I wanted to know.
"The other ten lived because someone managed to intervene and calm him down," Barkley whispers. "They managed to persuade him to stop and he took off before they could catch him. That person, was your mother, Lydia."
I suck in sharply at this, surprise washing over me. He immediately senses this as he continues on before I have the chance to speak, "During his time as a SHIELD agent, Anthony and your mother grew close. He grew close with all the STRIKE team-"
"Yet that didn't stop him from throwing one of them out of a window," I can't help but comment dryly.
He winces at this. "You have to remember that Amelia had found out that he had been lying all this time, and had threatened to tell everyone. It's no excuse but the man was desperate. I never found out, though I always assumed that if the organization found out that he had blown his cover than they would punish him severely. It's the only explanation that I can think of, that drove him to do this. What else could cause him to act the way that he had? Or was he just simply a sadistic monster that we should have seen coming from a mile away. Its been twenty-four years and I still don't have an answer to that question."
"And they never found him?"
He shakes my head much to my dismay. "He took off and SHIELD's been trying to find him ever since. Or part of SHIELD anyway. Very few SHIELD agents today know about it. The Hoult Massacre was kept under the wraps at SHIELD-probably because they don't want anyone to know their mistake of letting the wolf into the penthouse," he mutters, the bitterness to his tone hard to miss.
"Who was the person that you were talking about with Fury? The one who's currently out looking for him now?"
Panic filters across his face at this and he begins to start vigorously shake his head. "No, no, no- I can't. I can't tell you who it is-"
"Why not?"
He starts to look desperate now. "Because. The more people that know about this person trying to find him, the more likely it is that they won't come back home. I've told you everything that you wanted to know, but I can't tell you this. I can't put this person in danger."
"I can't- I can't lose anyone else Nick," Connor adds mournfully, the anger slowly leaving his voice. "Including her."
The words that he spoke to Fury yesterday ring through my mind like a bell. And matching them with the expression that he wore on his face, I quickly deduce that whoever this person was, they were important to him. From what Strange had told me as well, I already knew that Connor had suffered greatly, having already lost someone close to him: his wife. Not to mention that his sister had died over a decade ago.
He had lost so many people. And despite my desperate need for answers, I didn't want him to lose anyone else.
I send him a reassuring smile and hold my hand up in an attempt to try and ease his desperation. "You don't have to tell me, Doctor. It's fine. I'm not going to make you tell me either."
He sags relief and recoils back as he lets out a shaky breath. His chest still rises and falls rather quickly as a result from his moment of panic. But as he sucks in long, deep gulps of air, he starts to calm down. With his eyes closed, he murmurs, "T-thank you."
"Deep breathes," I reply, watching as he does as I request for the next few minutes before he gets his breathing under control once again.
Letting out one last breath, he reopens his eyes and shoots me an apologetic look. "Uh, I'm sorry. I-I want to give you answers. But..."
"But you've already given me more than enough," I reply. "As I said, I'm used to not receiving answers for questions about things. But you've managed to fill in the blanks. Scary blanks, but nonetheless, you've helped me. So thank you."
"I've also put you in danger. Like I said before, you knowing about this has only put a target on your back."
"I said it before, Connor, but I can take care of myself."
He lets out a soft, humourless laugh that sounded almost pitying. Shaking his head, he muses, "Everyone said that, but then he killed them all with his own, bare hands. I'm not doubting your capability, but if sixty SHIELD agents went against him all at once and were killed, then how on earth do you think you would be able to protect yourself? Against...against that, that monster."
And for the first time, since walking into the room with him, I have nothing to say.
For those of you who are familiar with the character Taskmaster from the comics, yes, I've altered his character slightly. It's just so that I can fit him in with the story :)