( woman out of time )
★
"WHERE IS SHE, Natasha?"
The Black Widow took a shuddering breath.
"Gone, Steve."
★
THE FIRST THING she noticed when her mind came too was the scratchy material she was lying under.
Pushing aside the flashing and frankly annoying red flags bursting in her mind, she tested her muscles and limbs, finding them all operational, except for the slight sting in her left shoulder from... something.
Why couldn't she remember?
Who was she?
An eye cracked open and immediately closed again. Another test of her eyes granted success, and the girl slowly used her right arm to prop herself up on the foreign, scratchy substance. A quick glance around the room proved useful― green walls were separated from white tiles with green ones. In front of her was another door, white with white walls and translucent windows.
A shooting migraine echoed through her skull―
A blonde man with a red, white, and blue shield― a redheaded, no, blonde woman with grace and deadliness like a spider― a flying man with more wit and faith that she knew― a conflicted man with long hair, a metal arm, out of his― their― time―
―a babbling man with soft sweaters and soft eyes― another blonde man who could summarize the history of the entire world in less than twenty minutes― a woman with a pixie cut who could break apart and reassemble any machine with flying hands―
―reassemble― assemble?―
The world went dark once more.
★
The Captain dropped his head.
Another one lost.
"Was it quick?"
★
There was someone in the room when Chloe came to a second time―
―Ah, Chloe. That's her name.
"Oh, good, you're awake."
Chloe's head slowly turned to find an older woman in a large green dress, with a white apron, and a white bonnet. Her hair was tightly secured in the hat, and worn hands suggested years of experience. The woman was carrying a tray filled with bottles and gadgets and gizmos familiar yet not at the same time.
"It's okay if you can't talk― I wouldn't suggest it, in fact. Here."
The woman gave Chloe a glass of water, and the girl chugged it down.
She chuckled. "I'm not surprised. You were found a week ago by a colleague of mine. I do have to ask, though― what in the world were you wearing?"
Chloe cleared her throat and passed the glass back. "Where am I?"
"Oh, you are American?" she nodded, setting the glass back down. "That might explain your clothes. The colleague I mentioned should be here soon― she and her brother would just like to ask you a few questions."
"Ma'am, where am I?" Chloe asked again, slowly sitting up.
The woman sighed. "London, England, if you must know. Do you not remember coming here?"
"As if Rogers would let me come alone," Chloe grimaced, her mind freezing as the name slipped out―
―Captain Steven Grant Rogers, born July 4th, 1918. Frozen for seventy years after defeating HYDRA for the first time; friend―
―"So it's not of course. It's trespassing."―
Chloe clutched her head in her hands, ignoring the woman's attempt on pushing her back into the bed. She groaned as more information slammed into a wall―
―Natalia Alianovna Romanova― Natasha Romanoff― born 1984. Former Red Room Assassin, no, assassin, former agent of SHIELD; friend―
―"I'm sure they have a good reason."―
―Sam Wilson, never got his birthday. Former United States AirForce pararescue, Avenger; friend―
―"The answer is, you don't."―
―Bucky Barnes, born March 10th, 1917. Sergeant? Former Winter Soldier, brainwashed. Her mind provided quickly. The ghost story; friend―
―"I wasn't in Vienna, I don't do that anymore."―
Four names. She was missing something... someone?
Chloe looked past the woman frantically trying to calm her down.
Shaking green eyes settled on the gas lamp sitting still in the corner of the room, shouting at her to notice it. I'm a clue, it whispered, coaxing her to answers. She grabbed the metaphorical stick and poked the bear.
"Why do you have a gas lamp?"
The woman stopped at the odd question. "Pardon?"
"The gas lamp..." Chloe trailed off, her hands slowly lowering from her skull. "What year is this?"
The woman― she really needed a name― stopped dead in her tracks. "Excuse me?"
Her mind was sharp now. If the windows for the giant wooden door behind her weren't just a mirage, it was evening. The woman said it had been a week since her colleague found her. Her eyes drifted to the sketchy looking bottles on the bedside table and magnetized to the dress her doctor was wearing.
"Humor me."
Chloe's doctor scoffed. The woman in green crossed her arms before letting them drop, shifting on her feet. "1868, of course."
A snort resonated from the twenty-one-year-old. "Right, of course. Nevermind the dude sent me back one-hundred-fifty years in the past― nice going, Ghengis."
"What?"
Chloe finally took stock of the clothes she was wearing. Her suit and weapons were gone, leaving her in the black leggings and tank top Wanda and Natasha had gifted her―
―Wanda Maximoff, former unknowing HYDRA agent. The Scarlet Witch, their angel dressed in a red outfit much like her own―
―She had always wanted to meet the famous Wanda Maximoff ever since Sam said they could be twins with their love of red and terrifying glares―
―Chloe winced again, pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead. "Do you mind if I get a name? I've been referring to you as the woman inside my head and it's getting a little annoying."
The woman― goddammit― chuckled slightly at the sight of her patient calming down. "Of course. My name is Florence Nightingale, a pleasure."
"Holy shit."
★
"No, it wasn't, as if she was fighting back."
As if the universe was deciding where to put the girl in red.
"I'm sorry, Steve."
★
Chloe's doctor left the room to send a telegram― if Hastings could see her now, wherever the fuck he was― to her colleagues, which left the Assassin to get up and stretch her legs.
The girl paced up and down the small room, gathering her lingering thoughts and information her mind would supply to her.
Chloe Something, born March 21st, 1997. Assassin in red, capital "A"― she'd figure out why she associated Nat with a lowercase "a" later― a woman out of time. Friend to Rebecca Crane, Shaun Hastings, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, and Someone of great importance.
A knock at the door caused Florence to rush past her to the door, opening it just slightly enough for the Assassin to get a look at a top hat and heels.
Blood rushed from her face as two sets of eyes― twins, her mind gently supplied― met hers.
Alexander Green, born August 19th, 1996. Cousin, Best Friend.
As the floodgates opened to the last three days (her time), Chloe Olivia Frye dropped to the ground as her eyes rolled back into her head.
Evie Frye and Jacob Frye― with the telegram clutched in the former's hand― rushed forwards with Florence Nightingale past the scratchy bedding and gas lamp to catch the girl who was yet to be born.
(This was her life now.)
★
Steven Grant Rogers looked at Natasha Romanoff with glistening eyes.
"I know."
"We'll get her back."
"I know."
★
surprise pt. two lmao
how many of you saw that coming, huh?
good lord, i hope the six chapters i have planned is enough to cover the shit imma put chloe through. if not, i'll probably just have to find more templars to throw into the mix. rip future me.
i'm not the best at free writing? i love how this chapter ended up, don't get me wrong. that being said, if i want to tie up all the ends i want to, the chapters might be hella long. good news for y'all, but that might mean chapters might take a lil bit longer to upload (and more hand cramps for me).
happy 2019!
(is it tho lol)
peace,
aidan.