One Vial
Medical
I wake up screaming. Again. Fortunately, the alarm clock is screeching right back at me. The whole sleepless night thing is getting old – the same with the migraines.
A couple of painkillers, a quick shower, and a gun strapped to my waist, and I’m on my way to work. And to be honest, there’s that small part of me that wishes I was just a regular cop or something. Not that I’d want to be a cop in New York City considering the Battle a few months ago, but they say ignorance is bliss and I am so far from ignorant, it could give me nightmares.
On the other hand, being a part of S.H.I.E.L.D. is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s just…the bad stuff’s leaking into the good.
I’m not going in for a mission today.
I’m going in for a check-up.
Deep breath, pretend you don’t often feel like you’re being stabbed with thousands of needles and you’re good to go, Nicole.
*
“Your superiors have noted some recent irregularities in your behaviour, Agent Scott.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply as the doctor examines me head to toe with one swoop of her steely-eyes. She’s probably as sterile as the needle she’s undoubtedly prepared to stick into me for a blood test.
“How often do you experience these,” she flips a page on her clipboard, “migraines?”
“Two or three times a week, lasting about twenty minutes at a time, ma’am.”
She makes a note on her clipboard, lips pursed. I just feel a bit stupid sitting here in a flimsy gown, having just undergone a full medical to deal with one problem I can sum up in a couple of sentences.
“Agent Hendricks informed me that they aren’t triggered necessarily by stressful circumstances, but are completely incapacitating regardless.”
“Yes, because my job in general isn’t stressful,” I say jokingly. Obviously my attempt at humour is not appreciated, judging from the sour expression on her face. I hastily add, “It can happen while I’m chopping potatoes or on a mission. There’s no pattern.”
“But these started after the Battle of New York?” she prods and I nod. “Any nightmares? Panic attacks?”
“Not exactly.”
She raises one grey, manicured eyebrow at me and crosses her legs. You’d think I’m the most interesting person she’s ever laid eyes on in this moment.
“I have these…dreams that started around the same time as the migraines,” I say carefully. I know anything I say unintentionally will be reported upon nevertheless and I don’t know what they do with S.H.I.E.L.D. nutcases, nor do I want to find out.
“Director Fury had you stationed in Brooklyn, correct?” she asks.
“Yes, ma’am. We had a mission prior to the Battle.” And we were left there out of convenience. My team and I had almost been nuked, along with the millions of civilians, because we were in the wrong place at the wrong time. “We were to handle any hostiles that escaped the Avengers’ control.”
“And you came into contact with some of these hostiles, yes?”
“I watched a friend lose an arm, and a civilian, her head. When I made contact with the hostiles, it was to put them down.”
“But you received counselling after the Battle, along with many of our other agents, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am and I was cleared by two psychiatrists for field work,” I say with more venom than necessary. Honestly, she has it all written there on her paper. “These dreams aren’t connected to what I saw, from what I can tell. It’s just like the Battle set it off.”
“You’re certain of this?”
I nod, and even though I told myself I wouldn’t bring it up, I can’t stop myself from saying, “It’s always the same dream; needles.”
“Needles?”
“Yes, all over my body, pressing into my skin,” and eyelids…ugh, “and they’re all filled with the same substance – this fluorescent orange goo. It’s maybe the same consistency as blood? Maybe thicker?”
The doctor is quiet for a minute, but her face remains impassive.
“Well, Agent Scott, I can prescribe you medication for a dreamless sleep, but the migraines…it could simply be post-traumatic stress disorder on a more subconscious level. If it persists another six weeks, you’ll need to see me again,” she tells me matter-of-factly.
I stand up to put my clothes on again but she stops me quickly.
“There’s just one more thing we need to do,” she states. “I need a blood sample.”
“Oh, right,” I mumble and sit again, holding out my arm.
*
“Agent Scott!” I pause mid-step then turn on my heel, walking into the office with the door wide open.
“Yes sir?” I ask my boss, who’s taking his comfy-looking seat behind his desk.
Agent Hendricks is a real up and comer in S.H.I.E.L.D. He’s only thirty-two and second only to the Director. He’s nice enough, relaxed even for our work, but I sometimes just look at him and wonder whose ass he managed to kiss so well. It sure as hell wasn’t Fury’s. Green eyes and hair darker than mine, it’s no secret he’s quite the ladies’ man.
“At ease,” he commands and my suddenly perfect posture disappears.
“How are you doing?” he asks, expression soft.
“Oh! Much better with those sleeping pills the doctor gave me a few weeks ago,” I tell him.
“That’s great to hear. You seem to be doing better.”
I just nod and smile back at him. He then claps his hands together.
“Now! I have a special mission for you, Scott,” he tells me and my eyebrows must have just vanished up into my hairline. He reaches under his desk, presses several numbers on a safe, and is then waving an envelope at me before I can blink.
“Sir?”
He hands me the envelope with a smug look.
“You get to play with the big boys now, Scott. This is your big break. We need you to deliver that to Mr Stark.”
“To Mr Stark?”
“Yes, he also goes by ‘Iron Man’ I believe.”
I look down at the pristine white paper in my hands and mouth a ‘wow.’
“Congratulations, Agent Scott.”
And in this moment, I transition from S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with excellent aim, to messenger girl. For Tony Stark.
A couple of painkillers, a quick shower, and a gun strapped to my waist, and I’m on my way to work. And to be honest, there’s that small part of me that wishes I was just a regular cop or something. Not that I’d want to be a cop in New York City considering the Battle a few months ago, but they say ignorance is bliss and I am so far from ignorant, it could give me nightmares.
On the other hand, being a part of S.H.I.E.L.D. is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s just…the bad stuff’s leaking into the good.
I’m not going in for a mission today.
I’m going in for a check-up.
Deep breath, pretend you don’t often feel like you’re being stabbed with thousands of needles and you’re good to go, Nicole.
*
“Your superiors have noted some recent irregularities in your behaviour, Agent Scott.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply as the doctor examines me head to toe with one swoop of her steely-eyes. She’s probably as sterile as the needle she’s undoubtedly prepared to stick into me for a blood test.
“How often do you experience these,” she flips a page on her clipboard, “migraines?”
“Two or three times a week, lasting about twenty minutes at a time, ma’am.”
She makes a note on her clipboard, lips pursed. I just feel a bit stupid sitting here in a flimsy gown, having just undergone a full medical to deal with one problem I can sum up in a couple of sentences.
“Agent Hendricks informed me that they aren’t triggered necessarily by stressful circumstances, but are completely incapacitating regardless.”
“Yes, because my job in general isn’t stressful,” I say jokingly. Obviously my attempt at humour is not appreciated, judging from the sour expression on her face. I hastily add, “It can happen while I’m chopping potatoes or on a mission. There’s no pattern.”
“But these started after the Battle of New York?” she prods and I nod. “Any nightmares? Panic attacks?”
“Not exactly.”
She raises one grey, manicured eyebrow at me and crosses her legs. You’d think I’m the most interesting person she’s ever laid eyes on in this moment.
“I have these…dreams that started around the same time as the migraines,” I say carefully. I know anything I say unintentionally will be reported upon nevertheless and I don’t know what they do with S.H.I.E.L.D. nutcases, nor do I want to find out.
“Director Fury had you stationed in Brooklyn, correct?” she asks.
“Yes, ma’am. We had a mission prior to the Battle.” And we were left there out of convenience. My team and I had almost been nuked, along with the millions of civilians, because we were in the wrong place at the wrong time. “We were to handle any hostiles that escaped the Avengers’ control.”
“And you came into contact with some of these hostiles, yes?”
“I watched a friend lose an arm, and a civilian, her head. When I made contact with the hostiles, it was to put them down.”
“But you received counselling after the Battle, along with many of our other agents, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am and I was cleared by two psychiatrists for field work,” I say with more venom than necessary. Honestly, she has it all written there on her paper. “These dreams aren’t connected to what I saw, from what I can tell. It’s just like the Battle set it off.”
“You’re certain of this?”
I nod, and even though I told myself I wouldn’t bring it up, I can’t stop myself from saying, “It’s always the same dream; needles.”
“Needles?”
“Yes, all over my body, pressing into my skin,” and eyelids…ugh, “and they’re all filled with the same substance – this fluorescent orange goo. It’s maybe the same consistency as blood? Maybe thicker?”
The doctor is quiet for a minute, but her face remains impassive.
“Well, Agent Scott, I can prescribe you medication for a dreamless sleep, but the migraines…it could simply be post-traumatic stress disorder on a more subconscious level. If it persists another six weeks, you’ll need to see me again,” she tells me matter-of-factly.
I stand up to put my clothes on again but she stops me quickly.
“There’s just one more thing we need to do,” she states. “I need a blood sample.”
“Oh, right,” I mumble and sit again, holding out my arm.
*
“Agent Scott!” I pause mid-step then turn on my heel, walking into the office with the door wide open.
“Yes sir?” I ask my boss, who’s taking his comfy-looking seat behind his desk.
Agent Hendricks is a real up and comer in S.H.I.E.L.D. He’s only thirty-two and second only to the Director. He’s nice enough, relaxed even for our work, but I sometimes just look at him and wonder whose ass he managed to kiss so well. It sure as hell wasn’t Fury’s. Green eyes and hair darker than mine, it’s no secret he’s quite the ladies’ man.
“At ease,” he commands and my suddenly perfect posture disappears.
“How are you doing?” he asks, expression soft.
“Oh! Much better with those sleeping pills the doctor gave me a few weeks ago,” I tell him.
“That’s great to hear. You seem to be doing better.”
I just nod and smile back at him. He then claps his hands together.
“Now! I have a special mission for you, Scott,” he tells me and my eyebrows must have just vanished up into my hairline. He reaches under his desk, presses several numbers on a safe, and is then waving an envelope at me before I can blink.
“Sir?”
He hands me the envelope with a smug look.
“You get to play with the big boys now, Scott. This is your big break. We need you to deliver that to Mr Stark.”
“To Mr Stark?”
“Yes, he also goes by ‘Iron Man’ I believe.”
I look down at the pristine white paper in my hands and mouth a ‘wow.’
“Congratulations, Agent Scott.”
And in this moment, I transition from S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with excellent aim, to messenger girl. For Tony Stark.