T.A.H.I.T.I

Dad came back downstairs while I sipped my mint tea. I opted out of alcohol as it never did well with my medications and I didn’t want to be anymore fuzzy brained than I already was from the- whatever was happening. Dad took in the sight of me, hands clasped around my steaming mug and eyes focused on something in the distance as I tried to reason through my thoughts. Everything from my dad being a mad scientist to there being a zombie hell bent on killing at least my dad upstairs filtering through.

He took a stool on the other side of the island and neatly folded his hands on the countertop. He opened his mouth a few times, probably trying to figure out where to begin, but I stopped him.

“Dad, I only need to know one thing,” I said cutting through the quiet and fixing my dad with as stern a look I could muster, “Are you making a zombie virus for these SHIELD people?” It was a ridiculous question I knew but I had to know what exactly my dad had been up to this whole time.

“What?” he squeaked through a guilty laugh and I leaned on the countertop between us bringing myself closer and fixing him with a dead stare.

“Are you, Dr. Victor Scott, making zombies?” I repeated slower and clearer and he quickly shook his head violently side to side.

“No! No I would never! No-” his shaking head turned into a cocking of his head as he winced and clarified, “Well, not the flesh eating kind anyway.”

“Dad!” I groaned collapsing myself inward and letting my head fall to my arm on the counter beside my tea. Dad looked innocent as he laughed guiltily,

“What? They’re not zombies like in the movies, Bo, they’re people who died and we brought back. They were like, in a coma-”

“A permanent coma, Dad! Not one you wake up from!” I snapped lifting my head to shoot him a glare and Dad winced like I physically wounded him. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, nodding absently as he said,

“Well what coma isn’t first perceived as permanent? You were a lot nicer to the others, at least Coulson you didn’t knock unconscious.” It was muttered but I heard him clearly and I narrowed my eyes, turning my ear towards Dad as I said,

“Excuse me? Coulson was in a coma before he- oh my god! You brought Coulson back from the dead!?” Dad shushed me, waving a hand at me to try and quell the growing panic I felt as I gripped my tea tighter and then scrubbed a hand through my hair with a low and slow groan. “I can’t believe this is happening. My dad is Frankenstein.”

“Hey I didn’t make a corpse I reanimated them,” Dad argued and I glared shutting him up instantly as I growled,

“Not the time.” Dad held up both hands defensively and looked everywhere but at me as I dropped my eyes to my tea and then let my hand fall from my hair to the countertop. “What do we do now?” I asked looking at Dad who arched his brows curiously. He pointed to himself and mouthed ‘me?’ to which I nodded. “We have a reanimated corpse upstairs, what do we do with him?”

“We help him recuperate and- hopefully get him to not want me dead,” Dad said reaching up to loosen the neck of his button down shirt with a wince. His voice still sounded a little hoarse. “He’s very special, Bo.”

“To you or to the people that wanted him back?”

“Bo,” he started but I shook my head and stood.

“No dad, you’ve been hiding this from me for- for I don’t even know how long! These people I thought we were helping when in fact we’re ripping them back from a peaceful end and thrusting them back to where they don’t belong! Death is meant to be permanent, it’s not meant to be tricked or bettered or cured. When people die it’s because God has deemed their time up and we’re not God!” I shouted grabbing my oxygen tank and storming up the stairs leaving Dad to stew in the mess he made.

I had my reasons for being angry and no one was going to tell me I was wrong. I was dying and the thought of dying and being brought back was terrifying because that meant I would face dying all over again. Death was meant to be the peaceful end to all this suffering and unfairness. It was meant to be the last call and the eternal peace of a riotous life. It was meant to hurt and be felt but never tricked or cured. Death wasn’t an illness in need of fixing, it wasn’t a state of being meant to be altered, it was meant to be the end. The final chapter and my dad had no right to fool around with that.

I stood beside the man’s beside watching him breathe through labored breaths as he slumbered. Well, he was probably still unconscious. I hit him pretty hard. He stirred and I tensed as he groaned lowly, my skin prickling in panic as he fluttered his eyes open and moaned something in that foreign tongue of his. Bits of it sounded familiar but I wasn’t sure what he was saying so I just reached for the cup and pitcher of water I had gotten for the room.

“Here try this,” I said earning a glare and before I could blink I was pinned to the wall with my neck in the man’s hand and my toes barely touching the floor. The bedside table toppled over and the water pitcher shattered on the hardwood floor as did the cup I dropped when the man thrust me backward into the wall. I grabbed onto the man’s wrist with both hands and tried to pry him off and my already limited oxygen intake got even more limited. “P-Please I can’t-I can’t breathe,” I gasped and choked as the man studied me before blinking rapidly as if he were seeing double and letting me go. I fell to my feet and coughed, choking on the air being forced down into my lungs as the man stumbled back and fell onto the bed, a hand to his head. I looked at him and he glared at me, baring his teeth almost animalistically. He spat something in what I assumed was his mother tongue and I frowned, giving a light shake of my head before my dad came bounding upstairs.

“Bo! Bo what was that noise-” the man was gone but as soon as he shoved by Dad there was the sound of someone falling down the stairs and Dad and I exchanged looks before hurrying to the top of the stairs. At the bottom was the man, crumpled in a gasping and shivering heap, clawing at the floor as he tried to get back up but looking like a wounded animal. “Pietro!” Dad exclaimed jogging down the stairs with me following at a slower pace due to the heaviness of my oxygen tank and the stiffness I felt from being thrown into a wall.

The man shoved at my father and gasped, pushing himself onto his rear and leaning backward as he tried to pull himself up. He was gasping like he couldn’t get air into his lungs and Dad watched helplessly, trying to help the man stand but being shoved back with what sounded like a curse every time. I knelt beside the dark haired man and pulled my cannula off my face, offering it to him. He studied me quizzically and I slowly leaned closer to loop the tubes behind his ear and adjust the nose hose so oxygen was being fed into his lungs. He took a few deep breathes and seemed to calm down a bit as he watched me. I smiled stiffly and uncertainly before looking up at my dad when the man did.

“Who are you people?” he asked in English this time and Dad and I exchanged worried expressions before looking back at the man.

“I’m Dr. Victor Scott, this is my daughter Bo and you, Mr Maximoff, are in T.A.H.I.T.I.”