Old Soul (Captain America/Steve Rogers)

33

The rest of the day I spend at S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters. I've been wheeled in and out of several different rooms all day, wearing nothing but a hospital gown and a pair of socks to keep my feet warm.

I still had a fever, and the hospital wing of the building was freezing. I had the cold shakes all throughout my body, yearning for a blanket or something.

I had gone through 5 tests so far, all elaborate and long. Some were even painful. They've been sticking and probing me with needles all day, but so far, no results.

I often hear a Steve outside my door, trying to convince the doctors to let him in. Bruce is allowed in often, scribbling down notes and adjusting my monitor. But other than that, I haven't seen anyone besides doctors all day. The only thing I desired more than a blanket was sunlight, fresh air, and Steve.

I wasn't allowed to eat either. Hot chicken noodle soup sounded excellent, the kind my mom always made me when I felt depressed. But apparently to get back accurate results, I'd need an empty stomach.

It's around seven o'clock now. I wonder if Steve has left. I wouldn't blame him if he did. In fact, I'd rather him leave then stay here, waiting for news that could very well be negative. To be honest, I was almost positive the results wouldn't turn out great.

I was told that I'd be receiving results any minute now and I teetering around the mattress nervously. I've had all day to prepare myself for the worst, and I'm trying to convince myself that I'm ready.

I soon as I joined S.H.I.E.L.D., I knew that there was a more than likely probability that I'd die. I just thought, as the naive and gullible girl I am, that maybe fate would be nice to me, that maybe I could live long enough to properly use my power.

But I didn't know anything about my power and I still don't. I could of used it wrong and that's why I'm sick. I could've used it to its full potential and weakened myself. The point is, I did this to myself. I guess this is payback for being totally helpless and incompetent.

I hear a knock on my door, dragging me out of my thoughts. "Come in," I call, nausea making it's way into my stomach. I'm panicking, watching the door open and Bruce step in, who was scanning a clipboard very closely.

"I haven't seen you all day," I half-heartedly joke, trying desperately to lighten the mood. "Did they send you in because a familiar face will help break the news?"

But Bruce's grim expression was all it took to wipe the hopeful grin off of my face. He timidly crossed the room and took a seat in my bedside chair.

"There is good news," Bruce says. "And there is bad news."

I bite my lip. "Bad news first," I say hesitantly.

He raises his eyebrows. "Are you sure?"

I nod before I allow myself to change my mind. "I can take it."

Bruce sighs with a nod, beginning to read from his clipboard. "We believe your sickness is caused by your ability, which we only have minimal information about. The only way to possibly learn more is to know how you ended up with these powers in the first place. And the only way to know is if you travel back and learn for yourself.

"However, in your condition, you can't travel. Your sickness is a sign of low endurance and stamina, which we fear wouldn't allow you to keep up with the traveling," Bruce finishes.

I take a minute to process everything, running his words over in my head to understand them. When I fully grasp what he said, I exhale nervously. "So that's it? I'll be sick until I die?"

Bruce shakes his head. "Not necessarily. You still have a strong enough immune system to keep the virus at bay-however eventually, it will wear thin. But your immune system just won't be enough to allow you to travel."

I furrow my eyebrows. "So until we can figure this out, I'm just going to be a...a...a human?"

Bruce nods. "I'm afraid so."

"But not only a regular human, but a sick human?" I ask, dread falling over and me. This was getting worse and worse.

"Yes. But your sickness isn't contagious," Bruce says.

I fall back against my bed pillows, looking down at my hands. "So it's like cancer," I say. "Slowly killing me."

Bruce doesn't respond. I peek up at him curiously, deadened, and see him looking back at me, his eyes glazed over in pity.

I exhale. "What's the good news?" I ask, although my voice is scratchy with threatening tears.

Bruce, looking sheepish, replies with a testing smile. "They're serving pizza in the cafeteria?"

I sigh in defeat. I know I shouldn't be acting so harshly towards Bruce-it wasn't his fault that I was dying. But really? Pizza? I don't see how pizza can distract me from this.

"Avalie," Bruce says softly, making me look over at him. "We're doing the best we can. But in the mean time, if there's anything I can do, let me know."

He gives me a small smile, standing and patting my leg before turning towards the door. It's very kind of him to offer, and I know I should take him up on it and ask for Steve.

But I don't think I can face him know. I don't think I can handle that look he will give me, with those big blue eyes of his. I don't think I can handle how he'll wrap his arms around me and pat me back soothingly.

And I know I can't handle telling him that I was lying on my death bed.