84. Little Pistol

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Under the skin, against the skull
They put a little chip so that they know it all
I think I might be scared
Of the world and the way it makes you feel afraid
And how it gets in the way​​​​​​​

Little Pistol by Mother Mother (Atlantis Playlist)


  My eyes were narrowed and teeth gritted as I felt the compound's physical therapist suction more of my back into the glass cup, trying to keep my breaths at a minimum to avoid more discomfort. "Miss Stark, please remember that you have to tell me if it's actually unbearable," the PT reminded me, her annoyance starting to seep into her tone.

"Yeah, I know," I huffed back in an equal fashion before lowering my head again as she placed another closer to my neck. Earl had insisted on me starting different types of physical recovery the moment my vitals were healthy enough. I wasn't sure if the mindset behind it had been to fill my days without a chance for me to look at the news, but it was working. The moment night came, all I wanted was to sleep.

The nightmares hadn't improved. I was still waking up in terror, screaming most of the time, and a week ago I accidentally punched my father in the jaw when he came running to help. The older Stark set a cot outside my bedroom door after our talk on the roof, but it was basically a glorified twin-size bed with a wobbly metal frame. He could deal with with a swollen face, but a good mattress was something he refused to sacrifice. Even Pepper, who came to visit with a 'get well soon' basket, laughed to his face when she saw it.

"Where is Earl, anyway?" I asked the physical therapist, sighing as she backed away from the massage table. It was the first morning appointment he hadn't attended since the Elemental battle.

"He sent a message that he might be running late," the woman answered, moving to my thigh with a metal device to help break scar tissue. I clenched my hands into fists when she dragged it slowly across my skin. "I don't think we should worry. Doctor Fox changed his availability to be here daily to help you. He does have his own life outside the compound."

I rolled my eyes at her response and rested my head on the table defeatedly. She wasn't wrong; I required almost all of the man's time now. I hated admitting it though. Earl definitely tried his best to make it not seem like I was just another patient of his. The doctor could make interesting conversation out of anything, from an old college story to a random encounter he had at the grocery store. He was careful to avoid anything that could detour to the other Elementals or the battle, only circling around the subject if I brought it up in a therapy session.

"Right there- there!" I hissed when the PT hit a delicate area a few inches below my hip. My upper body arched up in pain, sweat beading my forehead, but my eyes widened at the frost spreading across one of the room's upper windows. The physical therapist's words were murmured in my ears as I watched a word scratch through the new ice, written in a stylistic cursive. I glanced back at the woman, her attention on using less pressure on the aching spot, before looking back at the window. The word had disappeared, the frost now coating the rest of the glass, but I knew the hand who the writing belonged to. "He has a plan."

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