desiderium | m. o'hara

twelve

TW: blood, very slight gore, someone has a trauma response

My coworkers and I pick our way through the mess of the reception, silent in a state of bewilderment.

None of us are strangers to the violent happenings of Nueva York - in fact, we're experts on them, reporting their every detail into our news columns. They happen so frequently that it's strange if we go a week without an incident. But it's different when you're the ones caught in them. You never really get used to it.

We migrate to the carpark, an entire crowd of dazed and injured employees. Jameson's barking orders like usual and we dutifully do as we're told. Medics have pulled onto the scene, though most administering first-aid are employees who have a fancy certificate and the know-how. Most of the professionals will be closer to the centre of the blast, where injuries are far more severe.

Alicia wraps some gauze from the first-aid kit in her car and ties it tightly around my arm. I wince.

"Thanks," I say. The split in my lip throbs.

Alicia smiles at me and limps on to the next person needing attention.

I hold my arm to my chest and retreat to my car. There's definitely glass in my skin and absolutely no way I can drive like this. I ponder the idea of calling Miguel to pick me up, then immediately scrap it. He's probably busy doing his Spider-Man shit, and I don't really want to ask him for help when he's in this weird mood of his.

Great. Glass in my arm, Miguel angry at me and I'm stranded. What a brilliant day I'm having.

I lean against the hood of my car and stare at the building tops just in case Spider-Man swings past. When the smoggy, cloudy sky offers nothing, I turn my eyes to the ground and sigh.

I wonder if I can ask Jess or Peter to help me...

"Hey," a voice whispers into my ear.

I flinch with a yelp and spin around to find Lyla. She beams at me, resting on thin air with her chin in her hands. I close my eyes and try to calm my nerves. I really don't need a heart attack on top of everything else.

"Lyla?" I ask when I have a modicum of composure back. "What are you doing?"

"Miguel's shouting at me." She sends me a big pout behind her heart-shaped glasses. "He's in a really bad mood. Anyway, he wants me to check if you're okay, and you're obviously alive, so I guess I'll pass that on."

I roll my eyes. "Thanks."

"Oof." Lyla frowns. She crosses her legs and arms and slumps. "You're in a bad mood, too. You're really bringing down my vibe."

I ignore her comment. My coworkers mingle, each sporting a variety of cuts and scrapes. They're too far away to notice or overhear me talking to the little, floating person.

"Do you know what happened?" I ask.

Lyla nods. "This universe's Doc Ock set off some explosives near Alchemax to retrieve a set of arms he'd invented on premises before his contractual termination. The structural integrity of the eastern-bound side of the facility is under extreme stress." She pokes my cheek. "Just like you. Bleh."

I ignore her comment. "Of course it's Alchemax. Is Rosa okay?"

Lyla perches on my shoulder. "Her place of education is unharmed. Mr. Frank is teaching an impromptu lesson about shock waves."

The heaviness in my chest lightens a little. "And Miguel?"

Lyla grins and goes to answer, but when she opens her mouth her smile falls. She stares into space with a perplexed expression. "Oh. He's left Alchemax. That's not in the plan." She pinches her chin in confusion. "Interesting. Jessica Drew and Peter Parker-616 just arrived in-dimension and are doing Miguel's job, instead."