The Unknown Enemy ∘ Marvel [3]

Chapter 20: Compromised

Searching for Fury's killer didn't help. Why? Because it was fruitless, especially when the Internet wasn't helpful.

No images. No nothing of this metal arm guy. SHIELD files weren't helping either, considered I was restricted from them. Yet if Natasha and Steve had access to records, they probably would've found something by now. Or maybe the had found something and decided not to tell me about it for fear I would have another 'crazy' episode.

If that was the truth, then the only thing making me insane was them keeping things from me.

Thinking over the director's death with no leads wasn't helping. Just pushing me into a deeper 'spiral of depression'. Meredith insisted that, saying if I didn't grieve my feelings properly now it would 'come back to bite me in the ass' later. Besides that terrible point, my doctor was surprisingly frank for someone of her job. At times I rather liked it at times.

This wasn't one of those times.

I think I cried again last night. I woke up with a wet pillow and puffy eyes that webbed red. Is that how to process grief properly? The truth was I didn't mean to. Was I supposed to just let an ocean fall from my eyes willingly?

When I asked for an answer, Meredith just said everyone has their own way of dealing with it. She insisted the one I was using, which was throwing myself into work that I already knew wouldn't pay off wasn't a healthy coping mechanism.

So all in all, I was a mess and half the time feeling guilty for crying, with Meredith almost slapping me for when I admitted that. Don't do that. Don't feel remorse over something that is perfectly human.

Didn't listen to that one.

I came up with a remedy, which happened to be unattainable; A mission. Something active where I had to put energy into efforts well used.

When I realized constantly thinking up scenarios in which I was better and being of use was more torturous then ultimately being bored, I started to try and remember things from the five month period where I was gone. That didn't come with much success, instead filling me up with a constant dread of not knowing how scars had been painted on my body.

Then I started to think of what Natasha and Steve were doing, wishing I was with them. Then I thought of Layla, then Coulson's team, then Colton, then Maria, and eventually I got to imagining where Thor was at the moment and came up with the conclusion he was most likely having more fun than me now.

Eventually my mind would wander back to seeing Nick Fury's body covered by a long white sheet, and the cycle continued.

"Did you watch that documentary I recommended?" Natasha took a bite of her apple across the room, the sound making me cringe. She was mirroring Clint's habits too much.

I sighed, perhaps for the hundredth time that day, "No. I already know enough on the battle of the Alamo, or so I decided."

"So you'd rather rot away in here without entertainment?"

"I'd rather rejoin society instead of being a recluse locked away." I shifted my sheets over my paler legs, getting up to stretch, something Meredith finally authorized, "You know what book I just read? Jane Eyre, where this guy keeps his crazy wife locked up for years. I'm afraid that character is the one I'm most relating to myself these days."

Nat rolled her eyes, pulling her phone screen back into view with her free hand, "You're too dramatic."

"You'd be if you were in here for over a month." I countered, lifting my hands above my head as I feel my muscles pull.

"I'd find a way to deal with it." She defended her own point, pointing at me almost lazily with her apple-occupied limb, "That doesn't include constantly staring at a wall for hours trying to wish it away."