Chapter 8: Sign of the Times

The sedative's fog left behind that now-familiar cotton-mouth feeling you've grown to hate. Your fingers traced the raw skin of your wrist where the agent’s restraints had been—a souvenir from your temper tantrum. These new ones… at least they were padded. Easier to endure.
 
You stared up at the pristine white ceiling of Dr Banner's lab, letting Director Coulson's words wash over you again. His eyes had held something beyond mere professional concern. He wasn’t like the others; there was a softness that made your chest ache. Inexplicable longing. For what? A father? He’s much too old for romantic involvement, that’s for sure. Perhaps you too reminded him of someone he’d lost. Or maybe he just sees what the others don’t: an innocent drowning in the vast ocean of induced amnesia.
 
Whatever the case, he was right. It was time to stop fighting against what was and start building toward what you could be. A new name, one you've chosen, felt like the first real thing that's belonged to you since you emerged from the bag in Times Square. New identity, new path, new rules of engagement. You'll play nice with the Avengers, maintain composure with the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents (mostly to avoid another date with their sedatives), and learn to ask instead of demand.
 
You can do this. You have to do this. After all, when you're starting from absolute zero, the only way to go is up.
 
The soft whoosh of the lab door broke your reverie. Dr Banner entered, his perpetually rumpled lab coat damn near endearing. Your eyes drifted to the windows beyond his workstation, where the late morning sun streamed in. Something in your chest constricted at the sight. A yearning to feel the warmth on your skin.
 
Somewhere out there, someone must remember your face, your voice, your real name. The thought sent an involuntary shiver down your spine.
 
Taking a steadying breath, you hopped off your little cot. Each step forward was tiny, cautious. A physical manifestation of your new resolution to handle things differently.
 
"Dr Banner," you started, voice soft and fragile, carefully modulating your tone to sound as non-threatening as possible. "I've done everything asked of me. Sat through all these tests, took that godforsaken polygraph..."
 
He turned from his workstation, his expression already softening with understanding. There was resignation there too; he knew exactly where this conversation was heading.
 
“Please. Call me Bruce. We’ve bypassed formalities by now, don’t you think?”
 
“Bruce,” you smiled as sweetly as humanly possible, “don't you think I deserve some time to breathe? To be treated like a person, not a... specimen?"
 
His response came quietly, weighted with genuine regret: "Gosh, I'm… I’m sorry. This is just the safest way right now. Until we know more…" he trailed off.
 
Your smile faltered, something deeper than mere disappointment and self-pity welling up inside you. It radiated outward like ripples in still water. A bone-deep ache of being untethered, unknown, unstable. Your arms wrapped around your torso, a futile attempt at self-comfort, as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.
 
But the loneliness… that was worse of all. It hit like a physical wave. No past, no connections, no identity, no freedom. Just sterile walls, endless tests, and faces that looked at you with varying degrees of suspicion or clinical interest.
 
Bruce's shoulders slumped slightly, his own expression shifting as though he'd suddenly taken on an invisible weight. His eyes softened further, and he reached up to remove his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. The empathy rolling off him was almost tangible, as if your isolation had become a shared burden.
 
"I understand," he whispered, and for the first time, you truly believed he did. The way he looked at you was with the raw recognition of someone who knew exactly what it felt like to be treated as something other than human.
 
"I haven't been outside in days," you continued, your voice catching slightly. "I can feel every second, just ticking away. How much longer can anyone take this? Isolated from the world because you people are... afraid of me? I've done nothing wrong. I'd never hurt anyone, I didn't ask to be here..."
 
As the words spilled out, something strange began to happen. Your emotions swelled, growing stronger, deeper, more overwhelming with each passing second. Out of the corner of your eye, you glimpsed a faint crimson mist emerge out of thin air. But that had to be your imagination or a trick of the light through your tears. Bruce showed no sign of noticing anything unusual, though his expression grew increasingly troubled.
 
Your raw desperation continued to pour out, reaching into Bruce’s consciousness and stirring something beyond his control. You watched as his scientific detachment faltered, disintegrating beneath the weight of your shared anguish. His eyes kept darting to your restraints, hands fidgeting with indecision. The intensity of your emotions seemed to seep into him, clouding his judgment, chipping away at his professional resolve.
 
Then, as if moved by an unseen force, he reached for them. His actions felt almost mechanical, as though he wasn’t fully conscious of what he was doing. The familiar clicks of the releases echoed through the lab, each sound marking a small victory, a step closer to freedom.
 
You risked one final glance at Bruce, his eyes still glazed and distant, before slipping past him toward the door. Your bare feet made no sound against the polished floor as you fled the lab, heart thundering against your ribs. The endless corridors of the compound stretched before you, a clinical maze of possibilities, until you reached a fork in the hallway.
 
Reality crashed in like a bucket of ice water. Where exactly did you plan to go? This building wasn't just any facility, it was the Avengers Compound. Even if you somehow made it outside, you'd be trying to outrun enhanced individuals who'd probably tracked threats across galaxies.
 
Instead of fleeing blindly, you found yourself drawn to explore the compound that had been your prison. Each new corridor offered glimpses into a world you'd only seen through the lab's windows. Your cautious exploration was cut short, however, by the sound of urgent voices. Voices that had become all too familiar during your stay. The Avengers were close by.
 
You paused before taking the corner, pressing yourself against the cool wall as your heart hammered in your chest. The voices carried clearly through the hallway, each one distinct and painfully familiar. Your recent resolution to "play nice" felt suddenly hollow as you listened to them discuss your fate like you were a problematic pet at a shelter.
 
"Alright, so let's vote. It's been a week. I'd say that's long enough to have made a decision."
 
You recognised the voice instantly. Steve Rogers. Soldier. The same name etched into your skin, belonging to a man who stood straight as an arrow and carried authority in every syllable. Even without seeing him, you could picture that perfect military posture, the way his broad shoulders would be set with conviction.
 
“I agree. She’s not giving us anything to work with. I say she’s out.”
 
A slight flinch rippled through you at the red-head’s clinical assessment. Her words cut like precisely thrown knives. Natasha Romanoff. Agent? Assassin? Another name from your collection, belonging to a woman who'd spent the last week watching you with calculated suspicion. Her coldness seeped through her tone, clear she’s already written you off as a potential threat to be eliminated.
 
“Just like that? No sympathy for this girl? Where’s your altruism?”
 
You strained to catch every nuance of this new voice. Female, with an accent you couldn't quite place. The warmth in her tone was prominent, so different from Natasha's arctic demeanour. There was something else there too, an undercurrent of understanding that suggested she knew exactly what it felt like to be on the wrong side of the Avengers' suspicion.
 
“We’re the Avengers, Wanda. Not Habitat for Humani–”
 
Your feet moved before your brain could catch up with them. You stepped around the corner, and Natasha's words died in her throat. The sudden attention of five pairs of eyes made you instinctively rock back on your heels. Shit. So much for your stealthy exploration.
 
Steve broke first, his voice a commanding tone that probably terrified actual soldiers. "Who let you out of your–"
 
"My... what? Cage?"
 
The words shot out before you could stop them. Somewhere in the back of your mind, Coulson's voice reminded you to play nice, but something else was resurfacing. A spark of that same defiance that had gotten you sedated more than once this week. You met Steve's stern gaze head-on, your spine straightening as if your body was preparing for a fight your mind knew you couldn't win.
 
The rational part of you screamed to stand down, to remember your earlier resolution about turning over a new leaf. But there was another part, raw and wounded, that couldn't help but challenge the self-righteous set of his shoulders, the authority he wielded so casually when deciding your fate.
 
Natasha's eyes went wide at your audacity, her gaze flicking between you and Steve like she was watching a tennis match with potentially explosive consequences. But when Steve spoke again, his voice had lost its edge.
 
"We're not caging you. We just don't know you. It's a safety measure. We have to be cautious for the sake of all involved parties. It wouldn’t be very prudent of us to just believe everything we’re told, now would it?"
 
What the hell? How dare he be so calm, how dare he be so rational, when you’re practically vibrating for a fight? A verbal fight, that is. Good God, you could never take him on physically. The man could probably bench press a truck.
 
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
 
The quiet hum of Bruce’s lab was interrupted by the sound of determined footsteps as Coulson strode into the room. Tony’s voice rang out, laced with just the right amount of casual arrogance.
 
"Fury Junior. To what do we owe the pleasure?"
 
Coulson paused, his gaze sweeping across the room until it landed on the empty examination cot. A flicker of relief passed over his features, grateful that you were out… somewhere.
 
"Gentlemen. We should talk about Y/N."
 
At the sound of the new name, Bruce’s brow furrowed in confusion. "I'm sorry. Y/N? Who's Y/N?"
 
"Right. Of course she hasn't told you lot yet. Jane Doe. She's requested that she go by Y/N from here on out… An article in the medical journal said that one destabilising aspect of incarceration is the constant dehumanisation. So, for the sake of her mental health, she needs to be reminded that she's not just a specimen. We should do what we can to help her."
 
Tony's response was swift. "Except she's not incarcerated."
 
Coulson glanced toward the makeshift cell, taking in the restraints tossed on the cot, then back to Tony. "Could have fooled me."
 
“No… No, that’s for everyone’s protection. Hers as well as ours.”
 
Coulson's brow furrowed slightly, a contemplative look crossing his features. “There’s something you all should know. Agents Simmons and Fitz have discovered an overlooked anomaly in Y/N's system... It’s been flooded with ZIP. Zeta Interacting Protein."
 
Tony's eyes widened, the dismissive edge to his earlier tone replaced by a more sombre realisation.
 
“Are you suggesting… her memories were forcefully wiped?”
 
Coulson nodded solemnly. "Hence her erratic behaviour and emotional instability." He turned his gaze toward the empty cell once more. "She's not a threat... She's a person in need of our help and understanding."
 
Bruce let out a soft sigh. “We've been treating her like a potential danger, when she could be in danger." His eyes met Coulson's, a newfound determination shining through. "What can we do to help her?"
 
A faint smile tugged at the corners of Coulson's lips. "That's exactly what I'm here to discuss. We need to approach this situation with more compassion and less suspicion. Her wellbeing should be a priority."
 
Tony shifted his weight, folding his arms over his chest. "Alright. You’ve got my attention. What's the plan?"
 
 
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