The first person I saw upon opening my eyes wasn’t Jen, who evidently hadn’t been the one to bring me to the hospital.
Nor was it the fairly expected 2B, who might have gotten worried and tracked down my location.
No, it was an utterly unexpected guest in my hospital room.
I probably wouldn’t have been this surprised even by Widow or Coulson, after everything I’d just been through.
But no.
“You’re awake,” breathed out my uncle in relief, having noticed my waking up instantly — and not the uncle who’d left me with exclusively positive feelings before, no!
This was Uncle Russell, the one whose attitude toward me had previously seemed the coldest to me.
Except, if that were really true, where was all this relief in his voice coming from now, and why were this man’s tight hugs also somehow excessive.
“My arm!
My arm!
My arm!” — honestly, I was faking the cry of pain, but the fear in my voice was entirely real.
Because the fact that the arm bound up in front of my torso, the very one Abomination had grabbed, barely hurt — that’s normal, even Axel’s a tough guy in that department, and Helltaker is downright impressive on that front, so given that, the reduced sensitivity is probably coming from exactly that, but the arm itself is clearly not okay!
For one, it’s, well, bound up in bandages and suspended by some clever strap running across my shoulder and shoulder blade.
Second point in the same pile — I can’t move it.
And again, the fact that I can’t feel it might not just be a “hello” from the assimilated Helltaker, but a medicated effect too.
And if someone’s expression of joy gets too enthusiastic, my limb’s condition could get worse…
ugh, I’m starting to talk like 2B.
Anyway, I get jumpy whenever my arm gets touched.
So better to fake pain and make my uncle back off than stay quiet and risk him accidentally finishing off what Abomination started, and breaking my arm the rest of the way.
“Sorry,” Russell pulled back at once.
“It’s fine.
How long was I out?
And what’s the diagnosis?” I asked about the most important things.
The first point mattered so I’d know how much trouble I was in, and the second, so I’d understand whether I could even leave here anytime soon.
“You’ve only been here six hours.
As for the diagnosis,” — and walking to the foot of the bed, my uncle picked up the tablet hanging there, “sprains in both legs, multiple hairline fractures and a torn muscle in the arm, numerous scratches on the back and left side, some of them deep, plus blood loss, and a few minor things besides, like abrasions, bruises, and other trifles.” That’s what got read out to me.
Or rather relayed in his own words, since the doctors surely hadn’t phrased it as carelessly as it was presented to me.
“Better than I feared,” I sighed in relief — though the arm, admittedly, would need a long time to heal.
“He feared.
What were you even thinking?
You could’ve died!
Why did you even get mixed up in these freaks’ business?” — huh, wasn’t expecting that, honestly.
Earlier I’d gotten the impression he didn’t care about me at all.
Now I was sure I’d read his expression right when I first woke up.
“What’s it to you?
Don’t recall a single one of you coming to check on me after my parents died!” I flared up.
Yeah…
rationally, I understood that…
I hadn’t acted very sensibly.
That Uncle Russell had said this out of genuine worry.
That he was concerned about me.
But at the same time, something in me just boiled over.
Why did I get involved?
I saved a lot of lives!
And…
I already feel guilty enough for not doing it sooner.
Hell, I held that monster off for several minutes!
Part of that time entirely alone!
And given my perfectly ordinary human stats, I took a serious risk, but I pulled through!
I’m a damn hero!
What right does he have to lecture me?!
Where was he before, back when I needed…
anyone, really, around me?
Before all the changes, before some Gennadiy surfaced inside me, I’d even had thoughts of suicide sometimes.
And all three of my closest relatives sat comfortably in the neighboring districts, doing just fine for themselves!
“I…
couldn’t.
You know your father worked…” “For the army?” I scoffed, calming down a bit but still irritated.
At my uncle, at myself, at the whole situation in general.
“Not quite.
The company’s his own, and as you’ve probably already seen, the shipments go far beyond just the army.
You could say the army’s just a business partner.
An important one.
Important enough that I had to quickly step in for my brother.
I threw myself headfirst into work too, to keep my mind off things.
Worked a little too well, honestly,” Russell looked away slightly.
“Sure,” it still came out a bit venomous, but I’d nearly calmed down by then.
“Yes, I probably owe you an apology.
But your little stunt caused quite a few problems too.
Enough that I had to bribe a couple of publications and ask them to cover the situation from the right angle.
They’d have stuck their noses in either way, so better to hand over some information ourselves rather than have them label you a mutant,” my uncle winced.
Fairly strange, and even a bit funny, how everyone in this world flinches away from mutants…
and only mutants!
Seriously, how does that even work?
“The Fantastic Four are mutants…
oh wait, no, they got hit by radiation, so it’s all fine”!
Is that how it goes?
Or “Thor’s a mutant!
Oh wait, no, he’s a god, what a relief”!
And somehow it works.
Though, depending on which world I’m in, there might be as many as two…
no wait, three factors at play on the population here.
First — the Skrulls, who aren’t too fond of mutants, especially telepaths who could detect them.
Second — some nasty thing, not quite a parasite, not quite some other kind of monster, capable of influencing people’s minds, except it didn’t work on mutants, and that little monster didn’t take kindly to that and decided to get rid of mutants using humans as its hands…
though I can’t even recall the name of the thing.
The third point is a total mess.
Something to do with the Celestials.
Apparently one of their Watchers has it in for mutants and wouldn’t mind wiping them out, if not entirely, then at least eighty percent of the way there.
So yeah, mutants aren’t exactly popular in Marvel.
Though not in every version of the universe.
There are apparently versions where they live perfectly peacefully too.
But don’t quote me on that.
“Not quite following you,” I answered honestly.
“The point being, when someone doesn’t even bother hiding their face, is just some ordinary civilian, and still turns out more effective than soldiers, that’s the kind of thing that can pique a lot of interest and draw a lot of attention.
So, to avoid that, we had to present the information about you at the right angle, even publishing your medical results, according to which you’re a completely clean human being with no abnormalities whatsoever.
That did stir up the public somewhat, but without any negativity,” my uncle sighed wearily.
And I have to admit, a logical move.
After all, I’d rather not end up on some vivisectionist’s table.
And after my little stunt, the odds of that had gone up.
Now though, given what I’d said earlier, and the testimonies…
hm, Peter probably didn’t give any testimony.
But She-Hulk might have, since there’s no hiding her identity, she just plain can’t turn into a human.
And backing that up with the medical scans — there’ll be questions for me.
And in the government’s position, I’d put a guy like that on the books and press him into service too.
Ugh…
I regret, just a little, how this all turned out.
But all it takes is closing my eyes and picturing that scene, and Abomination striding toward that child, and that regret dissolves without a trace.
“Um…
thanks?” — it came out with a questioning lilt somehow.
And not on purpose, honest!
“What did he even do for a living?” — not giving the awkward pause a chance to settle in, I changed the subject.
“You mean your father?
You went through the documents, didn’t you?” — and getting two nods from me, Russell continued, “exactly what’s written there.
Manufactured and supplied combat stimulants for the army, along with a fair amount of regular medical drugs by now.
There were attempts at the super-soldier formula too, of course, but nothing came of those.” That stirred up strange emotions in me.
On one hand, I’d been right — there had been attempts to recreate Cap’s formula!
On the other, well, who hasn’t tried that.
Our government (and not only ours) had tasked pretty much anyone they could reach who had even a shred of a chance.
Wouldn’t want to find out that it was exactly these little “experiments” that got my parents killed, and that it wasn’t an accident after all.
Given all that, it’s honestly a relief that my father never achieved any success on that front.
Better this way than if he’d succeeded and now had a target painted on my back (and Uncle Russell’s) as a result.
After that we chatted a bit more, my uncle made sure I was doing alright (waited for the attending physician, whom he asked pointed questions, so I got to listen in and find out for myself whether everything was fine with me), and…
somehow Uncle Russell no longer seemed hostile or anything like that to me now.
Just deeply exhausted.
After getting what he wanted to know, confirming it with his own eyes, and, as I found out later, paying for the best treatment for me (though actually, treatment for everyone hurt in that incident had been taken on by the army as a whole), and dropping off some gifts — though, given Gennadiy’s memories, that hadn’t really been necessary — American hospital food is leagues better than the horror show that got shown to me in someone else’s memories.
And after my own cooking…
the hospital was basically a resort.
Well, except my pancakes come out amazing, but I can’t even eat those anymore.
Ahem…
anyway, once Uncle Russell had confirmed with his own eyes that my life and health weren’t in any danger, he started getting ready to head back to work (I think the increasingly frequent calls on his cell phone influenced that decision — the last twenty minutes or so, the second he hung up, another call from work came right in).
“Sorry, I’ve got to go.
I would’ve liked to talk with you longer, but you can see how it is,” my uncle said, hanging up yet again.
After which he broke into a sly smile that looked wildly, wrongly out of place on his face, “by the way, your housekeeper was very eager to talk with you.” “My what?” I froze for a moment.
And seeing my expression, my uncle froze too.
Though he figured out who that might be pretty fast.
“A short young woman with silver hair and a bob cut?” — I described Yorha’s most distinctive features.
And judging by how my uncle relaxed slightly, I’d guessed right.
Ugh…
looked like my punishment was coming sooner than I’d expected.
“Judging by your face, something wrong?” he glanced at me sideways.
“No, I’m just already dreading the lecture about how carelessly and stupidly I acted, and how worried she was,” I answered close to the truth, though I had my doubts about that “worry” of 2B’s.
Not sure she’s even capable of that emotion.
And no names either, since, well, I have no idea where this “housekeeper” business came from.
No, I get that it’s Yorha’s cover story, but she hadn’t briefed me on it, so to avoid contradicting each other’s statements, better to just gloss over that part while confirming I know her well — which my line did perfectly.
“When a girl like that is worried about you, that’s not a bad thing,” and after a brief pause, with a glint of mischief in his eyes, my relative decided to finish me off, “should I be congratulating you on entering adulthood yet?” “Uncle!” “So not yet, then,” — what can I say, the man’s perceptive.
After which, with a faint smirk, he left my room, and Yorha walked in…
thank every god out there, not in her original outfit (otherwise, I’m afraid my uncle would’ve had even more interesting things to say on the subject) — her dress has that neckline, after all…
and the back too…
anyway, screw it.
Just screw it!
Contrary to everything, the reunion with Yorha went without any real incident.
She barely even scolded me, but…
but the way she looked at me!
Somehow still that same indifferent, calm look, but why did I feel so terrible?
I felt ashamed.
Deeply!
“Ahem, so what’s this about a ‘housekeeper’?” I changed the subject, since another minute of silence and that look from Yorha, silently peeling my apples, and I’d start confessing to every sin under the sun.
Even ones that weren’t mine!
“I don’t understand your question, master,” came the terse reply.
“I mean, why did you introduce yourself as my housekeeper?” I rephrased the question, not entirely sure whether she genuinely hadn’t understood, or whether she was expressing her displeasure at me this way right now.
“I needed a certain degree of legitimization.
Especially now, given that you’ve drawn attention.
So now, across every database, I’m registered as your housekeeper, hired by your father, who came from France and had previously been renting a hotel room.
When you lost your parents, I provided you with all manner of emotional support, and moved in with you around that time, where I now reside, still carrying out my duties, such as housework and looking after you,” 2B laid out her cover story, one that, in fairness, I should have thought about setting up sooner myself.
And I’m also gathering that someone hacked classified data again and tampered with it, entering herself into the citizen registry and generally making sure the internet now had records matching this cover story.
Fine, that was a necessary measure.
“Well then, house-watching duty is yours — doubt anything’s going to happen to me here, and until my legs heal, they’re definitely not letting me leave,” I said, dropping the previous subject and continuing the conversation.
“Understood,” my companion answered in a single word, having finished peeling another apple and pushing the little plate toward me, before starting on an orange, since as she herself put it, “you need vitamins right now.” Seems like, despite that indifferent face, someone’s fretting over me quite a bit.
Or I just want to believe that.
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There are chapters ahead.
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