Sharonnarrative! Who: Sharon Carter What: Good morning starshine, the earth says hello Where: Places unknown When: 4 July! Warnings: Nah
She didn't know how long it had been since she'd been in the room, it was still maintaining the facade of a hospital room, she was still being kept sedated most of the time. She hadn't seen the doctor since the first time she'd woken up. At least not that she knew of. She didn't feel the same way as she had the last time he'd been digging around in her mind. But maybe he was different. Maybe it was all different. She didn't know what was happening. All she knew was that as she was starting to rouse now, it was as alert as they'd ever let her be.
The IVs and monitors that had been connected to her were gone, only bandaids, and red marks from adhesive were left as a reminder that they were there at all. The bed she woke up in wasn't a hospital bed, it was larger, softer, more like a nice hotel bed, with warm blankets and down pillows. The bedding too crisp, too new, but warm just the same. The room had changed around her as well, a writing desk, a dressing table, a chair, a television, a couch. Lamps, soft lighting. But nothing of hers. She sat up, her head pounded, and her shoulder seized. It was an old injury aggravated by the newest one that was just freshly healed as she slept.
She was dressed, white linen pants and a white tee shirt, hospital-esque but comfortable and soft. Her gown long gone. There was a robe and slippers by her bed and she didn't dare put them on even as she chilled. The mirror hung and she was sure that was where they were watching her. She stood, she tried the door, locked of course. But always worth an obvious shot.
She wandered slowly around the room stared long and hard into the mirror, looked herself over, let them look her over as well. Imagined she was doing the same - she wondered if the doctor was over there. She wondered briefly if she'd imagined him, but that's what he'd want her to believe.
She stopped cold at the writing desk. The Daily Bugle was there. 4 July. Todays paper? It had to be. So today it was starting. She doubted they had done much of anything to her while she slept. Well, she didn't know. But probably anything medical. Tests, injections, anything painful she'd resist, or maybe just letting her heal - she didn't know. She'd slept through it all. But today, they'd let her know how long she'd been here. They'd let her know, she was caged here, on independence day. They'd let her know it was Steve's birthday. And today was the day they'd start fucking with Sharon Carter. The part about knowing how to brainwash someone is that when you knew they were going to start in on you, you knew what was coming. And when you were already (maybe hallucinating?) the person who knew every deep dark secret and every corner of your brain was the one pulling the strings - you knew you were fucked.
Sharon Carter knew she was fucked. But she also saw her journal sticking out from underneath the pile of newspaper. And while she didn't know if they'd put it there, or if it had just found her now she was awake (she wasn't altogether sure it was there a second ago), she at least had something. For now. Even if they saw it, even if they were monitoring it, she still had one shot to get hold of someone before they figured it out.