docjanefoster

[docjanefoster]

tuesday’s.

“Tuesday’s, I hate Tuesday’s.” Jane’s mood could only be described as impatient and annoyed, but even that was an understatement as she chatted with her friend on the phone. The clinic had long closed hours ago with Jane as its only occupant. “You know why I hate Tuesday’s, Darcy?”

A soft sigh could be heard over the other end of the line. “Because it’s nowhere near the weekend. It’s not a dreadful Monday or a hopeful Hump day. You feel as if you sit in limbo during your week on Tuesday’s.” Darcy’s voice replied almost robotically, repeating Jane’s weekly complaint. “When will I learn never to call you on Tuesday’s?” The woman rhetorically asked. The doctor chuckled lightly as she continued going over charts. “Who else would listen to my dreading of the week’s third day?” Stopping her work, Jane shook her head. “Goodness, gracious. We have the weirdest conversations.”

“Oh, yes! More grown up things…” A moment passed as Darcy attempted to come up with a more mature topic than science puns and complaining. “But I like our dad jokes and movie references. I may be in my twenties, but at least I-.” The female’s voice cut short at the sound of a crash on her end. “Dammit, Trevor! I told you to stay out of my special closet!” Darcy hollered in the background. “Hey, Janie, I’ve gotta let ya go. My nephew’s gotten into my stash of-. Shit, no, no don’t open that!”

Jane’s brown locks danced over her shoulders as her head shook lightly and a chuckle left her rosy lips. A genuine smile pulled at the corners. Darcy’s calls were always refreshing and hilarious. The woman’s visits at the clinic to bother Jane became less and less after landing a job in Maryland. Yes, it was next door neighbors with D.C., but it simply was not the same. Jane worked in the clinic and Darcy performed her research. They were both enjoying what they had dedicated their lives to, but without the comfort of their friendship, life was the slightest bit duller.

The familiar ding dong echoed throughout the closed clinic. I swore I locked that door. “Sorry, we’re closed!” Jane exclaimed from the backroom to the stranger in the waiting room. Looking down at a set of charts as she made her way to the front, the doctor continued, “We’re open first thing tomorrow morning at seven. If it is an emergency, I suggest heading to the hospital down the-.” Glancing upwards from the clipboard, Jane stopped in her tracks, a little taken back at her visitors. “Oh, good evening agents. I already told your boss that I’m not interested in working for SHIELD.”

No response came from the men as they filed into her building. One sat down at the secretary’s desk, hacking into the computer. Others made their way to the back rooms of the office. “Hey, hey! You can’t go back there.” Jane hollered at the quiet, shady sunglasses and black suit wearing intruders. Time slowed down as she took in their actions, files being thrown into the garbage or shredded, blood tests being interrupted and destroyed, and private charts being examined. This ends now.

“Don’t you dare waltz in here thinking you can take this over! This clinic is my life’s work, from my life- ya know, before the God of Thunder trampled into my office. How you have the gall to insinuate I shall give up this place to SHIELD bewilders me. Did you grow tired of playing nice, so you brought the big guns out? Just because I said no to working for your crazy organization does not mean you can force me out of here. Do not forget your attempt to regulate the patients coming in and out of those doors. Pft, sending agents posing with illnesses, leaving less room for those in actual need to receive care. How low will your director go, agent?”

A dark chuckle escaped, who she assumed to be the leader’s lips. “Oh, darling.” The man smirked sinisterly down at her before lifting his head towards the other men. “The little lady thinks we’re with SHIELD. How- funny.” A meaty hand reached for a file that had been retrieved from the depths of her personal office. No, anything but that one. “Your work with Thor was quite amazing as are your notes, Doctor. Such innovations that even drew in Hydra’s attention.” What, Hydra? Isn’t that some group from World War II? One of the henchman grabbed onto the woman, yanking her backwards into his solid form. Jane ripped at his grip around both her arms, but predictably failed. The leader grinned down at her once again. “Feisty. Oh, the Winter Soldier is going to love you, Doctor Foster.” The what? With a single blow to the back of her head, Jane’s vision grew dark and body fell limp in the mans hold.

I’m definitely going to need an icepack. Was the doctor’s first thought as painful throbs inside the woman’s head rattled her from unconsciousness. Heat flowed out of her body against the cold concrete floor below causing shivers to shake her body uncontrollably. Where on earth am I? Looks like something out of a horror movie. Blood stained walls, medical supplies, but her eyes eventually landed on the elephant in the room, a man sitting amongst the collection of electrical equipment. She glanced towards his metal arm. No, it looks like he is almost a part of the gadgets.

Her thoughts were not given any longer to wander. “Glad for you to join us, Doctor Foster. Enjoy your nap?” A chiseled, younger man asked with a dark laugh. It looked to the doctor as if every weapon in existence decorated the man before her. Escape by force was not an option. What am I thinking? It was never an option. I can’t fight to save my life- literally. No other people stood in the room. I guess they already knew I posed no threat. “Up, up!” The man waved his hands upwards for emphasis. “Our patient is waiting. Clear the weapon. Hydra is waiting to give it the next target.” He said, lacking regard to the fact that he was speaking about a man, not a machine. The way the metal-armed man hunts down people around the world, Jane began to think perhaps, the leader was correct. “Hurry now, don’t make the big boss wait.” Without another word, a large, heavy door slammed behind her. The echo of a lock sounding followed.

So, there she stood, bloodied and bruised in an underground bunker with a mass murderer staring into her soul. “I really hate Tuesday’s.”

[docjanefoster]

gossip.

“A woman in trauma? No one has even considered a thing.” A nurse said, decked out entirely of pink, proud of her position in the hospital. If a doctor were a female, she automatically fell under the categories of either Pediatrics, Genitourinary medicine, Gynecology, or the many maternity departments. All easy, womanly fields of medicine. All places Jane was sure to avoid as much as possible. Pink’s and purple’s never were her colors. Plus, she would be the only one wearing a set without obvious wrinkles from ever so classy wrestling in the supply closets.

“Please, she won’t last a day. I heard the bitch even turned down Doctor Walker’s advances.” Another nasal, high pitched voice chimed in as the members of the clique ate their lunches. “She must be loony, Sherry!” The other nurse added in shock, hands up in the air for emphasis. Doctor Walker was the man for any woman with a preference for dark chocolate and a mighty ego. He was a neuro surgeon, who could blame him? Only the ladies who did not think with their libido could tell he possessed enough brain cells to count on one hand. His preference included thinking with the other head. Falling head over heels for the dick with legs certainly did not settle on her list of priorities. Jane preferred tending to her work over sleeping her way through the ranks to achieve popularity and it clearly was not on her friend’s, either.

Groaning rumbled from the body across the table. “They’re seriously right there, Janie. Acting like we /can’t hear them/.” Leon commented, raising his voice ever so slightly to troll with the gossiping nurses. The bottle blonde staff had nothing on the duo’s success as true doctors in the facility. Jane was a highly skilled trauma surgeon while he was one of the day shift anesthetists. Unfortunately, his sexuality sparked seclusion by the majority of the staff, leaving the man to himself and to his work. On the other hand, one could say Jane’s lack of sexual preferences hindered her opportunities to socialize. So, naturally the outcasts took company in one another with each acting as the other’s anchor from ripping all their coworkers a new one like they deserved.

Shrugging her shoulders, Jane slumped back into her chair. “I don’t know where they find all that time to day dream and to suck dick. Honestly, I barely have enough to my day to do anything other than work, eat, and sometimes sleep.” The doctor commented as venom dripped slowly and calculated from every word. Was popularity truly worth all the work and the hype? Surely the blondes grew tired of sleeping around, fixing their scrubs, refusing to allow their eyes to blink from staring at men, and putting down others who did nothing to them. How could someone yearn to fill their daily schedule with such vile and rude actions? They were selfish, that’s how.

Leon leaned ever so closer to his partner in crime. “I heard Whitney over there,” A single thumb gestured to their left at the raven haired psychiatric PA as he spoke. “skipped her shift the other day to go off pining for the attention of attendings. Let’s just say her efforts amounted to nothing when Chief found out. Not a single man tried saving her from the repercussions. Apparently, she even played it off that she was a nurse to Wyatt, one of the new interns.” The man slowly shook his head as a smirk pulled at the corners of his lips. “Of course, the kid fell for it, ya know? New bodies to keep the cycle going in this hell hole.”

Her coworker’s complaints were not alone as Jane shared his opinions with every once of her soul. The environment mirrored times in high school as if the staff never grew up and wished to relive the glory days, or the workers wanted to create their own glory days they were robbed of in their teen years. In this society, people are known to stay with their groups they’ve had since the beginning of the hospital. The building was fairly new compared to other medical facilities in town, but the cliques and rivalries ran old and ran strong. Snagging a position in NYB Medical Center was an event along the lines of a miracle. Its staff rarely branches out unless a current worker can vouch for the newbie. Everyone flowed in directly from Columbia University, leaving little to no room for a variety.

One would believe once they got the job, the hard work was over, wrong. If a newly hired employee was not a legacy, there were two options: sleep your way to the top or continue to waste away at the bottom. Humans are social creatures who naturally crave the attention and the feeling of belonging. Greedy, vile people walked the halls in wait of a crack in the structure to slither in for the kill. Some people did not care to be snakes in the grass and simply let everyone know of their intentions. A tactic of bluntness to scare off any weak threats. Only the people lacking fucks to give survive the shit talking and the harassment. When someone new comes into the perfect little world they control, the threat must be eliminated immediately.

Jane’s appearance at NYP Medical Center rather than another New York hospital was solely caused by the high recommendation from Columbia’s dean. NYP could not turn down her application even if it wanted, so there she sat on the side lines dodging any and all bullshit. Not much time had passed before the staff quickly realized its new trauma doctor was in no way interested in sleeping with the superiors. This choice brought hell and fury down upon her. Fortunately, Jane had completed her internship and her residency in another facility, or she would have gone completely crazy from initial advancements and expectations. Of all the men, one approached her rather than believing she should do the hard work and inflate the other’s ego even more than it already stood.

His name was Brian Greggory, the hospital’s largest investor, and Jane had received pure hatred for turning him down. Luckily, the man still decided to contribute to the facility’s finances. Who would not when women practically fell on their faces for the guy? He believed only a fool would turn the chance down and a bigger fool to turn him down. His ever inflated ego had taken a hit, for sure, but he still wandered the halls from time to time, filling open legs and glaring at Jane’s closed ones. The woman did not believe in sinking so low and she would continue to stand firm against the burning despise.

Fortunately, Jane’s stance was not a lonely position. Over the weeks, she had befriended the shy, quiet souls floating around the halls and living their lives under the radar. Dottie worked among the shelves of medication in the pharmacy downstairs, a level above the morgue. A soft featured and soft spoken woman who was not even given the time of day after she had been harassed into sleeping with Brian. Apparently, one time was enough for him because his actions blurred the lines of rape. Rather than fucking the poor woman further, he threatened to fire her if she said anything to her superiors about the incident.

After Jane heard word of this, she made it her mission to befriend the woman. To be violated and to be harassed even further, Jane presented herself ready to take on anyone who called Dottie a slut, a whore, or anything of the nature. Men were not used to Foster’s no bullshit attitude and it completely threw them for a loop. In response to their wounded egos, titles were thrown out left and right, anything to place Jane in the bad eye of the public. Sadly, for them, she did not give a damn what everyone thought of her. She was a doctor in a hospital, not a child in a playpen. It is an environment for adults to work and to fulfill their purpose, not a place for immature kids to call each other names. Jane is an educated woman and that fact scared her male superiors. The thought nauseated the men employees, a female reaching their level? Skills in which she could quite easily surpass them? How ridiculous and how threatening.

That’s reality.

Glancing across the cafeteria, Jane’s nonchalant look turned to one of disgust. How low will people fall for the approval of others? Obviously too far. Before Jane could reply, a thunderous boom echoed throughout the room. Her head shot to the ceiling in an effort to figure out what the hell happened. Sneakers squeaked across the white, pristine tile floor, and a familiar, rushed voice followed as the owner reached Jane’s table. “Doctor Foster, you’re needed in the emergency room. It seems as if Timothy escaped his restraints again! Please hurry, the staff’s in pretty bad shape. Security is scouring the facility for him somewhere in the air ducts.”

Amy Addison, head nurse of the ER, gave Jane no time, instead taking off from the direction she came from. Sending Leon an apologetic look for cutting their precious lunchtime short, Jane’s head shot over to glare at Whitney. “Way to go. Maybe you should try keeping your patients in hand, hm?” The trauma doctor left without giving the other woman a chance to snap back. This is what Jane lived for, the rush and the ability to help, not the drama. Leon’s gossip and glares of shallow ladies would have to wait. She had work to do.

[docjanefoster]

underground clinic.

“I know what you’re going to say next, so spare me.” Deon, a young African American man, pleaded with a heavy sigh as he sat hunched over on the examination table. Two years ago, he had ended up in the clinic for the first time. After that, he’d become one of Jane’s most frequent patients. The Crip whistler constantly placed himself in danger for the gang, and in doing so, fell victim to crossfire. Life was hard, but Jane knew that. A nimble hand slowly pulled a single thread in and out of the boy’s newest knife wound that added to the collection. Her sad blue eyes matched his gaze before turning her attention back to the task at hand. Compared to Jane’s past, the two had quite a large amount of similarities. The doctor ended up working in New York’s underground world as she was working on her internship at New York-Presbyterian, stealing and selling the pharmacy’s stock.

Fentanyl, also known as China Doll, was the street’s newest obsession and where there is a demand, a supplier will flourish. Its chemical composition being fifty times more potent than heroin and one hundred times more potent than morphine, two milligrams of the drug are fatal to the human body. Most productions are laced with heroin or cocaine without the buyer’s knowledge, giving abusers an even higher risk of death and causing more fatalities than ever before. A kilogram of fentanyl sells for nearly 1.3 million American dollars. To compare, a kilogram of heroin only brings in roughly 270,000 dollars.

Unfortunately for the doctor, if anyone outside the underground world knew about her hobby, one would immediately assume her actions were for selfish reasons. When her father lost his job, Jane’s family had fallen dangerously close to the line of bankruptcy. What sort of income could Jane bring in when all she did was contribute to her ever growing student debt? An accidental turn and a broken camera were her answers. Although her actions were a sacrifice to the family, she cannot say everything she did was selfless. Portions of money had been set aside for her increasing debt and for personal use. A new car found its way into the lot for her apartment complex and a new wardrobe filled her closet.

“It is part of my purpose. Every time you visit my clinic, you will be a victim to the lecture.” Jane stated, her tone a dangerous mixture of comfort and coldness that leaves people bewildered as to how she accomplishes it. “You’re a good kid, Deon, and it hurts my heart to see the darkness snag another genuine soul from New York’s streets.” She pulled ever so roughly on the next stitch, trying to prove her point. There was no reason to ask if he had gone back to school, because she knew the boy was forced to skip for the gang.

Before the doctor could finish the patch job, Deon ripped from where she had him sitting. All of a sudden, he felt the familiar pressure of his relatives’ disapproval on his shoulders as she began shaming him. Who knew where his father was, and his mother was off sleeping with every man in town, only adding to his large family of nine. Deon was the third child behind Thea, a radiology technician, and Hakeem, a deadbeat drunk. His eldest sister brought in the majority of the income. The remaining portion consisted of the small amount of money from a part time job his younger sister, Rhonda, worked after school. Money was tight and family relations were tighter. It was his cousin who introduced him to the Crip life.

“Don’t look at me like that! Like my ‘ma and my siblin’s do. The only people who accept my decisions in this fucked up world are my brotha’s in blue.” The boy’s fist slammed down dangerously close to her, causing the metal cart of supplies to viciously shake and to topple over. Luckily, Jane’s right hand swiped a scalpel before the inevitable crash. Metal clanging against the tile floor echoed throughout the empty clinic. No one had been by in hours since the daytime shift had ended. Jane, the owner, stayed after with the doors open to people of the underground: gangsters, dealers, druggies, assassins. Hence the appearance of Deon in her waiting room earlier than night. “You act all high and mighty with your scrubs on, but what do you know about the street life, huh!” His voice raised to the point of blatantly yelling at the woman.

After his exclamation, the boy realized what exactly he had said to Jane. Everyone underground knew about what she did back in the day as a dealer, the places, the people, and the choices. The woman was a preserver of life by her occupation and by her overall morals, but horror stories loomed in the darkness of her actions. Skill-wise, Foster was not all too advanced beyond a government agent, but it was enough to survive with the right allies. One time, a deal had gone wrong and Jane was left weaponless. A high heel did the job perfectly to end the first person Jane had ever killed.

Deon’s jaw dropped in awe at the pair of balls he had magically grown. Wherever they came from, he only wished they would scamper back. Before he could apologize, a familiar grumbling shook the clinic walls ever so slightly, alerting Jane of the arrival of an old friend. Never in a million years would she ever forget the sound of John’s Mustang, neither would her current patient. Deon did not bother to help Jane from the floor before he dashed out the establishment’s back door. Only a fool would have stayed behind and risked a chance interaction with the Baba Yaga. How Jane ever befriended the hit man bewildered the entire population of New York’s underworld, the killer and the healer.

Slowly lifting her figure from the cold floor, Jane shakily set aside the scalpel, knowing Deon would not return for the remainder of the night. He truly was a good kid, but Jane could not trust any unfamiliar souls no matter the light peaking through them. Brushing imaginary dirt from her scrubs, the doctor decided on leaving the cart to be cleaned up later. First, she would visit with her old friend, John Wick.

[docjanefoster]

the oath

Slow. The only term Jane could conjure up to describe her Tuesday afternoon, emergency room shift. Medical professionals were spread thin after the Battle of New York, leaving her to take odd shifts at neighboring hospitals. Many doctors and nurses had raced out to help people dying in the streets. If only they had not gotten caught in the crossfire. The toll of that tragic day was extremely high, consisting of countless men, women, and children. No, those are too broad for an effect. Bakers, doctors, waiters, nannies, grandmothers, best friends, and teachers- all dead. A turmoil of emotions brewed within the city of New York causing a stand still aura of grief to flood its streets. Anger, hurt, loss- everyone felt them, and everyone helped one another. It was the first example of neighborly behavior the woman had seen in quite some time.

A sigh escaped Jane’s rosy lips as she made rounds for what felt like the umpteenth time that day. Placing her stack of charts on the receptionist’s desk, she asked, “Is it normally this slow?”

The receptionist, Rachel, smirked ever so lightly. Turning her attention from the computer to the doctor, she replied, “Not used to sitting around are you, Doctor Foster?” Motioning to the span of the emergency room, she continued, “We’re a much smaller hospital than what you’re used to. Not much traffic flows through here during the week. Our patients flood in on the weekends when terrible decisions are made.”

Jane shook her head and chuckled. “Damn, seems I just missed the excitement.” She was a highly experienced trauma surgeon and twiddling her thumbs with nothing to do drove her to the point of madness. Working in the center of New York brought new cases, excitement, and a purpose. The woman chose the path of medicine early on in her life. Ever since her mother had passed away, Jane wanted to prevent others from feeling the same heartbreak she did if she could help it. Being a doctor placed her in a role dedicated solely to putting her mind and body to a better use, to helping people.

The voice of a reporter on the five o’clock news echoed throughout the emergency room, pulling in the eyes and ears of the entire staff. “Attention, we have just received news of a series of pipe bombs set off along the coastal region of Manhattan. Gunfire was reported as well. A progressive count of over fifty casualties has been sent in. Fire, medical, and police officials are scrambling to contain the damage. No suspect has been obtained yet. Please stay tuned for updated information and call the number below for body identification and victim status.” Horror fell on their faces as their hearts sunk and the news set in. Someone had attacked America on its own terf. Not much time was spared to think before the hospital’s employees began to scramble and to holler out orders.

“Gloves and masks on, ladies and gentlemen! I need gurneys on stand by and all scheduled surgeries pushed back. We may not have many, but we’ll work with the three operating rooms.” Jane yelled over the staff as its members swiftly prepared for the worst. Tossing out colored Sharpies to all who passed her, she continued, “Black marks the deceased, blue require surgical methods immediately, and orange for those with minor injuries. If push comes to shove, under no circumstances can you perform surgery outside of those three OR’s, stabilize and be on standby.” Her orders were interrupted by the familiar screech of sirens. “Game time.” Rushing to the ambulance loading area, Jane stopped in her tracks. What she thought would have been three ambulances was in reality one plus a squadron of police cars surrounding it. EMT’s scrambled to get their patient out of the vehicle while the police, armed and dangerous, filed out of their cars and tinted SUV’s. Who Jane presumed to be the head of the officers approached her. “This hospital is now under lockdown.” The man ordered.

A single brow arched in defiance and confusion on the young woman’s face. “Excuse me?” His gaze fell from beyond her to on the woman. “"Doctor, it's now your priority to keep him alive." The officer replied harshly with little room to argue.

It was a good thing Jane could find those tight loop holes. Looking down at the bloody man on a gurney, she spat back at him. "It's always my priority- officer." Placing a hand to lead the bed and fellow medical professionals to the OR, her eyes fell to the contraption below her steady fingers. "Why is he cuffed?"

If looks could kill. "The situation is way above your pay grade. Quit talking and make sure he doesn't die.” A strong, rough hand gripped her own and ripped it away from the restraint. “Just shut up and do your job, doctor.”

Swiftly turning away, Jane and the other doctors lead the patient to one of the operating rooms. Sharp eyes began assessing the damage to the man’s body. “I see one gunshot wound to the lower abdomen and two to the right shoulder.” Pressing a gloved hand against the man’s damaged flesh, Jane sighed. “Shotgun, whoever shot got you good, buddy.” She stated while turning to the nurse on her right. “Shrapnel first.”

Twenty minutes passed before a rushed voice yelled over the intercom. “Doctor Foster! There’s something you need to know about that man.” It was Rachel’s voice. She sounded not only quick with her words, but scared. “H-he is th-the one-.” The receptionist stammered.

An audible growl rumbled from her chest. Jane was working and needed to focus. The last thing she needed in that moment was the hospital’s receptionist with unauthorized access wasting the doctor’s time over the speakers. “Spit it out already.”

Word vomit followed, “That’s the terrorist! The police have evacuated the building but I-.” A scream screeched over the intercom along with a struggle.

Jane could not believe this. Everything began to click; why no other victims were sent there and why the facility was evacuated. This hospital was a decent distance from the inner city, away from eyes and ears. The news stated a suspect had not be reprimanded, yet there he lied. Police wanted the identity of the terrorist to go public. An unwarranted interrogation session was to follow his stabilization. These cops were dirty, and the doctor did not like it.

The woman’s gaze fell to the blood covered gloves on her hands. For the first time in her life, Jane’s fingers began to shake. From fear or from anger, she would never know. Perhaps a mixture of both fueled the abnormal and uncontrollable reflex. Before her was a man smart enough to plan an attack on her homeland. He had killed so many people with one simple execution and if he were to live, how many others would die by his hand? Jane would never forget the flashing moment in which her gaze shifted to the scalpel next to her. All it would take is one swipe to end it, to put a stop to his terror. She could take his life and spare so many others. That power was in her possession and oh, how she wanted to use it, but making a choice like that was wrong. Being judge, jury, and executioner could not be given to just one person.

So, there she stood in the middle of the operating room, silently glaring at the body on the table. Jane had taken an oath to save lives and she was going to do just that. The police better be correct. Turning to the anesthetist on call, the woman ordered, “No more anesthetic. He’s going to feel every rip and stitch. Mercy compared to the pain he ripped throughout our home.”

[docjanefoster]

where were you when the world ended? [ part ii. ]

A  month, 31 days, 730 hours, was how long Jane sat alone in her apartment  sulking in wrinkled clothing, covering everything in tear stains, and hanging  on by a thread. Near a thousand times Jane glanced behind her, expecting her  obnoxiously dramatic roommate to announce his adventures of the day. Thoughts  such as that always led her to glance at an intricate dagger lodged in the  painting above her television, which always sparked more fits of sobbing. The memory was clear as day, Loki had been sulking in the corner of Jane’s  kitchen when she burst through the front door. He had to remind her to  breathe regularly due to her uncontrollable seething racking her breath. The  god of Mischief had no idea what to do if she fainted on his watch. Swiftly  snatching a bottle of wine from her rack and two glasses, Loki made his way  across the room to take a seat by the doctor. “Tell me about it.” He said,  proceeded to pour their drinks and offer one to his roomie.

The  god had not really been given an invitation to move into Jane’ s apartment in  New York, but how does one deny company in loneliness and some financial  support? After Darcy moved out, Jane was left to pay expensive bills on her  own, and although she was a medical professional, housing in the city was  astronomically high. So, she went along with his presence, eventually  welcoming it with open arms; although, his dramatic acts were totally over  the top, his ridiculous dress code days of Gucci, Louis, Fendi, Prada, and  Chanel- respectively-, and his customs were odd, Loki proved to be her best  friend and her highest confidant.

“I  can’t believe the hospital was rejected for additional funding. Our patient  intake overpowered our capacity limit and I don’t get why the state doesn’t  see that we need more of well, everything! We don’t have enough technology,  and what we do have is outdated. The building is completely understaffed  because budget cuts were necessary, so they dropped the nurses. We had to  deny SO MANY sick people care because we couldn’t afford to take in people  without a certain financial immunity provided by their insurance companies.”  Not a moment after Jane’s fingers touched the cup, her dominant arm chunked  it at the wall.

His  hand reached out to her with an offering. “Here, this helps more.” In the  man’s hand was a gold accented dagger carved from jade. Jane was going to  regret her next action in fear she would damage the lovely piece of weaponry,  but her frustration outweighed her guilt in that moment of time. With a  calculated swing backwards, the tiny doctor threw the dagger into a painting  of Asgard’s sunset above the television.

A  sigh fell from both their mouths as the duo sat back admiring her damage.  Loki gently placed a comforting arm around her, only for her head to slump on  this shoulder as they observed her handy work in amusement. “The knife  stays.” She stated with determination.

The  god of Mischief gave a hearty laugh at the perfect mess of human that was  Jane Foster. “Of course. Only the best décor for you, bitch.”

Her  light brown locks bounced against her shoulders as Jane chuckled and reached  to take a sip from his glass. “Thank you for everything, bitch.” Not a word left the woman's mouth since the tragic day in Wakanda. Many  teammates had said they were there for her if she ever needed anything, but  the doctor knew better. Everyone was hurting, and Jane would never make  herself a nuisance. Who could she bother? Thor? He was grieving just as much  as she was. Nat? Steve? They were busy trying to come up with a plan as a  cover to their pain. Shuri? The girl was hurting with the rest of her kingdom  over their lost king. No way Jane was going to get in between those and their  personal lives. She could make it on her own without the crutch and weakness  of confiding in others. One phone call changed her mind. Darcy had believed Jane to be dead after the  catastrophe. Honestly, she had no idea what happened to her or what her phone  call would open in Jane's mind and heart. In that moment, Jane released all  her hurt, pain, anger, and loss to her best friend. One of her only remaining  friends.

Ugly  sobs shook Jane’s body as word vomit shot from her mouth over the telephone.  The image was pitiful. She sat in yesterday’s clothing, on her wooden floor,  in her kitchen as tears streamed down her puffy cheeks and swollen lips.  After a few minutes of pure gibberish, Darcy exclaimed, “Alright, enough!  Jane, you’re alive! Don’t cry, honey. It’s all okay.”

Louder  cries erupted from her chest in response to Darcy’s comment. A moment of  silence passed, giving her the chance to speak to her old friend, “D-Darcy.  Nothing is okay…I lost him.” Jane could practically feel the confused look on Darcy’s face through the  device. “Lost who, Jane? What’s going on?” She asked, the guess that Loki had   been turned to dust came to mind.

“I  lost him. I lost everyone!” The doctor yelled, words echoing throughout the  empty apartment. Her crooked position against the cabinets looking ever so  uncomfortable to a viewer, Jane muddled in grief. Two weeks had passed before  Thor mentioned Loki’s death to the doctor due to fear for her mental state.  The woman had just lost her film buddy, her lover, her jogging partner, and  so many more. The god of thunder was afraid hearing the loss of her best  friend would push her over the edge, but the doctor deserved the right to  know what happened in space.

It  was as if the day knew what terrible news was impending when Thor showed up  soaking wet from the never-ending rain showers. After all, nature reflects  life’s events. Waiting once he knocked three separate times, he finally  forced the deadbolt backwards and let himself into the apartment. His stern,  cold expression fell into complete and utter sadness as the sight of his once  lover. There sat Jane Amelia Foster among what looked to be nearly forty  empty bottles for liquor. What once were bouncy, soft brown locks were  tangled and sticking out at every angle. All signs of life were void from her  usual vibrant eyes and the unstoppable fire in her was extinguished. Thor  shook his head as he stepped to tell her the news, to break her heart for the  second time. “Jane,” His gaze fell to the floor. “he’s dead.”

One  did not need to be a rocket scientist to figure out who exactly the god was  referring to. It was a swift test of his reflexes as the woman fell into his  arms, her pain too great to even hold herself up. So, Thor stood frozen as his  former partner sobbed in his own weakened arms. The duo had experienced  grieving for Loki before Jane picked up on his trend for returning, but this  was the last time. The god of mischief was never coming back for a ‘Ha,  gotcha!’, a ‘Good gods, Jane. Are you really going out in that?’,  or a ‘Honestly, can I just paint the walls since you won’t? This yellow is a  drab’.

Her  closest companion had died by the hand of Thanos like the others, but this  instance was different and much more personal. The tyrant did not have all  the stones yet, and Loki’s death was merciless and excruciating unlike the  fate of those who disappeared at the snap of a finger. Thanos watched the life  leave the god’s body rather than allow it to turn to dust. Loki frequently  commented on Jane’s intelligence, calling her mind just as superior as his  and her heart as warm as his mother’s heart once was.

Once  upon a time, the doctor snooped in his belongings, what little there were in  her home, and found a diary bookmarked to a page of heart wrenching poetry.  Jane had recited the works and had asked Thor about his brother’s hobby. He  simply replied Loki was writing it to immortalize the story of Midgard’s greatest  healer. It was a praise of respect in honor of her to be spread across the  realms when she passed away. In her drunken state since the catastrophe, Jane  had not formed the guts to read the works of literary art in her guest  bedroom as she mentally waited on the edge of her seat for any news of his  whereabouts. “So, have you read it yet?” A terrible impression of a valley girl accent  questioned. Sadie had no idea the doctor formed such a strong bond with one  of earth’s previous enemies, and she wanted all the juicy  details. Lover of Thor and possibly of his brother? Lovely to her ears. How incorrect her assumption was of the doctor’s relationship with the god of  mischief. Lovers was a title never written in their fates, but an unbreakable  friendship was carved into it. He was a go to for advice, a venting session,  and a shoulder to cry on. Losing Loki was the final string left on her heart  and patience with people. Turning to face the reporter, Jane replied, “Of  course I have.” The woman’s defeated gaze fell to the hands in her lap. A  thousand-mile stare became a usual expression to the once constant joyful  smiles that used to grace it. “Within each life we’re born alone Until we find the a place to call home.

Lost  within a world asunder A single being found full of wonder.

Her  heart hammers like the stars Her life like none of ours.

To  keep her may be witless But alas I’ll try even if the end is vicious.” Her voice was monotonous and void of all life. Jane had read over that  particular piece hundreds of times, the rhymes burned into eyes and mind.  Reciting the dead man’s masterpiece proved no difficulty to the doctor.

Silence  created tension and tension created awkwardness as Jane returned from zoning  out. The studio audience watched her every movement with pity, and the  interviewer leaned forward to cut the strain with a question, “A lovely  story, Doctor Foster, but I believe we’re all here to find out about  Wakanda.”

A  dangerous concoction of fear from reliving the events, anger towards the populace,  and self-deprecation for her state of being before the public fused in her  glare and her readiness to knock Sadie out cold. Venom dripped acidly from   each word when she replied, “Oh, my bad. Sorry to  waste your time, Sadie…” Jane paused as her façade lessened  ever so slightly. “Right, Wakanda…”

And  so the doctor began her telling the tale of her time in Africa… | to be continued |

[docjanefoster]

where were you when the world ended? [ part i. ]

 “Where were you when  the world ended?”

Camera  flashes blinded the doctor as she sat in the studio’s overly bright orange  and terribly uncomfortable chair. The time was three months after Thanos’  attack on the universe, and Earth soaked in shock along with all other  grieving realms and worlds in existence. No longer were they far and  segregated from each other, separated by light years, pain connected every  remaining soul to the remaining lives. Until the end of time, every living  creature would mourn and would never be gifted with closure.

So,  rather than performing her daily routine for the past three months-crying  alone in her apartment and cursing fate-there sat Doctor Jane Amelia Foster,  at the hand of reporters and photographers. Whether the emotion coursing  through her veins and causing her heart to just barely shake her body with  each pump was nervousness or was anger, the woman would never know. Loved  ones were ripped from the universe right under her nose, like everyone else.  One would assume pesky news agents would understand the bandage torn from her  heart and the gaping, everlasting hole left behind.

If  only you all had died instead. What a waste on this planet. She thought  darkly before turning her attention to the show host beside her. A hideous  spray tan colored her skin orange and hairspray kept her big blonde curls  intact. Even the doctor could not hide the disgust when looking at Sadie  Williams. Why did I ever agree to this? Her compliance came  as a response to the news casting business bugging her with numerous calls a  day, anything to get an interview with someone connected to the world’s  failures. Finally, the former medic gave into the pressure and arrived at the  office.

Pearly  white teeth nearly blinded Jane as the woman began to speak, “So, we all know  you were close to the Avengers, and we all have so many questions to ask you,  but perhaps you could answer this particular one. Our heroes,” Sadie created  air quotes as she spoke about the misfits in the eye of the world before  continuing, “were off fighting Thanos.” A single sculpted brow arched. “But,  where were you when you found out, Doctor? I mean, I was sipping my morning  coffee. My husband and I watched the early cast deliver the news.”    Did I ask you? You act like I care about where you were. Jane’s  fists clinched at the rests her arms lied upon, her heartbeat increasing to a  thud in her ears. “Probably taking blood pressures and dispensing cough  syrup, right?” A dark chuckle fell from her lips. “I mean, that is what you  all think I do. Work at a measly clinic and play buddy-buddy with super  heroes.” She said to the camera before turning directly towards the  interviewer. Right off, Sadie had gotten under Jane’s skin, just like she had  hoped. Ever the cool and collected in the heat of the moment woman she was,  the doctor was aware of this, but no longer gave a damn. If the crew, the  world, wanted answers, Jane was there to dish it all out and to shove it all  in the woman’s face. “At least you were able sit with your man and hear about  it all. I was there.”

Gasps  echoed among the in-studio viewers. A perfectly manicured hand rose to rest  above the owner’s heart. Sadie gawked at the woman, a mix of surprise and  horror flickered in her eyes. Jane’s presence in Wakanda resulted from the  effects of the conflict between Tony and Steve, and only a select few knew  this information. Hearing this news shocked the populace, throwing away their  painfully boring assumptions of Jane Foster’s life and opening its eyes to a  portion of the reality behind the scenes of the galactic warfare. Yes, normal  humans were affected in the aftermath, but yes, they had also played a role  in trying to prevent the incident from ever occurring. To see before their  own eyes, an average person as a survivor of the hell in Wakanda that had  been revealed on the day the world stopped turning, was surreal. Men looked  to her with respect and a sliver of fear, while mothers’ hearts ached at the  thought of one of their own children being in Jane’s spot.

Sadie’s  blonde curls bounced back and forth as she shook her head in denial. “Oh,  no. Sweetie, why on Earth were you in the middle of that war zone?  What were you thinking running out there to play with the big kids like  that?” Reaching towards the doctor, she lightly rubbed her arm in comfort.  “You should not have been our there. What happened?” She quickly spat out the  last part.

So,  that’s what you’re looking for- insight to Wakanda. Oh, I’ll give you  details. The  brunette scowled at the nosy woman before her, ready to spill her entire  story for the first time. Not even Darcy had heard the amount of information  Jane was about to release. THUD. A bruised fist slammed down onto the table  between them. The fire in Jane’s eyes could burn the entire planet and put  the fear of God into a man’s eyes. A single finger pointed at herself as she  exclaimed, “The last time I checked, I was one of those big kids.  I was out in a war zone risking my life for all of yours!” Ramming back  against her chair, Jane crossed a leg over the other and her arms over her  chest. “I hope that camera is rolling, because you’re not getting this out of  me again, bitch. You want a story, hell, I’m about to give you the  one of your life.”    | to be continued. |

[docjanefoster]

Environmental Analysis

In the beginning, Jane constantly questioned her decision to buy such a large apartment. Hosting was never her forte simply due to lacking consistent friendships. Little did she know that her apartment would soon become the haven to broken souls.

Character Mentions: Natasha Romanoff, Casey Jones, Clint Barton, Thor, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Dinah Lance, Bruce Banner, Tony Stark, Stephen Strange, Darcy Lewis, Kate Bishop  `*` Okay, so this information was brought to by a technique I refer to as "word vomit" or the "follow method". How it works is that I grab hold to a concept and simply write without self judgement about the topic. This information has not been edited or grammatically corrected. It is raw writing that I've decided to share because it gives a better understanding of both how I write and the character's environment. I hope you enjoy this and don't cringe too much! `*`

I.                Living Area

A.    Sofa: in the shape of an ‘L’. Long enough for a lot of people to occupy and a piece just big enough to curl up on for naps. A coffee table of course matching it. One she never stops reminding Clint to get his feet off.

B.    A record player: siting in the corner. Jane loves letting music take over her soul in times of stress. Putting a record on and swaying to the tunes is a common cure to help wash away her issues, if only temporarily. Steve’s first visit was a tad bit awkward due to it being simply the two of them. It was before their tight friendship had formed, but the ice quickly melted with the recognition of certain vinyl pieces. Although the man has more than enough money, he refuses to buy one. This gives him the excuse to visit Jane and use hers. He once asked her “What’s the point in listening to it alone? This was an album solely for dancing with a partner, and this one is sad. No need for that with a friend around.”

C.    The recliner: frequently occupied by Thor. Being amazed with the ways of Midgard, Thor loved wandering and Jane had to keep up. Alas, a furniture store was visited and a chair ‘fit for the best’ was purchased.

D.    The library: containing all sorts of medical books. As a woman of science and of the healthcare field, she’s obtained numerous original copies and signed duplicates of books for her collection. Although few and far in between due to clashing schedules, she and Stephen enjoy intellectual conversations about the human mind and body. It is a nice breath of fresh air to the doctor to be able to speak “nerd” as Dinah calls it.

II.              Kitchen

E.     On the island: a vase that always has flowers in it, the day’s mail

F.     On the rear counter: cookie jar for the homemade type and for Oreo’s, containers for sugar and flour. Jane has always enjoyed cooking, but baking is her specialty. Office Christmas parties are always a hit with her food on the treats table., a Keurig because she a full blown coffee addict

G.    On the wall: shelves - cookbooks, various spice plants (lavender, basil, mint, thyme, etc.) ; other- dog calendar, analog clock

H.    On top of the fridge: absolutely nothing because she’s a shorty who can’t reach anything that high.

I.      On the floor: a Rumba from a gold elephant exchange one year, stove mat that provides comfort and stability for long periods of cooking.

III.            Dining Area

A.    Breakfast table: because no way is there enough room to fit an entire dining set in that little space. If she is hosting more than three visitors, people sit at the island, on the staircase, or on the living room furniture. Sometimes guests even sit on the floor, which makes Jane feel terrible, but they always reassure her.  - Typical seating arrangement:  table, a calmer environment- Jane, Steve, Bucky, and Dinah;  staircase, more chaotic due to Darcy prodding at the wonders of Doctor Strange- Casey, Stephen, and Darcy;  living area, full of hearty laughs and old stories- Thor in the recliner, Tony and Bruce on the couch;  island, a place of bets and of jokes- Clint, Natasha, and Kate The breakfast table is her favorite place in the house, even surpassing her personal office.

IV.            Staircase

A.    Details: spiral, beautifully refurbished from the fire house the apartment once was

V.              Bathroom

A.    Shower or Tub? Combined, bubble baths and bath bombs are the best after a long day in the operating room

B.    Counter usage? Minimal makeup due to not having a need for it on a daily basis.

C.    Details: lots of natural lighting like the rest of the apartment

VI.            Bedroom

A.    Bed: king size, sold to her by the last tenants. Getting swallowed by the huge fluffy blankets is satisfying to the woman.

B.    Dresser space: a small bottle of perfume, candles (one of her favorite gifts to receive), a coffee mug with a science pun on it, pictures

C.    Walls: large, horizontal mirror, another bookshelf that is smaller for her most prized pieces of her collection

D.    Memoirs: a vase that Thor brought her from Asgard, family pictures, a keychain from London when she was sent over to work with MI6’s medical division (little did she know that she’d be the one going undercover, but that’s a different story. Let’s just say, Q wasn’t happy when she broke his new prototype on ACCIDENT.), an I<3NY sweatshirt from Bucky (he spilled coffee on her blouse that day and there was no way he could let her walk around in a coffee stained white shirt that slowly became see-through); her first pair of fishnets from Dinah because “every wardrobe is incomplete without some.”

E.     TV: there isn’t one in the bedroom. In order to get the best night’s rest possible, she turns off all devices an hour before bed. To keep the temptation of “another episode” away, she simply does not have a TV in the same room.

F.     Closet: a walk-in closet that is unfortunately pretty barren. Jane doesn’t get out much, so there is no need for fancy attire. Scrubs are the daily and why would anyone not want to wear sweats on their days off?

VII.         Balcony

A.    Placement: fifth floor. Jane can’t stand overhead noise. It drives her insane and takes her back to her college days when the dorm was constantly loud and obnoxious.

B.    Usage: She enjoys gazing at the skyline when she’s unsure on something. Going out to the balcony is her automatic reaction to a situation involving making a big decision., every now and again she’ll be visited by Peter Parker swinging through. She’s not a stranger to giving the young boy advice and even dinner to-go.

VIII.       Personal Office

A.    Details: extremely organized. floor to ceiling windows for maximum escape into her work, giant periodic table poster on the wall, ANOTHER BOOKSHELF for work related files and whatnot, a small cot for taking care of injured patients (It’s not like her connections and just waltz into an ER. More than once has Steve stated he prefers Jane over the SHIELD doctors, but that’s when he gets over being stubborn and actually visits one for any injuries. The same case applies to Natasha. The red head could obviously take care of herself, though, but this gives the two women a chance to spend time together. How unfortunate the circumstances.)