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Chapter Text

Seven in the morning was an ungodly hour to expect a fourteen-year-old to pay attention to ninth-grade algebra. The bell had just rung and I was already sitting in the same spot I had been since January. I may be my father’s daughter, but Pepper Potts drilled punctuality into me like it was my life’s blood. And I’d grown up watching how stressed she would get every time Dad ran late for an event or press conference. Being Tony Stark’s personal assistant was hard enough, so I decided when I was still pretty young that being early was another way of being kind. It was the least I could do.

My classmates started to file into the room and take their seats. Despite it still being early in the morning, the New York City summer heat was well on its way. And it was only May. Being on the fourteenth floor of a really old building didn’t help either. But hey, I was not one to complain. I was just happy to be at school at all.

Kidding, of course. That was horseshit. It was mornings like these, when the humidity made it feel like I was underwater and I’d only gotten four hours of sleep because I had been studying for the history test I had next period, that I truly cursed my younger self for wanting to go to real school so badly. Being homeschooled made the most sense when I was younger. Dad was hardly ever in one city for longer than a month and he had crippling undiagnosed separation anxiety to me. So, I spent my childhood following him around the world. It was nice though. I had complete control over my education and my dad did a pretty good job of being involved, as much as a billionaire harlot with a small gambling addiction could. Naturally, Dad spent the most time on science stuff with me. He’d work in his lab on weapons, and then eventually the Iron Man suits, while I did spelling and math and science. It was nice, nearly perfect. As I got older, I think I began to realize my dad was definitely working overtime to be a better father than his was. And he was a really, really good dad. 

Homeschooling also meant that I had a lot more freedom and flexibility than the other kids my age. And where some kids do hard-core dance or varsity one sports, I would bother the Avengers over their intercom. So basically dance, if Tony Stark being a dance mom equated fighting by his daughter’s side to protect the people of New York…You get the gist. I was a registered agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. for a couple of years. It was never anything crazy, I just helped where I could. It started eight years ago, with Loki. Nick and his team knew virtually nothing about controlling the Tesseract and he thought me and my abilities would be helpful. They weren’t. So, Nick found other uses for me. 

The Battle of New York left me fairly shaken up and my parents were super against any active participation during missions. In between my schooling and singing lessons, I would help with the preparation: scouting locations, hacking enemy mainframes, anything that let me feel like I was truly a part of a team. I was always desperate to impress the adults in my life, to show them that I could be useful and worth something. That feeling sparked when I first met Nick Fury and it never truly went away. 

I liked being an agent. I liked being in on all the secrets, I liked helping people, and I loved working with the Avengers. Nat, Steve, Clint, Bruce, and Thor became family. Suddenly I wasn’t a lonesome only child whose only friend was her dad and his assistant. I was the guy in the chair, the one handing out coordinates and fallback plans. I had a purpose. 

Sokovia changed everything. I still had nightmares about what happened a year ago. I’d wake up in a sweat, feeling the phantom grip of metal fingers around my arm. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sounds of screaming people I couldn’t save because I froze up. They died because I wasn’t strong enough. Dad put his foot down after that. He told me that what I was doing wasn’t good for me and he’d be a terrible father if he let me continue. He was right, but I was still angry about it. 

Real school was our compromise. If I wasn’t allowed to go on missions anymore then I needed someplace else to have a social life. It was pretty good timing too because I had just wrapped up the eighth grade curriculum. It took a lot of convincing and three PowerPoint presentations to finally convince my dad that being a normal kid in a normal school would be beneficial for me. He got me into Dalton and the rest was history.

However, what wasn’t history was the test on that very subject that was surely going to kill me next period. I spent the remainder of my math period going through my flashcards and study notes. I wasn’t alone, nearly half of the class was in the same boat as me. And if they studied as much as I had, then we were all fried. 

…

Halfway through my history test, I knew I was screwed because all I could think about was lunch. Every factoid about Greek history was clouded with fantasies about turkey avocado sandwiches. There was a little French sandwich place just down the road from my school and it was my favourite. The owner was a true French man from a town just outside Paris and he let me practice my French with him. I spent at least two lunch periods a week being ruthlessly criticized by a middle-aged man, but that made it more authentic. I wasn’t super fluent, but I knew enough to hold a conversation, or at least get through a conversation with Emery. But French was not going to help me pass this history test and I was beginning to recall all my knowledge of Percy Jackson as a last resort. 

Forty-five minutes later, I gathered all my dignity and shame and walked my test up to the front of the room. I handed it off to my history teacher, who gave me a grim smile. My classmates seemed to be just as stone-faced as I was and I think we were all hopeful that our teacher would curve the grade. 

I rocked on the balls of my heels outside the classroom door, waiting for my two best friends to finish their tests. When I first started at Dalton, making friends was a challenge. Quite a few of the student body had been attending the school since kindergarten, so their relationships had been forged nearly a decade ago. I didn’t have an abhorrent amount of friends; I knew enough people to say hi when we passed in the halls or have someone to sit with in the cafeteria. I would have been content with just that, but I was fortunate enough to have made two wonderful best friends. 

Like many of the numerous friendship pacts, Brianna Sinclair and Meredith Camden had been best friends since their preschool days. We met briefly during freshman orientation, but it was first-semester theatre class when we really got close. Brianna and I were both huge theatre nerds and she was quick to sit at the desk next to mine. She was a redhead with the spirit to match the fiery hair. She loved performing and astrology, and she was definitely the epitome of an Aries. It wasn’t long before she introduced me to Meredith and we all became happy chums. 

Meredith Camden was perfect. She was the only freshman I knew who was already planning her senior year class presidency. And, she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and I don’t even like girls. Meredith was a true stunner, from her long, silky coils to her perfectly smooth dark complexion. She was kind as well. Even though I met Brianna first, Meredith was the one who really made me feel welcome at Dalton. At first, I was apprehensive about making a trio out of an already tight-knit pair, but Meredith always made sure I felt included. And soon enough we were as thick as thieves. 

Post-test stress had kicked in while I waited for the girls. I used my thumb to rub circles into the centre of my palm, switching back and forth between my hands. When I caught a glimpse of red, my back straightened. 

“How bad was that?” I asked.

Brianna swung her ponytail over her shoulders. “That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done,” she huffed.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Meredith chimed in softly. “Everything that was on there was in our notes.”

“I was up until like three in the morning studying and I still think I failed,” I said as we began to walk towards the stairs to our next period. 

“Well studies do show that quality of sleep greatly impacts test performance, maybe next time you should prioritize getting a good night’s rest and study more in the morning.” 

Brianna rolled her eyes playfully at Meredith’s info dump. 

I smiled at her. “I’ll give that a try.” 

We squeezed through the flood of students walking around us and I slunk back behind the girls to give us some more room.

“So what are we doing today? Shop along Park? I think Madison Beaucard is having people over. Oh, we could go to the flower market, I have been dying to get my hands on fresh tulips now that they’re in season.” Brianna’s hands were flying around as she talked. 

“Right now?” I asked.

“No, stupid,” Brianna teased.  “After school.”

“Be nice,” Meredith chimed in. Brianna shot a playful look at the other girl.

“We finally, finally finished the renovations on the indoor pool yesterday so you guys could come over to test it out!” Meredith offered. Her family had been chipping away at that project for as long as I’d known her for. 

Brianna tugged on Meredith’s arm excitedly. “Oh my gosh, yes! We are so doing that.” She turned around to face me, still hanging off of Meredith. “You in, Laur?” 

I smiled but heaved a high. “Sorry Bri, I wish I could, but my family is gonna want me home right after school.”

“Of course, how silly of me,” Brianna feigned an English accent. “It’s Wednesday.” 

“Are you sure your Dad wouldn’t miss you just for one week?” Meredith pouted. 

“I’m sorry dude, it’s out of my hands.”

“Ugh, your parents are no fun.” 

I smiled inwardly. “You know I’d be hanging out with you guys in a heartbeat if I could.” 

To Meredith and Brianna, Wednesdays meant I had “family time” immediately after school each week. If it were any other day I would have happily tagged along for shopping or swimming or whatever new activity Brianna found on Instagram was. But Wednesdays were always signed off. 

The truth was that I had training at the compound. Although my dad was firm about pulling my involvement with S.H.I.E.L.D., he allowed me to go Upstate once a week to do drills with Nat. Natasha Romanoff had been training me in hand-to-hand combat since I was seven or eight. She said it was important that I knew how to protect myself. At first, it was just for fun, but with how defenceless I’d felt in the last few years,  I started to get more serious about it. 

There was also the small matter of superhuman powers that I had very little control over. They showed up when I was seven, pretty soon after my father was kidnapped and held hostage overseas. They say it was the trauma and intense emotionality that triggered my powers being awoken. But my knowledge of the powers ended there. My father absolutely refused to let Nick Fury or his team study me or study the things I could do. Which, if I was honest, was a good call on his part, but it did leave me living with a lot of questions. From what we could tell, it was some sort of gravitational and elemental manipulation; the product of experiments my birth mother ran on me as an infant. I tried not to think about that too much, though. I just knew that when I feel things too hard, the powers can get out of control. It was pretty scary, and really confusing as a kid. But thankfully the Avengers found an expert.

Wanda Maximoff has been a great help in the last few months. Training with Nat became also training with Wanda after Ultron and the destruction of Sokovia. Her powers are very different from mine, but she approached me after she moved into the compound to see if I wanted her help. I remember I had woken up in the middle of the night to my bedroom at the compound looking like a storm had passed through. I must have been having another nightmare and set myself off in my sleep. After I did my best to put the room back in order through tears, I found myself on the roof of the compound, looking out at the stars. Wanda found me sitting out there. Turned out she was having similar dreams. She asked me about my powers, I asked her about hers and soon enough she was offering skills and advice and suggesting I start honing in on training. It had been about a year since then and my control had gotten a lot better. But of course, this was all a humongous secret I was keeping from my friends. One secret wasn’t too bad though. 

“I was thinking we haven’t done our monthly movie marathon sleepover this month,” Meredith pointed out as we took our seats. The three of us had history and English class together this semester. “Laurie, is your place free?”

And there was the other shoe. Secret superhero shenanigans weren’t the only thing I kept from Meredith and Brianna. I was also under strict orders to pretend that I didn’t exist. Or rather, pretend that Laurie Stark didn’t exist. 

I was a baby when my birth mother lost custody of me, so my dad is all I’ve ever known. He tried to keep the details of her abandonment from me, but I inherited his bitter stubbornness and found file and file when I was ten. I was bored and grounded, and had just learned the freedom that came with knowing how to code. I suppose I also learned the consequences of my curiosity that day as well. 

Dad never changed my last name when I came into his care. He told me it was for my safety, and so that I could live a life without being tied to a prepaid legacy. I understood, I guess, but it just meant there were even more secrets to keep. I was enrolled in school as Laurel Hansen, my birth mother’s name. I never knew which name I hated more: my mother’s name or the one she gave me. 

I always felt really guilty when I had to turn down bringing friends over or lying about why they had never met my parents, but the secrets kept me safe. And they offered me freedom. Win some, lose some. 

“Sorry guys, our kitchen is undergoing a huge reno,” I blurted out the lie. “My dad has been super into…dutch ovens?”

I could tell they didn't believe me but they shrugged it off. Guilt panged at my heart and I rubbed at the centre of my palm again. When it was just me and my dad and our small world, I could be anything. And as much as I loved being out in society like a normal teenage girl, I wished I could live it authentically. 

The girls snuck a look at each other they thought I wouldn’t see. I could almost hear the best friend telepathy going off. They were definitely thinking I must not want them around. With their backs to me, I felt my shoulders begin to tense. My girls had never once made me feel out of place since starting at the Dalton, but I had never been oblivious to the fact that three was a crowd. 

I turned away from my friends when our English teacher pulled the class’s attention to the front of the room. We started our lesson on writing comparative analysis essays, but the only thing I was analyzing was the body language of the girls beside me. The pinch of my thumbnail against my palm was enough to bring me back to the present, and I forced myself to focus on worrying about that rotten history test instead…

Chapter Text

The rest of the day went by without any major hiccups. I was starting to feel the nervous energy that comes with the end of a school year. I was eager to be done with all my assignments and enjoy the freedom of summer break. I finished my English period groaning when my teacher handed out another essay assignment. I said a weary goodbye to my friends on my way out. At lunchtime, I did manage to get my hands on that turkey avocado sandwich and absolutely devoured it. Emery and I chatted a little bit about his family back in France. Mostly, he was telling me about how I would get ripped to shreds by them.

I was happily eating away at my sandwich, leaning my elbows on the countertop. Emery swatted at them with the dishcloth in his hands, muttering curse words under his breath.

I took another outlandishly big bite, chewing obnoxiously. “Tu es prude," I said with my mouth full. Emery scoffed but he still gave me a free croissant before I left. 

I just about got through the last two periods without falling asleep at my desk. I had no idea how I was going to get through training that night without napping before. Hopefully Happy would keep the rock and roll music to a minimum on the drive to the compound. 

I popped my locker open with a click and exchanged the books in my arms for the books I needed to take home. As the locker door swung open, a piece of yellow paper fluttered down to my feet. I bent down to pick it up. It was a sticky note with the words Compound tonight, 6 pm written on it. The messy scrawl was clearly Happy’s handwriting. He must have stuck it to one of my books earlier that morning. As if I would forget about training. 

I made my way down six flights of stairs and out the main doors onto the street. Cars and students filled the bustling streets. I remained at the top of the staircase for a moment, surveying the block for the familiar black Cadillac. Among the dozen cars parked on the street, I could not see Happy’s vehicle. Maybe he was late arriving and needed to park around the block, I wondered. As my eyes scanned up and down the road, I spotted a familiar blue Mercedes Sedan. What the hell is she doing here?

I skipped down the steps and looked both ways before crossing the street. As I approached the car, the dark-tinted window rolled down. Blue eyes and the prettiest smile were staring up at my from the driver's seat. Pepper Potts reached across the passenger side and popped the door open to let me in. I took a quick glance around me to make sure no one saw whose car I was getting into, then slipped into the seat. The second the car door closed and the window rolled back up, I felt all the tension from the day drift away. My shoulders sagged as I melted into the seat, letting my head fall back against the headrest. I let out a content sigh and closed my eyes. 

“Bad day?” Pepper’s voice pulled me from my trance and I rolled my head sideways to look at her. She had her eyes on the road, focused on pulling out of park and driving northbound. 

“No,” I started. I pondered the truth. “Yeah. I’m tired. I stayed up way too late last night.”

“I told you that all-nighters are nothing but trouble,” Pepper said. “Every time your dad would pull one, Happy had to take a bucket of water to his face the next morning.”

I chuckled at the image. “Speaking of Happy, why are you here?” I didn’t mean for it to come out sounding so accusatory. Happy Hogan, head of security for Stark Industries, was usually my lift from school to the compound. Even though it had been years since he worked under my dad directly, Happy still insisted on being my personal chauffeur for trips like these. He claimed it was well within his job description, that he was paid to protect Stark Industries' assets, and that included me.  I guess he had gotten used to taking me places and neither of us was ready to let go of that when he moved up in the ranks. So we never did. 

“Happy got stuck in a meeting with the new executive hires, so he asked me to come get you,” Pepper explained. It was unlike Happy to let meetings go over the allotted time, so I could picture his fuming face perfectly. 

“Well I’m sorry for Happy, but I’m glad for me,” I said with a halfway smile. “I missed you.” 

Pepper had been in my life since I was eighteen months old, just as long as my own father. She was the second person to hold me after child welfare handed me into my father’s loving arms. I couldn’t remember a time in my life when Pepper wasn’t around when I needed her. I hadn’t heard of any other personal assistants who moved into their boss’s house to be a temporary guardian for their boss’s kid when said boss got kidnapped by overseas terrorists. My entire childhood was filled with memories of Pepper: she played dolls with me, she taught me how to love the arts like she did, she made sure I got into therapy, hell, she even gave me my middle name. On paper, Tony Stark was a single father but Pepper had been playing parent for just as long, and I never thought of her as anything less. 

I remember being so happy when she and my dad finally got together. I’d seen The Parent Trap before and knew what Hallie and Annie must have felt at the end of the movie. Nothing about my life or routine changed, but at the same time, everything was different. I was one step closer to having someone to call mom, someone who could take me prom dress shopping and braid my hair. I came to learn that nothing good lasts forever. They told me at the beginning of the semester that they were taking a break. I was devastated, to say the least. Pepper moved out at the end of January and for the first time, Dad and I were on our own. They both claimed that it was temporary, that it was just a break, but I wasn’t convinced. 

“I miss you too, sweetheart.” 

Silence fell over us as Pepper got onto the I-87. I took to shifting around in my seat, hoping to get comfortable enough to fall asleep. I leaned my head against the window and watched the city pass us by. A sharp inhale from Pepper drew my attention away from the horizon of buildings. I looked at Pepper expectantly. 

“I know that the break between me and your dad hasn’t been easy on you, Laurie,” Pepper started. I looked down at my hands in my lap and started tugging at my fingertips. “And it’s been hard not being around each other as much. But I want you to know that even though I’m not really your mom, I hope you don’t feel like I’m abandoning you. And if you do I am happy to come around more often, or maybe you could spend a few nights of the week with me, only if you wanted to, of course.”

Pepper took her eyes off of the freeway for a moment to gauge my expression. I stayed still, taking in all that Pepper had just said. Raising my head slowly, I looked ahead at the open road and said “Yeah, you are.”

“Yeah, I’m what?” Pepper asked. 

“A mom.” I blinked. “My…mom. I think.”

“Well, no honey, you know that your mother was-”

“No, I know. I just don’t care,” I said, bluntly. “As far I’m concerned, Pepper, you’re the one who taught me how to tie my shoelaces and took me to piano lessons and did all the things that went so far out of your job description. I’ve even call you ‘Mom’ by accident sometimes and you never say anything about it. So sure, biologically whatever, but…”

I trailed off, biting my own tongue. I had been so worried the last few months, wondering if the breakup would change things between me and Pepper. I glanced up at Pepper and found her looking back at me. We shared a knowing look. An unspoken agreement settled between us. Blood doesn’t make a family, and it had never made up mine. I let my head lean against the window once again, watching as the cement jungle became a horizon of green trees and land. 

“We still have forty-five minutes on the road Laurie,” Pepper said softly. “Close your eyes, I’ll wake you up when we get there.” 

I did as I was told, letting my eyes flutter closed. The cold windowpane became the only sensation I could feel as I drifted off into a dreamless sleep. 

…

When I woke up, the car was parked outside the main doors of the compound. Pepper was gently shaking my left shoulder, pulling me from sleep. An overexaggerated yawn escaped my mouth as I rubbed my eyes and stretched the best I could inside the cramped vehicle. One more deep breath and I stepped out of the car with my backpack. The sun had shifted lower in the sky, but was beating down with the same relentless heat. 

I climbed out of the car and leaned my head through the window to thank Pepper for the ride. 

“It’s no problem at all sweetheart,” Pepper assured me. “Do you need a ride back into the city later tonight?” 

“I don’t know.” I thought about it for a moment. “No, I should be fine. Happy will probably come, and if he doesn’t I’ll take the train.”

Pepper and I shared one last goodbye and I watched the blue Sidan drive down the compound’s dramatically long driveway. 

I turned on my heels and made my way into the smaller building on the property. The compound was my father’s idea that he put together just after we returned from Sokovia. Between the main Avengers being separated and new recruits who needed training, Dad oh-so-generously donated an old Stark Industries warehouse for S.H.I.E.L.D. to use. 

I had to admit, it was a pretty incredible place. The original warehouse was still standing and housed things like weapons, private jets, and other things that needed to be kept separate from trainees. The compound itself was a multi-billion dollar building equipped with the latest and greatest that money could buy. The ground floor played host to all things business. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had offices there, a few of the Avengers did as well. I wasn’t really acquainted with any of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, but the receptionist at the front desk always offered me a friendly wave as I walked past. 

I walked straight through the first floor and up the grand set of stairs towards the south wing. Almost all the training was done in the southernmost part of the compound. My dad ensured that the place would have everything, from an expansive shooting range with dynamic abilities to switch between different artillery. As I walked the halls I passed the range, along with the fully equipped gym, indoor pool and private training rooms. At the end of the hall, a floor-to-ceiling window gave way to the gorgeous view of the neighbouring lake. The training room Natasha and I always used looked out over the water. At least there was a pretty sight for sore eyes and sore muscles. 

The compound was also a place for agents to live if they wanted. Some were like my dad and I, who had rooms in the west wing but lived off the campus. But others, like Nat and Wanda, were permanent residents here. The west wing was essentially a deluxe university dorm. Everyone had their own bedrooms and ensuites and they shared the common living spaces. Dad even contracted two kitchens on opposite sides of the wing, so that Pepper could have a strawberry-free kitchen when she visited. Those visits were rare, but the strawberry rule was scarily strict. 

Just like all the rooms on the floor, the training room I approached was secured with a padlock. Happy had a little too much fun with the security measures when we were doing the blueprints for the compound. I bent down so that I was at eye level with the door’s keypad. 

“A.P.R.I.L., scan.” My voice command activated the keypad and a bright blue ray of light emitted from the device. It scanned over my face and I heard the familiar click of the lock. 

“Welcome back, babe.” A robotic voice with the sweetest Southern accent came through the overhead speakers. A.P.R.I.L. was my own personal artificial intelligence assistant. When I was eleven or twelve I found a really old version of F.R.I.D.A.Y. and used the architecture to create my own. A.P.R.I.L. wasn’t nearly as advanced as any of my dad’s A.I.’s, but she did the trick just fine. We did a lot of slightly questionable acts together, like hacking into S.H.I.E.L.D. files or binge-watching old security footage. She was programmed into just about every piece of technology I had or made, including the Red Wing I made for Sam Wilson. A.P.R.I.L. was able to speak in any dialect or accent I wanted. She was Southern right now mostly because I thought it was funny. 

“The grades for your history test got uploaded while you were in the car. Do you want me to get into the grade books and find them again?”

I winced at the thought of knowing what that awful test ended up getting. “Oh god no, A. I’d actually rather die than know that.” 

“Whatever you say, little boss,” A.P.R.I.L. chimed. 

Even though the A.I. would use the closest speaker to communicate with me, my head still shot up to look at the ceiling, as if it were a celestial being. 

“Little boss? Why are you doing that again, I just reprogrammed you to say ’boss’!” I exclaimed. 

“Someone infiltrated my systems last night and changed my code. They renamed the module “Best Prank Ever.”

There was only one culprit for that. 

“Dad.” A.P.R.I.L. and I said in unison.

I slumped my backpack against the wall closest to the door. It occurred to me that the jeans and silk blouse that I was wearing were not the best attire to practice hand-to-hand in, but I was honestly not in the mood for training to begin with. 

I stepped onto the cushioned martial arts mat in the centre of the room. Although the room appeared to be empty save for the red mat on the floor, one just had to know the right way to get out equipment. 

“A.P.R.I.L., lower a punching bag, would you?”

Above my head, one of the ceiling tiles began to slide behind the others, revealing a punching bag. It slowly lowered to my level and I cracked my knuckles. If Nat was here she would absolutely berate me for starting hot without any warm-ups. I started with a few punches, grunting each time my fists made contact with the heavy bag. I was using maybe a tenth of my strength, and the punching bag was barely moving in tandem with my strikes. 

Tension in my shoulders built up, and I was beginning to get frustrated with myself. Suddenly the tight jeans were scuffing against my skin in all the wrong ways, and the loose fabric of my shirt was getting in the way. I gave the punching bag one measly kick before giving up entirely. 

“What the hell are you wearing?”

I whipped around and was met with a flash of red. Natasha stood in the doorway with a look of disbelief plastered on her face. The arms crossed over her chest were adorned in a black zip-up that was taut against her skin. I did take notice of the grey sweatpants Nat had on, which was an unusual fashion choice for her. 

I looked down at my own outfit and gave Nat a shrug. “What, this doesn’t look professional to you? I think it’s important for me to train in regular clothes Nat. If I get attacked on the streets I’m not gonna be wearing my workout clothes.”

The sound of a fist rapping on wood echoed over the speakers, causing me to break my serious stature and smirk. I had programmed A.P.R.I.L. to recognize when to knock on wood for me. 

Natasha’s expression didn’t falter. “Go change. We’re wasting time.” 

I gave a curt nod and silently slipped past her out the door. I scampered down the hall into the locker room and quickly swapped my school clothes for leggings and a sports bra. 

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair fell in loose waves, pooling over my shoulders. Although it would have been faster to throw it up into a ponytail, I opted for a simple braid. My hair was thick, a feature my father constantly takes credit for, and the braid settled nicely down my back. I took another once-over in the mirror before taking off back to the training room.

When I returned I found that Nat had gotten rid of my punching bag and replaced it with an entire boxing ring. From the way she was completely doubled over in a full-body stretch, I knew two things. One, she was not going to go easy on me, and two, I was royally screwed. 

“Have you warmed up at all?” Nat asked me with her arms stretched above her.

I shook my head, shame rising in crimson patches on my cheeks. Nat let out a scoff and my fingernails found solace in the flat of my palm. 

“What’s up with you today?”

I shrugged half-heartedly. “I don’t know, I’m tired?” I admitted defeat, although it came out sounding like a question.

I remained under Nat’s hot gaze until I watched it melt. 

“Give me twenty push-ups and a five-minute wall sit and then we’ll focus on your punch combinations today,” Nat said. “You can thank me for going easy on you today, but I’ll expect twice the effort next week.”

I nodded curtly and dropped to the ground, gawking inwardly. Easy , I thought. This is going easy?

An hour and a half of my blood, sweat, and tears later, Nat and I had taken to the sparring floor. The room was filled with the steady rhythm of our footwork and the sharp crack of my fists hitting the pads on Nat’s arms. Nat, always composed and precise, demonstrated a basic punching combo: a quick jab, a powerful cross, and a swift hook, each strike executed with perfect form. I mirrored her movements, feeling the strain in my muscles and the burn of exertion, but also the satisfaction of each successful hit.

Nat's corrections kept me focused on the task at hand, although I couldn’t help but notice her enthusiasm was less than the weeks prior. Something was off about her. Her stance was more guarded and her blocks were swifter, more threatening. I sent another jab towards Nat’s left side that she quickly deflected. Unexpectedly, the arm opposite mine swung hard and angled so that Nat’s exposed fist made contact with my gut. 

The blow knocked the breath from my lungs. I stumbled back a few steps before inevitably tripping over my own feet and hitting the mat. The whole ordeal made my head spin and I let my back fall against the floor, stunned. 

“Oh shit,” Nat exclaimed. I heard the soft thud of the focus pads hitting the floor as Nat rushed to my side. I was staring up at the ceiling tiles as Nat’s face came into view. She was biting back laughter as she looked down at me. 

“I’m so sorry, птичка,” Nat apologised, pulling me up into a sitting position. “Are you okay?”

I stared up into Nat’s worried eyes for a long second. I could feel the laughter bubbling up in my chest. It came out it chokes and strangled noises. I was pretty sure Natasha thought I was going to cry. The dam broke and I erupted into a fit. Nat joined me in kind and we laughed so hard the side of my ribs that got hit started aching. Neither of us heard the sound of the door unlocking, nor the person watching us from the doorway come inside. 

“I can see that your training is going well.”

Nat and I were both still recovering from our fit as we turned to greet Wanda who stood at the door. She was dressed down compared to Nat and I, sporting a grey hoodie on top of a white t-shirt and sweatpants. She held a smile on her face, but I noted right away that her eyes were clouded in dark circles. It was clear she had been crying. An uneasy feeling tugged at my insides. I wished that I could read her mind the way she read others. I’d never been particularly good at catching emotions on others; I was always too busy wrestling with my own. 

I studied the way she stood, how her posture was fixed and upright. By quick glance she appeared nonchalant, relaxed even. But I noticed the way her arms were crossed protectively over her chest, fingertips pressed so tightly that the skin beneath them went white. Was it bad sleep? Nightmares? We were both known to get them, so maybe she was just tired. I returned Wanda’s gentle smile, wondering silently what upset her.

Chapter Text

Wanda shut the door behind her and I gingerly rose to my feet. My hand flew to the side of my ribs that had taken a hit. Wanda took a step towards me, arms folded over her body, and her hands hidden by the sleeves of her zip-up. 

“That hurt?” She nodded her head towards my ribs.

“Nat’s trying to kill me,” I joked. In my peripheral vision, I saw Nat rise to her feet beside me. I ducked my head as she swatted a playful hand that just grazed my hairline. 

“I am not!” Natasha retorted. “You would have been able to predict my attack if you ever trained outside of our sessions.” 

“You try writing a history test on three hours of sleep and then getting your ass kicked,” I said pointedly. “I’m running on empty here!”

“Why are you writing a test on three hours of sleep in the first place?” Nat asked.

“Do they not teach you health at that prestigious school?” Wanda chimed in. “What is your father paying good money for?”

“Honestly, with the amount of complaining I have to hear from Tony about tuition, you’d think the kids would be better kept,” Natasha said to Wanda, as if I had disappeared from the conversation. 

“Tony? Complaining about money?” Wanda raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, alright,” I cut in, waving my hand between the two women. “Enough. I get it, can we get back to work?”

“Oh, now she wants to work,” Natasha rolled her eyes sarcastically. “Good luck with this one.”

Natasha and Wanda switched places on the floor like a dance, seamlessly moving around one another. Nat gave me a small pat on the back as she passed. I smiled, but it came out closer to a grimace. I knew I had let her down today. She, along with almost everyone else in my life, was always expecting more. 

Wanda lowered herself down to the ground and positioned herself criss-cross applesauce on the floor. With a flick of her wrist, she motioned for me to join her on the mat. While training with Nat involved constant movement and sweating, my training with Wanda was often more low-key. Wanda was an incredibly powerful Avenger, but her powers were completely different than my own. They were the product of exposure to the Mind Stone, which was now housed inside Vision. Wanda often described her powers as being internal, something she could do as easily as breathing. 

To me, I felt like my powers were similar to the Arc Reactor embedded in my father’s chest. Something outside of myself that was still buried within. I could always feel the energy before I used it, the way it pooled at my core, in the centre of my chest. Only then would it spread outwards, like streams of water running away from a great lake. That energy would collect again in the centre of my palms and extend right to the tips of my fingers, emanating a gentle purple glow while it did. I never knew why it was purple as opposed to any of the other colours. Not that I was complaining, purple had always been my favourite. 

I chose not to think about the experiments that I had no memory of, through which I was given my abilities. I still didn’t know the full scope of what I was capable of. I just knew that when I got really scared, or really angry, things went flying. We were able to check telekinesis off the list of possibilities in exchange for some sort of gravitational manipulation. I could shift or change an object’s gravitational pull. It was all very scientific. And in addition to that, I had very limited manipulation of the elements. Fire, air, rocks, the works. I had considered shaving my head off and getting a blue arrow tattoo once. 

I was seven when my powers manifested for the first time. It was a few weeks after my father had been kidnapped overseas. In an instant, my entire world had flipped on its axis, and every little thing would set me off. I was hardly eating or sleeping, and I’d have recurring nightmares about what I imagined was happening to Dad. I remember that one night, instead of waking up screaming I woke up to screaming. When I opened my eyes, Pepper was underneath me and I was floating in my bed. I looked around, and everything in my room was floating, hovering like it was all being suspended by invisible strings. And suddenly all I could see was pure, white fear. When I came to again, I had broken my bedroom window and put multiple holes in the walls. I felt like someone had taken over my body. 

So, while Wanda couldn’t really give me guidance on how to use my powers, we instead worked on gaining control over them. As a kid, I was terrified of myself, of what I could do. Wanda and I had been training hard for the last several months on taming that fear so that I could eventually test my limits. The thought of becoming even more powerful than I already am made me want to cut my arms off, but progress was being made nonetheless. 

I sat across from Wanda and she held her hands out expectantly. I placed mine atop hers, palms facing the ceiling. This was our ritual: we always started with feeling. She could read my emotions, read my mind, and she could also level me. The moment my skin made contact with hers, I felt a rush. It felt like a gust of wind blowing past me, but the air in the training room was still. I closed my eyes and breathed in and out, letting Wanda do her thing. Usually, my anxieties would settle down instantaneously. Today, an eerie feeling lingered. 

I cracked one eye open and realized that Natasha was still standing in the doorway. She was leaning against the frame, eyes watching Wanda and me intently. A wave of embarrassment flushed through me, and I knew Wanda felt it because her eyes shot open. 

“Don’t you have important things to do that aren’t watching me make my hands glow?” I asked, letting out a nervous chuckle. Natasha’s stance didn’t falter. 

“I am interested in seeing the progress you’ve made,” Nat said. “From what Wands tells me, you’ve improved a lot.”

I felt my cheeks burn. “Thanks, but seriously you have got to go. I’ll have performance anxiety if you don’t”

“I have seen you strut across a stage in a lion costume, performance anxiety shouldn’t even be in your vocabulary.”

“Oh, right, because once you've roared in front of a thousand people, you're basically immune to nerves,” I chided. “Next time I'll channel my inner Simba. Thanks for the tip."

Natasha held her hands up in defeat and spun on her heel. The door shut quietly behind her and I settled myself back in front of Wanda. I closed my eyes once again and focused on Wanda’s powers flowing through me. The calm that followed still had a residue of an unsettledness. It was almost as if I could feel Wanda wrestling with it, her grip on my hands emanating her grip on the feeling as it wiggled and fought to slip away from her. 

With a sigh, Wanda let my hands drop into my lap. When looked at her, she had her head low. Her fingers were pinched between her eyebrows. I almost didn't recognize her. Wanda, who usually felt so much older than me, looked so small under the pot lights. 

“What’s up?” I asked quietly. I hadn’t meant to startle her, but I saw the way her breath caught at the sound of my voice. 

“I’m sorry, I um,” she stuttered. She took a moment to compose herself before meeting my eye. “Is it alright if we postpone our training today?”

”Of course,” I responded immediately. I gingerly reached out to place a hand on her knee. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Wanda shook her head. “We got back from a mission last night and…it did not end well.”

“Is everyone okay?” I asked. Images of Steve or Sam injured in the medical wing flashed across my mind. 

“Our people are fine. But the others, the civilians…” Wanda trailed off. I could see the heaviness of the burden she was carrying in her eyes. 

“I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.” I knew my words were empty, but the sentiment hung true. 

Wanda shook her head. “You’ll probably see it on the news, but I hurt…people.”

I chewed the inside of my bottom lip. I didn’t have the words to make Wanda feel any less bad. I wished I could take her pain away the way she would take mine. I glanced nervously around the room and my eyes landed on the clock hanging from the wall above the door. 

“Hey, you know what,” I said as I tapped a finger on her leg, “I’ll bet that someone has dinner going right about now. You wanna go see if there’s anything to eat?”

The notion of food got Wanda’s attention, and she raised her head a little higher. She gave me a small nod, so we stood up together. I had never been the best with emotions, if that wasn’t already blatantly obvious with my power outbursts, and talking about them was even harder. I knew that there was little I could do or say to make Wanda feel better, but I did know that I could take her hand and walk her to the kitchens so she would feel less alone. And so I did. 

…

The kitchen was bustling when Wanda and I walked in. I let go of her hand to sit at one of the bar stools by the island, while Wanda opted to play wallflower. Steve was practically doing laps between the counters and the stovetop. The agents who lived in the compound took turns with meals, and Steve always took on Wednesday dinners. He said he liked the routine, and it was the day when most of the Avengers would be likely at home. He enjoyed making a fuss for the people he loved. 

I propped my elbows on the island counter and held my head in my hands. I watched Steve with amusement as he stressed over the salad in the far corner and the pasta that was boiling over on the stove. 

“What’s on the menu tonight, Pops?” I asked. Pops or Grandpa: those were the only two names I had ever called Steve by. He was technically old enough to be my grandfather, and he knew my actual grandfather, so it was only fitting. 

“Mom’s spaghetti and salad.” Steve lifted the boiling pot over to the sink, pouring the contents into an awaiting colander. “When I was a kid we didn’t have a whole lot of money, so my mom made it her life goal to make the best out of what we had. She called this her “everything but the kitchen sink” meal, which really meant we were making due until the month’s end. But it was always my favourite because it was different every time.”

“She didn’t ask for your whole life story, man.” Sam chided from his spot leaning against the fridge. Nat was standing next to him, sharing a beer. 

Steve shook his head and chuckled. “Sorry. Laurie, are you staying for dinner?”

“Only if there’s room,” I replied. 

“There’s always room at my table for you, kid,” Steve said, reaching over the counter to pat my arm. I smiled brightly at him. “Now, go set the table.” 

I rolled my eyes playfully at the order and hopped down from my seat. Scooching around Steve, I pulled the cutlery drawer open and pulled out a copious amount of knives and forks. The dining room was directly connected to the kitchen and I began setting the table. I realized I had no idea how many people were eating. 

“How many places am I setting?” I called back into the kitchen.” 

“Four!”

“Six!”

“Seven!” A bunch of voices responded at once, all with different answers. 

“That’s incredibly unhelpful!” I yelled back. I waited for a moment, listening to them bicker quietly about how many people were eating. I heard Nat and Sam go back and forth about Sam’s (cancelled) date, and Wanda arguing that it didn’t matter whether Vision ate or not, he could still sit at the table with them. “Helllooooo?”

“Set it for seven, птичка,” Nat finally responded. I re-counted how many utensils I had and continued on with my task, making sure the knives were facing blade outwards to make my etiquette teachers proud.

Another fifteen minutes later the lot of us were settled around the dining table. Naturally, Steve took the head of the table and insisted that we say grace before eating. I never took him for being religious, so I chalked it up to him just being old. We obliged his asks and held hands around the table while Steve thanked unforeseen forces for good food and good company. 

“How is school going Laurie?” Steve asked while handing me the salad bowl. I took it graciously and served myself a large helping of leaves. “You had a test coming up right? In history?”

“You remembered?” I cocked my head sideways, partially in disbelief. Steve just gave me a knowing smile that said ‘Of course I did.’ “Yeah, it was today.”

“And?”

“And I will rue the day that history classes cease to exist. I hate history.”

“That is not the right use of the term rue,” Vision said from his seat across from me. I shot him a look. I 

“I’m sure you did just fine, you’re a bright girl,” Steve said. “But if you really need some help, I’ve got a friend who works for the State Department. Freddy’s a huge history buff.”

“Thanks, Grandpa,” I teased. “I’ll let you know if I do.” 

Sam bumped my elbow. “You doing anything fun this week? Throwing any rangers while dear old dad is away?”

“Oh, that’s right. Tony is away.” Nat said, mouth full of pasta. “He’s in Boston, right?”

“Yeah,” I answered as I took a forkful of spaghetti to my mouth. I had to refrain from letting out a sigh of contentment. Steve was a great superhero, but an even better cook. “He’s giving some talk at MIT. He should be home by Monday I think.”

“Well that’s perfect then,” Sam said. “Throw a party while your dad is gone, he’d never know!” Sam winced as someone, likely Nat, kicked him under the table. “Hey! I’m just saying.”

I shrugged half heartedly. “I don’t have enough friends for that.” 

“Don’t need ‘em. All you need is an empty house, some booze, and good music.”

“Sam,” Steve warned. “Enough of that. Tony’s never going to let her come back here.”

“Are you kidding me?” Natasha laughed. “If Tony came back to his house trashed because Laurie threw a party, he’d never be prouder!” 

We all laughed at that one. If there was one thing Tony Stark knew how to do, it was throw a good party. 

“Well if you aren’t doing anything fun, why don’t you stay here for the weekend?” Steve suggested. 

“Sure,” I said nonchalantly. “That’s a great idea.”

The table fell into silence for a beat as we focused on eating. I helped myself to a second serving of spaghetti. As I leaned back in my seat, I noticed how distant the rest of my team felt from one another. I watched as discomfort covered the table like a blanket. 

“So, uh,” I said midway through chewing on a noodle. “How’d your last mission go?” I immediately wanted to bite back my words the moment they came out. Wanda slumped low into her chair and the others looked at each other. No one was meeting anyone else’s eyes.  

“There were some hiccups.” Steve was the one to speak first after a moment’s silence. “We got the job done, but let’s just say there will be a lot of paperwork for the rest of the week.” 

His joke landed flat. I knew that something was eating at the Avengers sitting around me, but they were all trained well enough not to let their tells share anything. I wanted to know more, but I couldn’t handle the awkwardness. I racked my brain for something, anything, to change the subject. 

“What should we do this weekend then?” I asked hastily. “I know for a fact that none of you have tried out the go-kart track Dad installed last month yet.”

The tension in the air didn’t completely dissipate as dinner went on, but I resolved to knowing that it wasn’t my place to poke at. We had cordial conversations about weekend plans and how many laps Sam could outrun Vision. In the back of my mind, I still wondered what happened during their last mission that had everyone shaken up so bad. I hoped with all my heart that it wasn’t bad, but my gut was telling me otherwise.

…

I managed to avoid telling Happy I was going home alone that night. Nat dropped me off at the closest train station soon after dinner. Taking the train from Upsate was always an interesting experience. If I got to the station early enough or if I prepaid for first-class, it would be an easy trip. Since my plans to commute were so last-minute, I had forgotten to buy tickets ahead of time and was stuck sitting in a cramped four-seater across from a mother and her infant baby. 

I’d always had so much respect for mothers who were willing to travel with their children, especially ones as young as this little girl. She was absolutely adorable, but I couldn’t begin to imagine the stress it took to get a small gremlin onto a train. At least the ride back into the city was just under an hour. 

I had my earbuds in the whole time, and I was trying to gaze off out the window to appreciate the views. The sun was just beginning to set, casting a comforting glow over the endless fields of grass we passed by. Usually I’d let myself become entranced with the scenery, but every time I locked in on the horizon, I got the uneasy feeling that someone was watching me. I turned away from the window to find the baby staring into my soul. She smiled when I made eye contact with her and started to babble loudly. 

This carried on for the entire trip, but I wasn’t upset about it. And every time it did, the mother would shush her baby gently with a pat on the back. She had an abundance of toys sprawled across the seat and took turns trying to get one of them to grab her daughter’s attention. I wondered if my own mother ever played with me like that. 

I didn’t know a thing about my mother. Custody was given over to Dad before I was fully cognizant. I didn’t know if she drank coffee or tea in the mornings. I didn’t know her favourite song. I didn’t know if she ever loved me, or if I was only born to be useful. The train rolled into the station and I went home.

Chapter Text

Friday afternoon rolled around fast, and before I knew it the final bell rang through the school halls. A buzzed energy vibrated off the shuffling groups of students who were all eager to begin their weekends. I was eager to get home and pack my overnight bags, desperate to get out of the city. Brianna was leaning against the locker next to mine, talking at lightning pace about the musical she and her family were seeing that night. 

“Wait, you’re seeing Hamilton again?” I asked. I sifted through one of my binders to pull the notes I needed for studying. 

“Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said for the last three weeks?” Brianna rolled her eyes. “Yes, I am seeing Hamilton again.” I could have bet money that this would make it her seventh or eighth time seeing the show on Broadway that year alone. I used to think that I was a crazy musical theatre nerd until I met Bri.

“You are so lucky,” I said. I had heard such great things about the show from her and still hadn’t gotten to see it myself.

“Don’t tell me you still haven’t seen it Laur, it’s practically old news by now!” Brianna laughed, tossing ringlets of fire over her shoulder. 

“I know, I know!” I said, head thrown back against my locker as I shut it. “I keep trying to get my dad to buy us tickets but he has all these work trips and truth be told I think he forgets to buy them on purpose.” 

“Okay, but your dad like, hates musicals, right?” she asked. I nodded and she gave me a genuine look of apology. “Well, I’m sure he’ll just love our show. Maybe Mer and I can finally meet him!” 

I grit my teeth and grinned falsely. The Dalton’s school musical was set to happen in June, and my father wouldn’t miss it for the world. But the world had no idea that his daughter was in it, let alone that he had a daughter at all. When we found out I’d be performing, he arranged for a huge donation to the school so that he could attend the show under the guise of “funding youth’s artistic endeavours.” And it was a real kind gesture, I just wished he could come for me without the spangled banners and flashing bills. 

“Yeah, maybe!” I choked out. It was a running joke in our friend circle that my parents must be Russian spies or royalty, because neither Brianna nor Meredith have met them. At first, the jokes made me laugh, like the one time Meredith created the elaborate rumour that my parents died in a tragic accident when I was a baby and I was actually raised by my robotic nanny. But with the school year end approaching, and three more years left to go, I was getting stressed about having to maintain the facades. 

 I pulled my body away from the lockers, signalling to Brianna that I wanted to start moving. We walked side by side through the halls and out to the street. She and I both spotted her dad’s car at the same time. It was parked a few buildings down the block. Mr. Sinclair stuck his head out of the window and waved at us. 

“Oh my God, he is so embarrassing.” Brianna covered her eyes with one hand and spun us around with the other. I laughed at the way she shrunk into me. I pulled her into a quick hug to say goodbye. 

“You’re lucky that your dad can pick you up though, not everyone gets that,” I said. She pulled back from my embrace with a quizzical look on her face. I realized how what I just said sounded and quickly recovered. “My dad’s still on that damn work trip, I gotta walk today.” 

Brianna peered at me through narrowed eyes but resigned to not say anything. She stepped forward and threw an arm around my side to say goodbye, then turned down the street and got into her father’s car. 

The straps of my backpack weighed heavy on my shoulders, pinching the skin at the base of my neck. I tightened the straps and turned on my heels to begin the treacherous journey home (all twenty minutes of it). 

When I was younger, my dad used to say that the longer the days got, the shorter they felt because everything fun happens when it’s warmer. But back then we split our time between Miami and New York, so it was always warm for him. It wasn’t often that I asked Happy to disregard his unpaid childcare duties, especially in the winter when the streets of New York were covered in slush and mud. The people were always angrier during the cold months, always desperate to get wherever they were going. But God forbid I ever took the bus. Gross. 

Today, the sun was beaming down on my face, surrounded by the perfect array of puffy white clouds. It was lucky that my school got out in the early afternoon, I thought. The rush hour wouldn’t begin for another few hours and that meant the commotion on sidewalks was lessened. I made my way south down Park Avenue. This part of the Upper East Side was never all that exciting; mostly a residential area paired with blaring horns and car fumes. 

I beelined my way around nannies with strollers, kids on scooters and vendors looking to scam unknowing tourists. The people were the most interesting part of the city. I’d always been good at blending in, at keeping the attention drawn to a minimum. Even when I’d sit at the back of press conferences my Dad was at, nobody batted an eye at the six-year-old in a freshly pressed suit. I fit in well along a people-lined street, where everyone around me was hyper focused on their own lives to pay me any mind. To them I was just another city girl. 

Just as I was about to turn the corner and cross the street, a flash of cerulean blue stopped me. A middle-aged man holding a microphone and his camera crew had stopped me in my path. The man was shouting loudly but I couldn’t make out any of the words. He moved with such purpose, so much vigour, I felt like I just been hit by a tornado. 

“What?” I yelled back at him. He stuck his microphone in my face. The cord, which was attached to nothing, swung between us. 

“I said ‘Miss, for a dollar, who is the worst Avenger?’” the man repeated his question impatiently. A ridiculously giddy smile crept across my face as I realized who he was. 

“Iron man.” I leaned into the microphone and smiled cheekily at the camera. 

“Wonderful, here!” Billy Eichner thrust a dollar into my hand and took off to his next victim. I struggled to grasp the bill, still reeling from the encounter. Oh, the things that happen in New York. After a moment I shook my head and crossed Park Avenue, wondering if Billy’s segments were live or pre-recorded these days. 

The side street I lived on was beautiful, with classic brownstone townhouses and trees lining the sidewalk. Dad and I moved into the new house maybe a month after the Battle of Sokovia. After Dad decided to sell his beloved Stark Tower, we became a couple of regular, townhouse-owning Joe’s…apart from the several other properties he owned. 

The house itself was packed tightly between buildings on a street reminded me of a sardine can: two neat rows of houses with absolutely no space to wiggle. Dad picked it because it stood out from the rest; smooth white brick contrasting the surrounding muddy browns and reds. There was something very Roman about the architecture. Dad said it had to have been Italian, and therefore the best on the block. He really liked pulling the Italian card when it made him look cool. 

I stepped up to the front door and grasped onto the handle, placing my thumb directly onto the latch. A faint vibration buzzed beneath the pad of my thumb. The door was scanning my fingerprints, a security measure I was all too familiar with. I don’t think there was ever a house, a car, or a bedroom of mine that didn’t require some kind of bodily scanning. The door clicked and I pushed down on the latch, swinging the front door wide open. 

I kicked my school shoes off on the entryway mat and padded into the kitchen. Setting my backpack down onto one of the island bar stools, I made my way straight to the fridge for a snack. I settled on a small bowl of strawberries. They were my favourite, and I always missed them dreadfully when they were banned from the house to keep Pepper safe. 

A familiar ringtone to the tune of “Blank Space” by Taylor Swift cut the sounds of my chewing. It was muffled by my backpack; I’d left my phone in one of the pockets. 

“Who’s calling?” I asked out loud to the empty house.

“Your father,” A.P.R.I.L. responded over the house’s loudspeakers. “Should I answer?”

“Yeah, throw him onto the surround sound.” 

“Hey there, little miss.” Dad said after A.P.R.I.L. connected his call. His voice came down right above my head. “How was the rest of your week?” 

"Hi Daddy." I smiled. It was ironic of him to ask about my week, as if he hadn't been calling me excessively every night that he had been away. "It was good, glad it's over. How's Boston?"

“Oh you know, it’s no tea party,” Dad joked, laughing at himself like he was hilarious. 

“You are so lame.” I rolled my eyes and popped another strawberry into my mouth. 

“You love my jokes.”

“Yeah, the one’s that are funny,” I laughed staley. 

“See? Ha, made you laugh.”

I rolled my eyes at the phone. 

“I heard that,” Dad said. I snorted and shook my head, glad that he couldn’t see what I was snacking on. Sometimes when he called he could project a hologram of himself, like a larger-scale FaceTime. “Anyway, more about me. It has been way too long since I’ve been to MIT. Did you know they redid the entire Edgerton Center?”

“I don’t even know what that is, Dad.”

Dad sighed dramatically. “I did not culture you enough growing up.”

And he wondered where I got my flare from. “Were the students happy with your visit?”

“Well, seeing as I am personally funding each and every one of their research projects for the rest of the year, yeah, yeah they were.”

“Very generous Mr. Stark,” I said in a posh British accent. This was one of our bits that originated when we made fun of a British delegate who wanted to buy STARK armoury way back in the day. 

“Why thank you, Miss Stark.” Dad’s British accent was not nearly as good as my own. 

“Are you still coming back on Sunday?” I asked. 

“Yes I am, so don’t throw any ragers while I’m not there, okay?”

“Dad I’m not going to throw a party-”

“But if you do, take a shot in my honour.”

“Dad! You are such a bad influence.”

“You turned out fine,”

“Yeah, thanks to Pepper.” The joke came out faster than I could catch it. Dad went quiet on the other end of the call. I cursed myself for saying anything at all. Silence fell around me like a sheet on old furniture. Silence that reminded you of how distant a father and daughter could be. “Sorry.”

I heard static on the other end, the sound of my father shifting around uncomfortably wherever he was sitting. 

“It’s fine, Laurie,” Dad said apprehensively. “It’s fine! Actually no, it’s grand even. You and I haven’t been on our own since…ever, and I’d bet that your psychiatrist would want us to take this time to bond.” 

“I’m not even gonna be here this weekend.” I rerouted the conversation, deciding it was probably better for Dad if I didn’t tell him I saw Pepper earlier in the week. His Arc reactor would go out.

“What? Where are you going? Are you seeing a boy?”

“NO!” I slapped my hand across my forehead. There was no way in hell that I’d ever tell my father anything about a boy. 

“Last minute spa getaway with the girls? Do tell Mer and Bri that I miss them dearly.” I heard some shuffling in the background as Dad spoke. Voices asking when Mr. Stark would be ready to go. 

“You’ve never met them,” I reminded him. 

“Eh, bygones. But spill, where are you going? Not that I won’t be tracking your location anyway.”

“I just undid that code in A.P.R.I.L.,” I groaned. The one downside to constructing an artificial assistant using my Dad’s old foundations was that he could get inside her systems almost effortlessly. “Relax. I’m just going up to the compound.”

“Why?” Dad’s tone was sharp. It caught me off guard and I felt myself sink down in my seat. 

“I dunno,” I shrugged. “Steve offered the invitation when I was there on Wednesday and I’ve got nothing better to do. Plus, this house is six floors of ‘too big for one person’. I’m lonely.” 

“It’s seven floors of really frigging cool! Go swim in the pool, go watch a movie. What do you mean you’re lonely?” Dad exclaimed. The last question came out all jumbled up, like one big word. “You’re not lonely, you got Happy!”

“Happy is a grown man. With a job, and a life,” I retorted. I had gotten up from my seat to put my now empty bowl into the dishwasher.  

“He’s our grown man.” 

I shook my head at nothing for the hundredth time during this call and picked up my backpack to take to my room upstairs. 

“Dad,” I drawlled. “It’s not a big deal, it’s just the compound.”

“Okay, well I just don’t see why you need to go all the way up there.

“Is ‘I want to’ not enough of an answer for you?” I shot back, more harshly than I intended to. 

The truth was, I knew that my dad was weary about me still having a close relationship with the remaining Avengers. He didn’t like that I was training at all, he thought it would put ideas in my head about wanting to become an agent again. But I knew deep down it was just for fun, and to get a handle on the powers that were growing more uncontrollable each day. I never wanted to become an Avenger, and I only liked being an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. because I liked being a part of something bigger than myself. With everything that happened in Sokovia or Washington in the last few years…I was happy to be rid of it all. But I was not happy to be rid of my family. 

“I am going,” I started, “to spend time with people that I love, okay? That’s all.” 

I heard Dad sigh into the phone. “Okay. Fine. But do me favour when you’re there.”

“What’s that?”

“Grab one of those stink bombs we made for April Fools Day and plant it in the old man’s office.”

“Oh my god, shut up!” I shook my head in embarrassment, but couldn’t help the smile that crept across my lips. “I need to pack a bag, and you need to go take care of whoever has been calling your name for the last ten minutes.” 

My father said goodbye, but not without shooting another joke across the cell line. I disconnected the call the moment I stepped into our elevator, pretending that I lost reception. We both knew that wasn’t true, Tony Stark would never stand for a reception-less elevator.

…

An hour and a half later, the train I was on pulled into an Upstate station. I funnelled through the sea of people making their way through the station out onto the streets. I wasn’t sure who was picking me up today. I had sent a message in our team groupchat about my arrival time and I hoped someone had seen it. 

I repositioned the duffle bag on my shoulder and sought higher ground to scope out the parking lot. There was a small garden surrounded by stones near the station’s entrance. I climbed up onto it. The sea of cars all looked the same to me and the sunlight reflecting off the metal was nearly blinding. To my far right I noticed a Black Corevette. Natasha’s car, I thought. But the tall figure leaning against it was definitely not Natasha. 

I staggered down from my rock and headed over to greet my mystery chauffeur. The sun was beginning to set behind them, casting a dark shadow that hid their face. It didn’t take long for me to recognize the shortly cut hair and tall physique. Steve Rogers was leaning against the passenger door of the car. He had his cellphone up to his ear talking to someone. I thought it was silly that he refused to upgrade from his little flip phone. 

“I will talk to your dad, kid. I promise. You know how much is going on for him.” I overheard the end of his conversation as I approached. “No, I know. I’m not excusing his behaviour, I just want to give him a break…Yes, you are, Theo, you are so smart.”

As I got closer Steve caught a glimpse of me and I heard him cut his phone conversation short.

“Listen Theo, Laurie just got here so I’ve got to run. I’ll talk to you later.” Steve paused, listening to the response on the other line. “Okay kid, goodbye now.” 

“Everything alright?” I asked as I approached him.

“Oh yeah, I was just calling to say hi.” Steve smiled, flashing perfect pearly white teeth. “How was the ride up?”

I shrugged. “Good. There was a baby sitting across from me.”

“Cute,” Steve said as he leaned down to open the car door for me. Seven decades in  the ice couldn’t knock the gentleman out of him. The commute to the compound was only fifteen minutes, of which I spent thirteen filling Steve in on the raunchy relationship drama between the kids who sat in front of me during math class. 

…

Unlike my room at home, where the sunrise poured in through the windows in the morning, I could always sleep in at the compound. The floor to ceiling panels here were west facing, which gave me the well-deserved rest I craved, and a killer view of the sunset over the lake. On this bright Sunday morning, I woke up just before eleven like a tried and true teenager. 

I sat up in bed, stretching my arms above my head while an exorbitant yawn filled the room. The muscles in my shoulders and arms ached. Natasha hadn’t been kidding when she said I was going to make up for my behaviour in our last training session. I spent all of Friday night and most of Saturday running drills and practicing the same old fighting techniques with her. It was safe to say that the relaxing weekend I had planned made me even more tired than the week I had before. 

I padded down the hallways of the west wing, past the closed doors of the other dorms. Eventually the walls opened up to the wider living space of the compound. I stepped into the kitchen to pour myself a much-needed cup of coffee. Resting against the island counter, I looked out towards the sitting room as I took my first few sips. 

Despite midday creeping up, the place was almost a ghost town. Usually the compound was buzzing with Avengers in the kitchen or trainees chatting in the living room. There was always the commotion of life echoing off the walls, with family-style dinners and comradery. But for whatever reason, the last weekend had been anything but warm and friendly. 

I was certain that something terrible had happened during the last mission my team went on. The night before during dinner, Natasha and Sam hardly said a word to me, let alone to each other. I was sat across them, watching nervously as they avoided any sort of eye contact with each other. To my side, Steve had been parading around as his typically cheery self, but it felt performative. He was overcompensating, but for what I couldn’t tell. And I hadn’t seen Wanda once. 

In the corner of my vision I noticed one of the throw pillows on the couches move. I leaned further over the counter to investigate, only realize that it was not a pillow, but a head. Steve was sprawled across one of the couches, his head propped up against the armrest as he was reading a book. I must have completely missed him when I walked into the kitchen. 

I hopped off the stool I was sitting on and trudged over to the living room. Steve heard the gentle thump of my footsteps and looked back. He smiled warmly when he caught my eye, sitting up to make room for me on the couch beside him. I plopped right down, tucking my knees under me so we could sit shoulder to shoulder. 

“Good afternoon,” Steve said with a grin.

“It is not afternoon,” I said from behind my coffee mug. “Yet. Where’s everyone else?”

Steve inhaled sharply. I felt his shoulder tense. “I’m not sure. We’ve all been doing our own thing the last few days.”

The muscles in my jaw clenched. I couldn’t figure out what happened to the team I started out with, the team that saved the world in Manhattan. Ever since Ultron, ever since Sokovia fell to pieces and took me down with it, the balance felt off. Maybe it was because we still had no idea where Bruce or Thor were. Maybe they were the glue. Steve opened his mouth again as if to give me another glimpse into his world, but he shut it just as quickly.

I decided enough was enough. I was fed up with walking on eggshells around what had happened on that mission. 

“Okay, that’s it.” I sat up straighter so that I could stare Captain America down. “Cut the crap, please.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“I’m done with your propaganda-style acting. It’s bullshit-”

“Langauge!”

“Sorry.” I inhaled shallowly. “But seriously, what the hell happened on your last mission?”

Steve brought a hand to the back of his neck and sighed. “It was rough. We thought had all the information but we didn’t, and some bad calls were made.”

I waited silently for him to go on. When he didn’t, I leaned forward with an expectant face. “Okay, so what happened?”

He looked around like he wanted to make sure no one else was listening. “I don’t think I’m at liberty to say, hon.”

“Come on, dude! It’s me.” I felt frustration bubbling up and burning behind my eyes. Fingernails dug into my palm to keep gravity in place. 

“Laurie, we are all okay,” Steve said earnestly. He put a reassuring hand on my shoulder, but it felt more like a warning. “That’s really all that matters.”

“No, of course,” I held my hands up. My word were laced with sarcasm “Because having zero information about what happened or about the wellbeing of my team is incredibly helpful Steven.”

Steve ignored the nickname. “Well, you aren’t a part of the team, Laurie,” he said slowly.  

I blinked. My head ricocheted backwards, the words firing like a slap to the face. I pushed Steve’s hand off my shoulder with so much force I almost thought I’d accidentally used my abilities. I must have been showing everything on my face, because Steve rose to his feet as I scrambled onto mine. 

“Laurie, hold on. You know that’s not what I meant,” Steve said, waving an imaginary white flag. 

“No, no.” I kept my hands up, creating a gap between us. “You’re right. I’m not an agent anymore. I’m not S.H.I.E.L.D..”

I walked backwards as I spoke, towards the dormitory hallway. I turned my back to him and sped down the hall to my room. Steve did look genuinely sorry, but I couldn’t get over how easily he had said it. As though he had it hidden underneath his tongue the whole time. He wasn’t wrong either, my affiliation with S.H.I.E.L.D. was revoked after Sokovia. I wasn’t an Avenger anymore.

Ultron was all the worst sides of my father put into one entity. Obsessive, controlling, and dangerously powerful. He took what he wanted, and also took the things he needed to get his way. I knew that my father felt completely powerless when Ultron managed to capture and use me like a chess piece. 

It wasn’t exactly a walk in the park for me either. After Sokovia fell, Dad wanted me as far away from imminent danger as possible. He told me his decision was final because I had already lost so much of my childhood. I never felt like I’d missed out on a normal life, but I opted to let Dad think he knew better than me.

As I sulked my way down the long hallway, I noticed one of the doors was cracked open. Wanda’s room was painted grey, with accents of purple and teal throughout. Light from her windows spilled onto the floor beneath my feet. I could hear muffled voices coming from behind the door, but I knew she was alone. Before I had a chance to think, my feet had turned to the right and I was in her doorway. 

My body nudged the door slightly, giving me a better visual of the room. The TV was on and playing the news. I had stopped keeping up with the news after everything with the Mandarin; I always got the heebeegeebees at the thought of a newspaper. Wanda was sitting on her bed, knees tucked under her chin and arms wrapped around herself. I knocked gently on the doorframe, not wanting to startle her. 

My heart seized when she turned her head. Wanda’s eyes were masked by dark bags and it was obvious now that she had been crying. The sight of her made me so uncomfortable, the way anyone would get when they see their role model in shambles. 

Wanda blinked slowly at me before drawing her attention back to the TV. I took that as my invitation. Gingerly, I took a seat beside her on the edge of her bed and listened to what the newscaster had to say. 

In a matter of minutes, all of Steve’s backhandedness, all of Natasha and Sam’s distance and Wanda’s swollen eyes made sense. I held my breath as images of bruised and bloody citizens flooded the streets of Lagos. One video in particular kept playing on a loop. An office building on fire after a detonated explosive had been thrown at it by none other than Wanda herself. The death toll ran along the bottom of the screen, along with the headline, Have the Avengers gone too far?

Wanda had the remote in her hand and was re-running the program over and over. I knew I should have taken it from her, I should have turned the television off. But just like I did in the gym, my body felt frozen in place. I told myself there was nothing I could do that would relieve Wanda from her grief, so there was no point in trying. I shuffled closer to her, leaning my chin on her shoulder and bracing one arm behind her and holding the hand in her lap with my other. 

We watched the segment another three times, and each time I morphed my body more and more into Wanda’s. I thought that knowing what happened in Lagos would answer all the questions I had, but I found myself getting more and more confused. I could not wrap my head around how Natasha or Steve let the fight get to that point. If I had been there I could have helped, if they had just let me help…

Our heads turned synchronously when the TV screen turned black. Steve stood in the doorway with his arms crossed. He leaned against the doorframe, eyes glassy. The muscles in my jaw twitched when I held his gaze, still reeling from the offhand comment he made earlier.

Wanda stared off into space as she spoke. “It’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“That’s not true.” Steve and I spoke at the same time. I tightened my grip on Wanda’s hand. 

“Turn the TV back on,” Wanda replied, her tone disheartening. “They’re being very specific.” 

“I should have clocked that bomb vest long before you had to deal with it,” Steve said. He moved forward, taking a seat beside me. I scooted backwards a bit, giving him more room to sit and myself more distance from him. I could tell he noticed, because he faltered as lowered himself down. He was expecting to lean on me. “Rumlow said ‘Bucky’ and all of a sudden I was a sixteen year old kid again in Brooklyn,” 

I cocked my head at him, puzzled. When I found out they were going away, I got A.P.R.I.L. to steal the pre-mission reports. It said that they were going after Rumlow because he had biological warfare. What did Bucky Barnes have to do with anything? I fought the urge to ask. 

Two years ago when James Barnes had resurfaced, my good friend Steve began the wildest of goose chases. And of course, Nick Fury had found a way to get me tangled up in it all. Despite all the stories Steve had told me in the time between, to paint his friend in a better light, I could not shake the memory of the masked man who threw a car at me on a thirty-foot-high bridge. Next to Ultron, Bucky had been the closest anyone has ever been to killing me. 

“And people died. That’s on me.” Steve continued to offer support to his fellow agent, but his words fell onto deaf ears.

“It’s on both of us.” Wanda’s voice was so quiet that I almost missed it. Steve glanced back at me. His face was painted with a slurry of emotions. It made the room feel so heavy.

“I’m sure you both did your best,” I squeaked. It was a strain to get the sentence out; it felt so artificial. My brows furrowed and I clenched the fist that wasn’t supporting my weight. Steve offered me a trying smile.

“This job…we try to save as many people as we can,” Steve said quietly. “Sometimes that doesn’t mean everybody. But if we can’t find a way to live with that, then next time maybe nobody gets saved.” 

Wanda nodded along to Steve’s words. We resigned to sit in silence for a moment, as Wanda leaned her weight back against me. A pulse of energy in my core kept me centered. Steve brought a warm hand to my back, and this time I did not push it away.

All three of us jumped when Vision appeared, his body moving seamlessly through the solid wall. I had had very minimal interaction with it…him, since he was created. Vision was a mystery to me, a complex tangle of life and code that I both felt drawn to explore and terrified to touch.

“Vis! We talked about this,” Wanda reprimanded her red and blue counterpart. Unbeknownst to me, walking through walls must have become a regular occurrence. 

“Yes, but the door was open so I assumed that…” Vision trailed off when he saw the disapproving look on Wanda’s face. “Captain Rogers wished to know when Mr. Stark was arriving.”

That certainly caught my attention. My dad, here? He wasn’t supposed to be back from Boston until tomorrow. 

“Vision, what are you talking about?” I sat up a little straighter.

“Thank you. We’ll be right down,” Steve said. It was as if I hadn’t even spoken. Typical. 

“I’ll use the door,” Vision said lightly. “Oh, and apparently he’s brought a guest.” 

In a flash, my heart leapt and came crashing down with the hope that it would be Pepper. Foolish thinking, I knew she was long, long gone. Even still, the question still remained: What was Dad doing here, and more importantly, why didn’t he tell me that he was coming? 

“We know who it is?” Steve asked. 

”The Secretary of State.” 

Chapter Text

I ran faster than my legs could carry me. Lungs burning and palms sweating, I pummeled my way through the living quarters back down to the main floor. It was a Sunday, so most of the full-time employees were off enjoying golf games and mimosas with brunch. Or whatever grown adults did on Sundays. 

As I approached the grand staircase connecting the upper floors to the lobby, my feet went flying over the top steps. A leap that big should have sent me catapulting into a bone-breaking landing. Instead, I landed with grace on the tips of my toes, only to jump and skip another six steps. For a moment I was weightless, drifting down to earth with the speed of a leaf in autumn. With every bound I felt the surge of energy expanding. The compound was the one place on this planet I felt comfortable enough to use my powers unconsciously. 

I came to a screeching hault at the bottom of the staircase. The momentum from my fall sent me run-tripping directly into the chest of a very fragile looking man. He had brown hair and silly glasses, and he dropped the briefcase he was holding when we collided. I mentally reached out to stop it from spinning out too far away on the floor. 

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” I bent down to pick up the briefcase and thrust it into its owner’s very discombobulated arms. The man brushed imaginary dust off his crisp white shirt and took the briefcase from me with a flat smile. 

I took a step back to gather my bearings. The man was clearly an assistant of some sort to the other stranger in the room. He was taller than my father, who stood to his left, with a mop of white hair and a matching moustache. The subtle sheen of his pitch black suit and the golden cufflinks told me that he must be the Secretary of State. 

“Oh kid, I never taught you how to make a grand entrance, did I?”

I grimaced. My father was never one to hide disappointment. But I knew that his words held no depth as he opened his arms and enveloped me in a quick ‘hello’ embrace. He ruffled my hair a bit and positioned me to face his colleagues. 

“Gentlemen, you know my daughter, Laurie.” This wasn’t the first time I had been introduced to government officials, and it would not be the last. The public might be in the dark about Tony Stark’s lineage, but the US government has been in on the bit for years. 

“Secretary Ross,” the greying man held his hand out. I shook it firmly, matching the strength of his grip to mine. That was an old trick Dad taught me so I could “assert my dominance in front of big-headed men.” It felt appropriate. 

“Pleasure to meet you, sir.” I took a step backwards and found my father’s hands on my shoulders. 

“Laur, why don’t you go get your things together. Mr. Ross and I are going to have a short meeting with the rest of the team, and then we can head home,” Dad said, flashing pearly whites my way. I felt my chest tighten at the idea of the team having a private meeting, especially one where a U.S. official was present. 

“Well I am sure the team wouldn’t mind me sitting in.” I spoke with a sickeningly sweet tone and turned my attention to Ross. “Especially if the Secretary of State will be in attendance. I’ve always had a dream to go into politics.”

“Is that so?” Ross raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by the fake glean in my eyes.

“This is the first time I’m hearing about this.” Dad chimed in.

“Ah, but with all your business trips, how would you have known?” I said, knowing I must have been pushing my luck.

“Laurel.”

“Unfortunately, this meeting is strictly Avengers-only.” Ross stepped closer, ruffling a hand over the hair atop my head as if I were a dog. “ Nothing you need to worry that little head of yours about, Miss Stark.”

“Oh, I completely understand, sir. I’ll let you gentlemen be.”

Ross turned his back to me as I grumbled off towards the staircase once more. Putting my pride aside, I spun on my heels to stick my tongue out at Dad when I heard the words, “Teenagers, so much drama,” come out of his mouth. 

The designated meeting room was in my clear trajectory on the way back to my room. It was easy to look through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows and see that Sam, Steve, Natasha, Wanda, and Rhodey were already sitting around the oval table. When had Rhodey gotten here, I wondered. 

There was no doubt that this meeting had something to do with the mission gone wrong in Lagos. Saving people always came with a cost, I had seen that truth unfold time after time. But we had never received special visits from government officials before, not unless we were being awarded medals of honour. Something was not right. I needed to be in that room, I would give anything to be in that room. Unfortunately, I had to settle for the next best thing.

I shut my bedroom door behind me and leaped into my desk chair. The wheels slid with the impact and I almost comedically crashed into the window. The monitors that spread across the width of the desk lit up, and my fingers were frantic as I typed in the password. 

“A.P.R.I.L., pull up the security footage from the meeting room,” I spoke loud and clear. Video picture of a meeting room appeared on the screen directly in front of me. I sighed. “No, ‘bolts-for-brains’, the main meeting room.” 

“Access to those cameras has been restricted.” A.P.R.I.L.’s voice came on over the loudspeakers. 

“Then run ‘Locksmith’ protocol, dude! This is time sensitive!”

“I had already tried to execute both ‘Locksmith’ and ‘Don’t F-ing Worry About It.’ Neither program was able to slip past S.H.I.E.L.D.’s defences.”

“I have to do everything myself, don’t I?” A.P.R.I.L. played a sad violin sound in retaliation. 

I cracked my knuckles and opened the control panel on my computer. Accessing the wall would be easy, getting through it was the challenging bit. Or at least, it was the challenging part if you weren’t me. All it took was a bit of outside the box thinking for me to implement a code that took down the compound’s restrictions. It was never about going through the wall when I could go above, below, or sideways. 

With one last satisfying click of the Enter button, the security footage for the main meeting room took over my screen. I turned the volume button up and watched intently. Man, I wish I had popcorn. 

Everyone at the table watched intently as Ross spoke. He was very charismatic in his arm motions and hand gestures. By the time I got the audio working, he was wrapping up a story about a heart attack. 

“The world owes the Avengers an unpayable debt.” Ross paraded back and forth at the head of the table. His arms were folded neatly behind his back, his shoulders firm and upright. He must have had military experience, I thought. “ You have fought for us, protected us, risked your lives . . . but while a great many people see you as heroes, there are some . . . who would prefer the word "vigilantes".”

“Vigilantes?” I murmured. “What the hell does he think of that Spider-kid then?”

“And what word would you use, Mr. Secretary?” Natasha’s back was to the security camera, but I could recognize her voice among any crowd. I noticed then that my father wasn’t sitting at the table. He was separated, huddling back in the corner of the room. A shadow overlooking the group.

“How about "dangerous"?” Ross nearly spat. “What would you call a group of US-based, enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders and inflict their will wherever they choose and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?”

Ross leaned over and picked up a small remote from the tableside. He pointed it at the projector, which lit up in a flash. Images from the Avenger’s past flooded the screen. Ross pointed out each location as they passed.

“New York, Washington DC, Sokovia, Lagos.”

He halted on the last one, letting images of buildings on fire burn into my team’s eyes. There was footage of crowds running in the opposite directions. Paramedics moved in on a body just as another explosion went off. A dead girl.

I scanned the table, trying to read pixelated body language as best I could. Dad’s hand was by his chin; a classic defence mechanism for when he wanted to look deep in thought but really he was dreadfully uncomfortable. Wanda had sunk as low as she could possibly go without slipping to the floor. 

“Okay. That's enough,” Steve said to Ross, but his gaze was on Wanda. Ross made no indication that he caught, or even cared about, Wanda’s stature. 

“For the past four years, you've operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That's an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. But I think we have a solution.”

I felt my heart rise into my throat. Ross made a lazy snapping motion at his assistant with the glasses, who was sitting in a chair by the window. He had shrunk down. I hadn’t even noticed him until then. The man pulled something out of his briefcase and handed it to Ross, who promptly set it on the table with a thwack. I craned my neck to get a better view, but the camera quality was too poor for me to make out what it could be. 

“The Sokovia Accords. Approved by 117 countries . . . it states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they'll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, only when and if that panel deems it necessary,” Ross explained. The team took turns examining the document before passing it along to their neighbour. 

“The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place. I feel we've done that,” Steve said when the Accords landed in front of him. 

“Tell me, Captain, do you know where Thor and Banner are right now?” Ross stared hard at Steve down the bridge of his nose. When Steve gave no response, Ross continued. “If I misplaced a couple of 30 megaton nukes . . . you can bet there'd be consequences. Compromise. Reassurance. That's how the world works. Believe me, this is the middle ground.”

“So, there are contingencies.” Rhodey flexed the thick document out in front of him. Ross nodded. 

“Three days from now, the UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords,” Ross said. He glanced back at my dad in the corner. “Talk it over.”

“And if we come to a decision you don't like?” Natasha asked. She was still sitting, but her presence made her appear several feet taller than the secretary. 

“Then you retire.”

Natasha didn’t even try to hide the sarcastic smile and eye roll. No one had anything to say after that. Not even a witty remark from Tony. Although from the way he was still slumped in his corner, practically cowering, I had a theory that he knew this was a long time coming. 

Secretary Ross bid his farewells and left without another word. His poor assistant trailed after him like a kicked puppy. I expected the team to erupt into some sort of fit. Certainly, my father would at least be peeved at this. He’d never done well under someone else’s rule. 

To my disbelief, he was the calmest in the room. Sam and Rhodey looked like they were speaking in hushed tones, and Steve was motioning toward Wanda, likely offering some sort of condolence. The mics weren’t able to pick up on any of the specifics, though. 

My eyes glued to the white pixels on the table, the document currently causing so much grief. Between being just barely filled in on what happened in Lagos and having to eavesdrop on the meeting through a janky video system, I felt entirely confused at what the big deal was. 

“What do you think it is, A.P.R.I.L.?” I asked my dearest companion. “Some sort of damage control? They sign it to agree to like, I don’t know, say they’ll pay for any destruction or whatever?”

“I’m not sure, boss.” A.P.R.I.L.’s voice had a slight hint of hesitation. Not that she had any real tone, she was made up, but I could always tell the difference. “Best to just go ask.”

“When have you ever known me to get what I want by asking?” I scoffed. No, if I asked the adults they wouldn’t tell me the truth, and I was done being kept in the dark. Everyone thought that I was still just a kid, but never treated me like one when I actually was. And to start acting like that now? It majorly pissed me off. 

I hovered at my desk for a moment longer, waiting to see what the team would do. They continued to talk in low voices, some weren’t engaging in conversation at all. Rubbing circles along the inside of my palms, I was nearly doubled over with nerves. 

My breath caught in my throat when Dad stood up. He said something that sounded like “Let’s take this somewhere with better seating, my ass hurts,” and gestured to the door. The team all got up in unison and followed Dad’s lead out the door. In their haste, the Accords document was left sitting on the oval table. There’s my chance , was the last thing I thought before I dashed out of my bedroom, leaving the desk chair spinning in my wake. 

Chapter Text

I should have known that sneaking into the meeting room would be harder than just opening the door. I stalked my team over the security camera footage on my smartwatch, following them as they trudged out of the room and down the halls. I struggled to keep up with every turn of a corner. Dumb tiny controls. Eventually they settled in the living room. It was perfect. They probably left the meeting room door unlocked and everything! All I had to do was sneak down the hall and-

Shit. 

The living room was directly down the hall. They were directly down the hall. There was no way that I could stroll past them, not without anyone knowing what I was on the hunt for. And in the back of my mind I knew that the security cameras were only easy to crack into because my father wanted me to see that footage. He wanted to remind me that I’d only ever watch from behind a wall. 

I tip-toed closer to the living room. Their voices got clearer as I snuck a peak around the corner. Breathing heavily, I scanned for a way to waltz past the group. My eyes darted to the air duct by the ceiling. I could climb through those? I thought. No, there was no way I could even attempt to be as quiet as Clint was when he hung out up there. 

My heart jolted out of my chest when Rhodey turned his head in my direction. I whipped back around the corner, hand over my mouth for good measure. This is why they never sent me in to gather intel anywhere. I was way too jumpy. 

I scampered back down the hall to my room. Pacing along the floor, I wracked my brain for another way I could get to the meeting room. Surely there was a way around the living room. I had never seen the blueprints for the compound, but my dad had to have installed some sort of emergency exit. 

A wicked grin crossed my face. I crossed my bedroom floor and pried open the door to a small balcony that overlooked the compound grounds. It was a sunny Sunday afternoon. The pond was still enough that I could see wiggly reflections of the treeline in it. I stepped towards the railing, hands pressed against the cool metal bars. I heaved my weight to look down at the ground. I was four stories up, which I guessed equated to around fifty feet off the ground. That’s not that terrible, I thought. I was higher up in Sokivia.

I inhaled deeply and swung my left leg over the railing. With incredible incoordination, I carefully pulled the rest of my body over the railing so that I was teetering on the edge. If I looked, I was sure that I’d see white knuckles gripping the bar for dear life on either side of me. This was a great plan. It was a terribly great terrible plan. 

Launching myself down a flight of stairs was easy. It was one step after the other with minimal exertion of my powers. I did it without thinking all the time, this was no different. Instead of three or four feet over a wide span, I just had to make it fifty straight down. I could do this. I can’t do this. I could totally do this. Laurie, just do it! I probably didn’t have much time before they realize they forgot the document in the living room anyways. Quit stalling! Just close your eyes and-

My stomach flew up into my throat. I clenched my fists and tucked my arms in tight to my sides, keeping my eyes closed. Even though I couldn’t see, I knew that my body was beginning to glow. I could feel it, as though an invisible hand was reaching out through my chest, desperate to grab onto anything. Grasping at air, I began to panic. I had no frame of reference. Nothing to pinpoint my gravitational pull to, not with my eyes closed. And for the life of me I couldn’t get them open. I felt myself slip and plummet towards the hard ground. This was it. This was how I die.

When I opened my eyes I was dumbfounded. I let out a disbelieving gasp as I took in the world from forty feet in the air. I was completely suspended, my body stuck between atoms like an airplane in turbulence. I mustered the courage to move my head to look up and see what I was tethered to. To my absolute shock, there was nothing but open sky above me. How the hell was I flying?

I slowed my breathing and remembered all that I had learned with Wanda. I focused on my palms first. They were buzzing with energy, alive with a force I needed to control. You are in control . Wanda’s voice echoed in my mind. I was in control. I let myself feel the pulsing inside my chest. It beat and thumped like a drum. Like a heartbeat. Looking inward, I realized with a gasp that I had redirected my gravitational pull to…myself. Well how about that?

Lowering myself down to the ground was tricky business. It felt like trying to control the muscles in your face that you don’t normally have manual control over. Eventually, I wobbled down until my feet touched the grass. I collapsed onto my hands and knees, head lowered. I mentally cracked up at the image of me looking like a poser. 

Still in shock that I had uncovered a new layer to my abilities, I dusted my hands off and felt the energy cool down. I had time to unpack all of that later. Right now I was on a mission. Cardio had never been my strong suit, but I managed to jog around the perimeter of the compound easily enough. I hoped that the few straggling SHIELD agents who had nothing better to do but be here on a weekend didn’t notice me gasping for breath as I walked through the large double doors. 

As I predicted, the door to the meeting room was unlocked. The document was still sitting in the middle of the oval table. The room felt heavy, and although I knew better than to believe in spirits, I could have sworn that the document was calling my name. Surely it was a normal legal binder, but it felt like it had it’s own gravity, tugging me closer. 

I picked it up using two hands, running my fingers over the glossy title page. My heart was beating loudly in my ears, drowning out any other sounds in the room. The Sokivia Accords: Framework for the Registration and Deployment of Enhanced Individuals … Deployment? I thought. My mind had jumped to jumbled up the words deployment and deportation. The government didn’t have the power to deport us. Surely not. 

I sat down in one of the empty office chairs and propped the Accords open in front of me. It was thick, nearly the same size as my math textbook. Flipping through the pages, I tried to understand what about this thing got my team into such a tizzy. The more I read, the more confused I got. The legal jargon was far beyond my comprehension skills. There was a reason I used to pass out during the HR meetings Dad dragged me to.  

The table of contents was just as hard to understand as the rest of it, but I ran my finger down the pages regardless. I scanned across ink, looking for any semblance of the English language. The pad of my pointer finger came to a screeching halt. I stared at the page with my mouth agape, mind having gone blank. Staring back up at me was my own name printed in bolded letters. 

They called me “The Subject.” I kicked myself for being surprised, I should have known that this would implicate me. You didn’t even know what this was five minutes ago, I thought. Yeah but you should have.

I forced myself to read through every single word. Regulations…oversight protocols…stipulations… My heart was racing. I started to feel sick to my stomach, even though I still wasn’t clear on what this meant at all. And then it hit me.

Article XII, Section 3A: Failure to comply. In the event that the Subject violates any of the statutes or stipulations outlined within Article I-XII, the following measures shall be immediately enacted.

Immediate detainment. Placement in a specialized containment facility.  Behavioural and ability development assessment. I suddenly felt like eyes were already on me. I started breathing faster, and the heart that was once stuck in my throat had dropped to the pits of my stomach. The curtains were completely drawn back now. If I broke any of the rules laid out in front of me, the government would put me in a lab and study me. 

I was seven when my father went missing for the first time. It was rare for him to take work trips without me, but going into an active war zone was no place for a child, so he left me behind. Pepper had moved into our house almost immediately. She made sure I did my schoolwork, that I kept going to my theatre and art classes. She got me into therapy too. It took three months for Dad to come back, and when he did I felt different. 

In therapy, I learned how to ground myself. The night terrors were pretty persistent back then. I’d wake up screaming with no recollection of my dreams. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t see, and it felt like I was dying. My therapist taught me how to come back down to earth. She taught me to breathe deeply, to feel the floor beneath my feet. It was around this time that my powers first manifested. The techniques I used to channel the power under my sternum were the same ones my therapist taught me way back when. I stopped throwing things around in my sleep after a while.

The government thought I was dangerous. They called me a threat to civilians, they wanted me locked up. I knew that if these Accords got signed, these people would look for the smallest of excuses to put me away, to put all of us away. Frantically, I flipped to the last page in the document. I was looking for the page where my team would inevitably sign. Angry tears blurred my vision when I landed on the page. 

Clint Barton, Wanda Maximoff, James Rhodes, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Anthony Stark, Vision, and Sam Wilson.  

Of course, they wouldn’t give me a say in this. Of course they would give that fucking cyborg a say in my future instead of me. My nails dug into the centre of my palms, and I felt the distinct pop of skin breaking. For a fleeting moment, I worried about getting blood on the Accords. 

A desk chair to my right went flying over the table, smashing through the window opposite me. Glass exploded and fell in shards to the ground, the lights started to flicker. They wanted a monster? Fine, I’d let them have it. But first I needed to go find my father.

I barreled into the living room holding the Accords above my head like it was a rifle and I was trying to get attention in a mall. The team was scattered around the room, hovering over the brown leather couches or splayed across them. My father was standing in the kitchen by the coffee maker, in front of a hologram projection of something I couldn’t see. It looked like he was preaching to the choir. Clearly, I was interrupting. 

“What the hell is this?” I slammed the Accords down onto the coffee table so hard that cold liquid spilled out of the mug I had left early that same morning. Surprise clouded the faces of those around me. 

“Laurie,” Steve started. He had another copy of the document in his hands, closing it gingerly like he thought sudden movements might set me off.

“No, don’t ‘Laurie’ me. What is this? What is going on?” It was hitting me all at once that it was the same Sunday and I hadn’t even been awake for half a day. It was just a few hours ago that I was curled up on these very couches with Steve. Finding out about Lagos and discovering the Accords in such quick succession, my head was spinning. 

Natasha took a step forward and picked up the Accords I had tossed around. She flipped it sideways, examining the spine, and my jaw twitched when I noticed the splotches of red seeping into the white pages. I shoved my fist into my pocket. 

“What happened to this?” She held the document out towards me, her eyes piercing daggers into mine. 

“Is that coffee?” Rhodey asked, peering over Nat’s shoulder. 

“Did you hurt yourself?” Natasha asked, ignoring Rhodey's breathing down her neck.

“You spilled coffee on that? Come on, that’s a government document!” 

“I’m sure the guy with the goofy glasses has it on hard drive, Rhodey,” I said flatly. 

“It’s clearly blood man,” Sam said. 

“Blood? What do you mean blood?” Dad chimed in, stepping out of the kitchen and putting a hand on my shoulder. I tensed under his touch. 

“Laurel, did you hurt yourself over this?” Natasha’s eyes were scanning all over me. 

Dad gripped both of my shoulders and turned me to face him, shaking me slightly as he asked. “Why is she saying you’re hurt, are you hurt?” I stuttered over my words and he noticed the hands in my pocket. “Show me your hands.” 

“Dad, stop.” More voices were piling into the conversation and I started to feel like I was drowning. 

“Okay everyone, let’s calm down,” Steve interjected. 

“Show me your hands!” 

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” I screamed. I was holding both arms out in front of me now. My breathing had become erratic. Electricity pulsed underneath my skin. I could feel every object in the room, every person’s gravity pulling me in a thousand directions at once. Dad leaned back at my outburst, everyone else took a step away. 

“I’m going to need you to watch your tone, little miss,” Dad said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“And I’m going to need all of you to quit the horse shit,” I bit back, waving my pointer finger around the room as I spoke. “You have all been keeping me in the dark for a year. I am sick of it. Tell me what’s going on.” 

“You are not an Avenger anymore.” Dad was the only person with the balls to speak up. 

“Oh, don’t I know that,” I laughed bitterly. “You never let me forget it. And you know what’s funny, Tony ? You preach about child endangerment, you swear that you’re keeping me safe but the truth is you can’t deal with the idea of your kid becoming stronger than you-”

Dad didn’t give me a chance to finish. He grabbed me by the upper arm and pulled. He dragged me out of the living room as if I was a dog who just tore up all of his designer throw pillows. My anger subsided and was replaced with shame. As Dad walked us to the hallway, he turned around and pointed at the red-stained document in Natasha’s hands. “I’ll be back. Sign it.” 

Article XII - Special Provisions for Minor Enhanced Individuals with Significant Potential
Section 3.7 - Laurie Stark Clause

1. Subject Designation
   Laurie Maria Stark, a minor and known Enhanced Person (hereinafter referred to as "the Subject"), shall be subject to enhanced oversight protocols due to her unique abilities, which include but are not limited to gravitational and elemental manipulation. Given the considerable power inherent in these capabilities, and the potential risk to public safety, the Subject shall be bound by all regulations contained within this Article.
2. Mandatory Compliance
   The Subject shall adhere to all stipulations outlined within Articles I-X, specifically regarding the registration, tracking, and supervision of superhuman activity. The Subject is expressly prohibited from the unsupervised use of her abilities in public spaces or in any manner that might endanger civilian life or property, unless explicitly sanctioned by the International Enhanced Persons Oversight Committee (IEPOC).
3. Failure to Comply
   In the event that the Subject violates any of the statutes or stipulations outlined within Articles I-XII, the following measures shall be immediately enacted:
• Immediate Detainment: The Subject will be detained by designated authorities without prior notice or warning, in order to mitigate any further threat to public safety.
• Placement in a Specialized Containment Facility: The Subject will be transported to an Enhanced Persons Rehabilitation and Containment Facility (EPRCF), where she shall remain under secure supervision until further assessment and clearance by IEPOC.
• Revocation of Conditional Freedoms: All conditional rights or privileges previously granted to the Subject, including but not limited to the right to independent movement and association, shall be summarily revoked.

Behavioral and Ability Development Assessments : In order to better understa nd and responsibly manage the Subject's capabilities, she will undergo periodic assessments with specialists to evaluate her behavioral and cognitive responses in controlled conditions. These assessments shall be conducted with a view toward ensuring public safety and furthering scientific understanding of Enhanced Persons.

Chapter Text

Tears of frustration burned my eyes as Dad pulled me into the side hallway. His grip on my forearm was gentle, but the sentiment was rough nonetheless. The moment we were out of earshot of the team, I staggered away from him, clutching my arm close to my chest.

“What has gotten into you?” Dad asked. He was angry. Seeing the snarl take over his face made me want to drop my own defences and cower. 

“How can you even ask that you're signing my rights away?” I shouted. Dad put a hand out and looked back towards the living room while shushing me. As if he cared what the team thought. 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Dad said. 

I shook my head and laughed stalely. “I read the document, Dad. If that gets signed they will have the right to lock me up.” 

“That won't happen because you aren't an Avenger anymore.” His blatant ignorance was so infuriating. I imagined myself punching a hole in the drywall just beside his head. 

“Theres an entire section with my fucking name on it!” I spat. 

“I am not going to tell you again to watch your mouth around me,” Dad warned. 

I was quick to snap back. “Since when do you care? You've been swearing since they dropped me off with you.” 

“Its about respect you little shit,” Dad said, pointing his finger in my face. 

“Oh very mature.” I rolled my eyes and pinched the space between my eyes brows. I was just itching to be done with all of this. I wanted to go home, go back to school and at least pretend like the most of my worries were end of year exams. 

“You are acting insane,” Dad said flatly. My head shot back up and I gaped at him with wide eyes. I felt the emotional rubber band stretch thinner and thinner. 

My hands covered my face, a mask that hid the welling in my eyes. Never let them see you break, I thought. Although, it wasn’t truly my voice I was hearing. Never let them see you stumble. Fingers rubbed roughly at skin, taking the tears along with them as I feigned composure. 

“I am not crazy,” I said quietly. “Don’t call me crazy.”

“No, I didn’t say crazy, I said you are acting insane.” 

I couldn’t stop the crazed scoff that bubbled up. Surely Dad did not want to see me break, surely he could hear how ridiculous he sounded. I had no idea what he wanted me to do with that, and I gave him a look that said as much. 

“Laurel”, Dad began. I swallowed hard. My eardrums were thundering and I could hear my heart beating. Thump, thump, thump . “Do you trust me?” I nodded. “Then trust me when I say that this is the best option we have.”

“I don’t believe you.” I fought to camouflage the tremor in my voice. “You hate being told what to do, so what is it really?”

I watched my dad shrug his shoulders in defeat. “We have made too many messes that other people have had to clean up. It’s time that we’re held accountable.” 

“When have you ever taken accountability for anything?” A hundred things flashed across Dad’s face. 

“I took accountability for you.”

I risked getting my shit rocked and rolled my eyes. “Right, because you had my identity wiped and I go by Pepper’s name at school. Taking some solid ownership there, Dad.”

“I don’t need you to understand my decisions Laurie, but they are for your own good.” Dad adjusted his shirt collar as he spoke. I had hoped that bringing up Pepper would gain me a leg up in this debate, but Dad didn’t so much as flinch. 

“How am I supposed to trust you when you’re about to sign a piece of paper that literally lets them take me away and experiment on me?” I asked 

Dad frowned and I caught a crack in his mask. “Where does it say that?”

Realization dawned on me in a shaking breath and I slowly backed up until my body hit the wall. “You didn’t even read it?”

Dad began to sputter out excuses. I swallowed hard and began to slip away from myself. A fog crept up under my feet, sweeping me in a wave until I was watching from above. 

“Article 12 Section 3.7. If I put a toe out of line they will take me and they will lock me up,” I said. 

“That’s not going to happen,” Dad replied. He said it lightly, like we were talking about monsters under the bed.  

My lip quivered. “But you’re willing to risk it?”

“I would never let that happen.” Dad placed his hand on his chest. 

“You will if you sign it.”

“Laurie it is not that simple-”

“Do you want me gone? Is that it?” I cut him off. “You never wanted a kid in the first place so this is the easiest way to get rid of me?” If he wanted to play like this then fine, I was game. 

“Jesus, cut it back with the melodramatics!” Dad laughed. He laughed at me. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”

“You can’t guarantee that!” I said pointedly. 

“It’s actually my job to guarantee that, so…” Dad was too relaxed, too enveloped in his element. He played psychological warfare like a drum every day for work, it was jarring to watch him play it on me. I had to cover my mouth as my head shook so that I could sensor the words before they came tumbling out of me. 

“You aren’t the hotshot in charge anymore, Dad. You don’t call the plays, you’re not the boss, and you know as well as I do that they would be looking for the tiniest excuse to lock me away and you would be powerless to stop them-”

“I WOULD HAVE PROTECTED YOU!”

“YOU’D BE THE ONE HANDING ME OVER!” 

I did not back down. “Not the government, not Nick Fury, not anyone else on the team. It would be you doing that to me.” I raised an accusatory finger my father. He ducked away from me. It was barely noticeable, just centimetres. But his arms were crossed high over his chest, a protective shield over his reactor arc. I looked down. My finger was glowing. I closed it into a fist. “If you sign this, Dad, I swear to God I will never forgive you.” 

“And I can live with that because I know that those Accords will keep my daughter safe. They give you a chance at a normal life, Laur.” Dad’s defences lowered in time with my fist. 

“Normal life?” I scoffed. “What normal life? I’ve had two real friends in my whole life and they’ve never been to our house. They’ll never know who my parents are, and they don’t know me truly because I’m not allowed to let them. I’ve never been to a school dance. I have no idea how to talk to people my age. You and I have never even gone to the movie theatre. My whole life has been you and nothing but you.”

Dad’s face became harder than stone. “I didn’t realize I was such a terrible father.”

That was enough to slam me back into my body. The hallway was spinning in an endless spiral around me and I felt sick to my stomach. I stood across from my father like opponents in Jersey after the countdown. Imaginary guns drawn and smoking in the wind. An eerie sense of calm slowed my thoughts and tugged at my breathing. All at once I knew this fight had been lost. 

“We’re going home. Go get your things while I finish talking to everyone else.” I did not move a muscle, staring angrily at the cold tile floor. “Please, Laurie.” 

I rolled my eyes and looked up at my father. When I was younger we would bicker a lot and I liked to punish him with silent treatments. He was always talented at sharpening his words and pointing them just above my major arteries. So in return, I would deliver silent rebuttals. They would last ages. I think the longest I went without talking to him was two and a half weeks. It was after New York, when he had disappeared again and missed Christmas. Pepper made us both try family therapy afterwards. The shrinks all thought it was some disorder, some selective form of mutism. But I knew it wasn’t. I knew what I was doing. Manipulation learned from the very best. 

I could see the pain behind my father’s eyes. I could see a broken man truly trying his best. But I get my stubbornness from somewhere and Tony Stark has never been able to get out of his own way. I learned at a very early age that he was not the kind of parent who handled his emotions well, let alone those of a teenage girl. 

When I stepped back into the living room again, trailing behind my father like a kicked dog, I could tell that my team had heard every word. It was written all over their faces. Each Avenger had taken to separate corners of the room, silently lamenting over the thick booklet that laid on the coffee table. Someone had moved the cold cup of coffee I had abandoned in all my fury. And Steve had taken off, something about a family affair he needed to take care of. Funny, I thought all of his family was dead. 

Shoes dragging to a halt underneath me, I stood motionless a few feet away from everyone else. Dad continued in his stride, marking a clear path to the middle of the room. Bile rose in my throat while I watched him reach a hand inside his vest and pull out a black pen. Carelessly tossing pages of the document to the side, my father bent down and scribbled his signature above the line with his name on it. I could sense Natasha’s watchfull eyes on me, but my gaze was glued to the Accords. My blood on the pages was still fresh. I turned my palms upwards, examining the dents in my skin that were already beginning to clot. Maybe Natasha had a right to be concerned after all. 

…

I couldn’t remember much about the ride home. Dad had driven himself to the compound in Grandpa’s old Cadillac, so we took that car home. I was grateful that I had the back to myself. There were so many times in my life when Dad and I got into a heated fit, and then had to share the backseat of Happy’s car. I imagined that was what it would be like to have siblings. 

The traffic going back into New York City on a Sunday afternoon was just a recipe for disaster. Even with F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s route saving us forty-five minutes, Dad and I were still stuck in a metal cage for the next hour. I was sprawled out along the seat, my head resting on the pink overnight bag. If Happy saw me like this, he would have had a fit followed by a lecture on proper seatbelt safety. 

I spent most of the silent drive with my eyes closed. That way I could keep the waterworks from spilling onto the plush leather seats. Italian leather, priceless and ridiculously hard to replace; something my father reminded me of every time I had the gual to try and eat in this car. There were very few material objects my Dad cared about, and this old piece of junk happened to be one of them. I let a few tears fall and create a damp puddle on the leather just to spite him. 

Every so often I would crack my eyes open a bit, muscles tense in reaction to the daylight. I would catch Dad looking at me and pretend to fall asleep again. He was supposed to be watching the road after all. I swallowed the bitter taste of spit in my mouth and let the sounds of the car rumbling lull me into real sleep. The emotional expenses of the morning were finally catching up to me. 

Dad pulled the car into the unground garage and it sputtered to a halt. The vibrations from the engine that echoed in my chest stopped. With my ear against my duffle bag, I became very aware of the hard thud, thud, thump of my own heartbeat. I supposed that Dad thought I was still asleep. I waited to hear him unlock the door and step out. He was still. 

Anticipation for something I couldn’t name sent a shiver down to my toes. My eyes were still closed and the sound of my heavy breathing was making me rethink my acting abilities. Too shallow, to narrow, too loud to mock a resting child. I focused on controlling it, slowing it down like Wanda had taught me. That only made it harder to take in air. My heart skipped a beat and got caught in my throat. Why could I not catch a breath? 

A click of a lock brought me back down. The car jiggled as dad stepped out. I opened my eyes but remained still. Dad had just recently taken up driving himself places, so there were only a handful of times in my life when he would get the chance to carry me in after a long night’s drive. I was always secretly awake, I just wanted to be held. Doesn’t everyone ache to feel smaller than they are once and a while? 

Once I felt like I had been laying there for too long, I moved to go inside the house. I figured Dad must have gone straight inside. I was too old to be carried now anyways. My hand pushed up on my duffle bag for leverage, but it was sooner swept out from under me. My cheek landed with a smack on the leather. I sat up, disgruntled, to see Dad standing above me with my duffle swaying at his side. He’d come back to get me. 

He looked as shocked as I felt. We stared at one another for a long while. I had to press my lips together when I saw the first glimmer of giggles cross my fathers face. Before I knew it he was having a total fit, giggling like he was several feet shorter and wearing pigtails. I couldn’t help but join him as he beckoned me to get out of the car. An arm around my back guided my up towards the steps into our house like the entire morning before had been forgotten. 

We stepped into the connecting elevator together. The comforting weight of Dad’s arm around my shoulders disappeared as he clicked the button for the main floor. The elevator hummed in response and I felt the ascension begin. Within seconds the doors slid open with a ding. Dad stepped out first. 

“Are you hungry?” He asked, turning as we entered the kitchen. My shoulders sagged and I let an overexaggerated yawn slip out. Food was always the way my father tried to make up for a fight. I mentally placed a bet on when he’d offer to order in cheeseburgers. 

I shook my head and rubbed an eye with my knuckles. When my vision refocused I noticed a sheen of sweat on Dad’s faced. He was paler than usual and his gaze was locked hard on me. 

Or rather, on the hand that was still by my face. The bloody nail marks had completely scabbed over. Seriously, they were not as big of a deal that everyone seemed to want to make them. 

“I’m fine, Dad.” I held my hands in fists behind my back. In the back of my mind I was bothered by the fact that the elevator door wasn’t closing properly. 

At this point in my life, I could see a panic attack starting from a mile away. The shaking breath, the jittering, the heart palpitations. I liked to joke that Dad and I passed them back and forth like a cold beer in the summertime. Nobody found that one to be funny. I could have sworn that he was getting better. Behind my back, I ran a finger over the bumpy scabs on my palms. 

Dad gulped a breath of air and dropped my duffle on the floor. Instinctively, I stepped towards him but he retreated with arms outstretched. 

“I’m fine, I’m gonna…” He stumbled over one of the barstools as he backed up. “You order a pizza or anything, I have some business to take care of downstairs.”

Dad practically ran to the main stairwell, feet stomping on the tile with force that echoed throughout the house. My shoulders tensed and I felt stuck, having not one clue what just happened. After a minute or two of standing in complete silence, I dared to move one foot in front of the other. I bent down and picked up my duffle from the ground. And although they had been completely open the entire time, the moment I reached the elevator, its doors finally closed. 

Chapter Text

I scribbled mindlessly on the calculus worksheet in front of me. Sequences of lines and shading covered the page next to my already completed work. My teachers were convinced that I needed to take a summer course so that I could take eleventh-grade math next year, since I was finding this work to be too easy. When my guidance counsellor had floated the idea back in March, I had laughed and said I’d have to thank my father for his brain. My guidance counsellor tilted her head and asked if my father was an engineer. I swallowed my pride and agreed, lying through my teeth. 

I had run out of room on the front side of my worksheet, and flipped the paper over to decorate the blank backside. With short and feathered strokes, I drafted a blueprint onto the paper. My designs were shotty at best, a little bit uneven with fuzzy edges that made the picture unclear. 

It was meant to be a bracelet. Or rather, it was meant to be the first blueprint of an electric impulse sensor that I could wear for measuring the strength of my powers when they are in use. I admitted to myself that the idea was a far stretch, that capturing the degree of supernatural strength would require technology beyond measuring my heartbeat. But I needed to start somewhere to get my abilities in check.

After Dad had left me standing there alone last Sunday, I lost it. Truth be told, I had little memory of what happened. All I remember was feeling a rush come over me. I knew Dad was having another panic attack, and I knew it was because of me. There was an immediate sense of guilt, and I was worried about him. What caught me off guard was the anger. For the first time I understood what people meant when they saw white-hot rage. And then there was nothing until Dad was kneeling at my side, staring at the now-destroyed kitchen.

I must have been screaming throughout the incident, because when I came to, my throat was raw and burning. Shattered glass and fragments of metal covered the kitchen floor. Some of the tiles had been cracked, likely from the bar stools being slammed down onto them. One of the doors of our double fridge had been ripped off its hinges and was lodged into the opposite wall. Even the oven had been dragged away from its slot between countertops, leaving scratches on the floor in its wake. I was on my hands and knees on the floor, shaking. 

In the moments of clarity afterwards, it dawned on me that instances such as these were exactly what the Accords would punish me for. It would also be moments like these that they’d want to study. I had spent most of the last few days in my room running tests on myself. Endurance tests with electrodes on every nook and cranny of my body, trying to figure out where the best point of inference could be drawn from. I wanted to know if I could predict when my powers would become uncontrollable. To know if I could keep myself from becoming dangerous. 

“What are you drawing?” Meredith leaned in from my left and whispered in my ear. I startled and broke out of my focused trance. She was looking at my drawing, turning her head every which way trying to figure it out. I put my pencil down, splaying my fingers flat over the page to cover most of it. I adjusted my posture, leaning into the desk and facing my friend. 

I shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know, I’m just bored. Finished the worksheet.” 

In front of us, a fountain of red hair flipped around. Brianna spun around in her seat, whisper shouting, “You finished already?” I nodded, trying my best to mute the swell of pride from showing on my face. “Even question seven?” 

I leaned forward in my seat to peer over Brianna’s shoulder. Her handwriting was slanted and messy, as opposed to Meredith’s, which was as neat as she kept herself. Still, I was able to make out the same mistake for both of them. 

“You guys forgot to keep the negative on X when you made the derivative of the equation,” I said, matter-of-factly. 

Both girls checked their work before rolling their eyes and calling me different variations of a nerd. I chuckled at them, swearing up and down that if they just paid attention in class they could finish early too. Meredith took the joke better than Brianna, who huffed as she turned back around. 

Meredith slid my paper across our shared desk. She flipped it longways to examine the design from a different angle. “What is this supposed to be, a stadium?” 

I laughed and rotated the paper, pointing out that the scribbles were a blown-up version of a monitor chip. “It’s blueprints for a made up…thing. Seriously, it’s nothing, I’m just bored out of my mind.”

“Blueprints? Okay Iron Man.” Meredith joked. I laughed, but mostly to cover up the way my breath caught in my throat.  

Brianna whipped her head around at that. “Iron man?” She whisper-shouted once more. “What about him? Is he on Twitter again?”

I sighed heavily, shaking my head at Brianna’s aggressive infatuation with Tony Stark. She was obsessed with him and swore up and down he saved her life during the Battle of New York. I never doubted her for a second, but I did fight the urge to vomit every time she drooled over the latest paparazzi photos of my father. She was certainly in for a heart attack if I ever decided to come clean. 

Our math teacher called out to the three of us from her desk across the room, telling us to remember the definition of silent work. We tucked our heads down, still giggling to one another and muttering hushed “shut ups”. I took back to working on my blueprints, although this time I was more conscious of Meredith’s sideways glances. 

Brianna was quick to bolt out of the classroom once the bell had rung. She ran with a blazing trail of red hair flying behind her, calling back to Meredith and I that she was ‘so unbelievably late for her vocal lesson.’ I gave Meredith a sideways glance and we chuckled. Brianna’s vocal lessons weren’t until five-thirty. Tomorrow. 

Meredith nudged my arm with her elbow. “You’re not rushing around,” she said. 

“What?” I asked. We shuffled through the swarm of students towards her locker. 

“You’re always eager to get out of here on Wednesdays,” Meredith said, she opened her locker and began sliding books and folders into their places, “Family time, right?” 

I knocked shoulders with a kid walking opposite me. “Uh, yeah,” I had honestly forgotten what day it was. I forced my feet to keep trudging along while I did mental gymnastics about whether or not I’d be welcome back at the compound.

”You know what?” I stopped walking and nudged Meredith to the side of the hall so we wouldn’t get trampled, “I don’t think I need to go today. Do you want to get a coffee or something?”

The smile Met gave me almost tricked me into thinking that everything was right in the world. We ducked around a corner into the closest stairwell, bookbags still in hand. Giggling as we descended downwards, I almost let a lapse in my judgment take control. I could take Meredith home, I thought. Dad is probably not even home, it’s not like she would know anything. Or I could tell her. 

I was sure that Meredith was more than trustworthy. Between her and Brianna, I knew that Mer would be more understanding if I came clean. She wouldn’t treat me differently, I was convinced. I could show her my room, I could show her A.P.R.I.L.. I could turn left instead of right and waltz right through my front door-

“You coming?” Meredith asked. She was standing a foot ahead of me. I blinked and gave my shoulders a shake, before nodding and following her down the right side of the street. 

A sweet chime rang above us as Mer and I walked into Emery’s coffee shop. A buttery aroma wafted past us and I saw Mer close her eyes and inhale deeply. I gestured for her to find a table while I turned to the counter to place an order of drinks. 

“Bonjour, Emery!” I greeted Emery with a chipper smile. The scowl on his round face did not falter. 

“Qui est votre ami?” He asked gruffly. He was frowning over my head at Meredith, who had settled into a small table in the corner of the room. She sat up a bit straighter and waved with a polite smile. 

“Elle va à Dalton avec moi.” I swung my backpack around and dug through the outside pockets to find my wallet. 

Emery grunted in disapproval. “De quoi voudriez-vous?” He asked as he firmly tapped the iPad screen in front of him. 

“Deux de la même chose que d’habitude,” I said sweetly. Although I was confident with my grammar, my pronunciation was bad enough to make Emery wince. 

Emery grunted and gestured towards the card reader. I inserted Dad’s credit card and made sure to tip generously. Emery was fast and within minutes he was putting two green-filled cups on the counter with a thunk. I stepped forward to take them but paused. I pressed into the counter and lowered my voice.

“Emery,” I started, “Si je te dis un secret en français, vas-tu le garder en anglais?”

Emery’s frown relaxed and he leaned forward. “What ze fuck are you talking about? Take your drinks and go! Dégages!”

I winced and shamefully turned to take the drinks to Meredith. 

“I got us both matcha, I hope that’s okay?” I held out both cups for her to choose from.

”No, this is perfect, thank you.”

Meredith reached out and gingerly took one of the cups. Her shoulder scrunched up as she took the first sip. 

“I didn’t know you speak French,” she said. 

“I speak four languages actually.” I sat up a little taller. “English, obviously, and I’m pretty nearly fluent in Spanish and Italian. French is the newest addition, so it’s not nearly where I’d like it to be. I come here to practice with Emery. Oh, and I know the tiniest amount of Russian too!”

I noticed that Meredith was staring at me from behind her cup, jaw hanging slightly. “I learned when I was homeschooled,” I said, flustered. “My stepmom, she wanted me to be multilingual.” 

“I didn’t know you had a stepmom either,” Meredith said. I held my breath. My tangle of lies crept around my throat. Mer must have sensed my unease, because she “That’s really cool, Laurie. I’m impressed. Remind me to bother you instead of Andrew G. the next time I need help in Spanish class.”

Meredith had always been good like this. Not once since coming to Dalton did she ever make me feel out of place. I was grateful for that. We fell into discussing which classmate Brianna ought to start going out with and other things that did not pass the Bechdel test until Meredith had to go home.

…

It was not the first time I walked through the front door to an empty house. As a child, if Dad had business away from home he would pack a bag and then put me in his carry-on. Starting real school has kept me from being able to travel with him as much. The one downside, I supposed. But better for Dad’s separation anxiety.

The door clicking shut echoed throughout the main floor. I slipped my black uniform shoes off and tucked them into their spot on the shoe rack. In the three days since the Accords had been introduced, I had spoken with my father only when necessary. Which was almost not at all. 

The last conversation we had was on Monday as he dropped me off at school. He said he was going back Upstate to talk with the rest of the team and that was that. We passed like ships in the night since then. 

I stepped around the plastic curtains that blocked our kitchen from view. A construction team was scheduled to come fix the broken glass and fixtures on the weekend. It wasn’t a huge issue - Dad and I were big take out fans to begin with. 

The destructive anger had since subsided in me, leaving dread lying heavy in the pit of my stomach. It clawed at the base of my throat. 

I bee-lined up to my room and flopped onto my bed face first. Coffee with Meredith had been a good distraction, but that was all it was. A distraction. I rolled onto my back and raked my fingers through dark curls, tugging at the ends.

In the far corner of my mind, I knew that I had an English essay, a take-home math assignment, history textbook chapters to read, and lines to memorize for rehearsal. But that all felt so juvenile compared to the Accords. 

“Oh good, Miss Stark, you’re home!” A cheery voice with an Irish accent came on over the intercom. I gave F.R.I.D.A.Y. no indication that I had heard her, I just grunted and curled onto my side. “Mr. Stark has left a voice message for you. Shall I play it now for you?”

That caught my attention. I sat up on the bed, propped up on my elbows. “What message?”

A three-note chime sounded and then I heard my father’s voice. 

“Hey little miss. Hope you had a good day at school. I’m going to be out of the country for a few days. Romanoff and I are going to Vienna.” I opened my mouth to protest, and it was almost as if past Tony had anticipated it. “Don’t ask questions. Happy is going to come take you to the compound tonight at six. Please don’t fight him, he’s just the messenger. Or, the deliverer, I guess. Anyway, don’t fight me on this either. I told Happy that he has free range to stick you in his trunk if you’re difficult. Okay, I’ll see you soon. Love you. Bye.” 

F.R.I.D.A.Y. asked if I wanted to play the message again. I grumbled to myself, “Oh thank you so much, Father,” and pulled out my phone. 

Laurie : What about school?

I didn’t expect to hear back from him right away, so my eyebrows furrowed when the little text bubbles jumped around as he typed. 

Dad : Conveniently, your school agreed that a spontaneous two PA-day break was necessary for the betterment of the staff and students. 

Laurie : You’re insane and have way too much money. 

Dad : I didn’t pay them a cent, you’ll find I am incredibly persuasive. 

I responded with an eye roll emoji. 

Dad : You’re off the hook until next week. 

Dad : Just try to relax, okay? I can feel your stiff shoulders from here.

I chucked my phone across the room and let out a guttural groan. 

Within the hour I was packed and in the backseat of Happy’s car. Dad didn’t let me know exactly how long I was going to be on lockdown for, so I packed three suitcases and an overnight bag. 

Happy spent the drive going on and on about the new security measures he was trying to convince Pepper to implement. I offered occasional nods and nonverbals, but my mind was elsewhere. 

Stepping foot through the compound’s main doors, I immediately knew something was off. There were significantly fewer S.H.I.E.L.D. agents fluttering about. Happy ushered me and all my bags to the residential wings in a hurry. 

The second I was left alone in my room, I hopped into the desk chair in the corner and logged onto the computer. It was almost subconscious how quickly I weaved through the compound’s security measures and got into S.H.I.E.L.D. data files. Usually, I had four or five techniques to code around the walls they put up, but today none of them worked. 

“A.P.R.I.L., get me into anything about the Accords ASAP,” I spoke aloud. Various windows opened and closed on the screen without me touching the keyboard. A.P.R.I.L. was hard at work digging. 

“Sorry Laurie, the security measures have been upgraded. None of your protocols are going to get through.” 

“Why have they been changed?” I asked impatiently. 

“I’m not sure, boss. I’m not sure.”

I stared blankly at the monitor screen. A.P.R.I.L. initiated a program that might be able to get through to the files, but it would take hours if not days. All I knew is that whoever made the changes did not want me meddling. I was in the dark again. 

Chapter Text

Right, left, right, step and jab. Right, left, right, step and jab. 

Beads of sweat were falling from the crown of my head. My hands were beating down heavy on the punching bag that swung from side to side. The muscles in my back and shoulders burned. I had been going at this for at least over an hour straight. The sweat left stains on the mat where my feet danced back and forth. Some of it got into my eyes, but I didn’t care to stop and wipe them. I liked the sting. 

I never did manage to get A.P.R.I.L. to crack any information on the Accords, but it did not take a genius to figure out what was going on. News coverage of the United Nations meeting in Vienna was all over my Twitter feed. Dad said he was going to Vienna with Natasha. Big surprise, I put two and two together and knew that the Accords were being officiated. I didn’t see the need to fight the urge to hit something. 

I knew that my form was sloppy, that my punches were too wild and predictable, but the rush was getting to my head. Despite the insanely decked out in-house movie theatre, lap pool, and fifteen acres of land, there was nothing better to do at the compound than train. What started as an effort to blow off some steam turned into desperate, unweilding blows. And the bag seemed to be doing more damage to me than I was doing to it. I was angry enough that the pain was numbing. 

A couple more reps in and the skin on my knuckles busted open. I only started to hit harder. I imagined that the bag were the walls of the compound, and I was a Hydra operative being held hostage. I pictured myself breaking through the concrete onto the lawn, where a team of S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives were waiting, guns raised. And I would punch through all of them too. 

And that daydream wasn’t that off beat. As far as I was concerned, I was a hostage in my own home. Happy walked me into the building when he dropped me off. The place was buzzing, far more so than on any other weekday afternoon. But no one seemed to pay me any mind as I slipped under and over the dozens of agents in the foyer. I hated that I was nearly the same height as most of them, yet I was being sent to my room like a little kid. 

The first thing I noticed after dumping my overnight bag on the floor of my bedroom was a package sitting on the footboard bench. It was a tiny pink bag with sparkling tissue paper sticking out, and the Cartier logo etched on the front. Beside it, a piece of cardstock folded into a triangle with my name printed in bold letters. I picked that up first. 

Laurel,

Try not to be too upset. You know it’s for the best. 

Love,

Your super incredible and safety-concious father

P.S.

For the show

I reread the note a few times, always pausing on my name. Not Laurie, not Little Miss, or even Miss Stark. Laurel. Dad never called me by my full name, not even when I was in trouble. I found it incredibly disconcerting. 

I opened the gift and sighed as I held out the contents in front of me. A beautiful gold chain with a rose pendant. Each petal had at least two dozen tiny diamonds and yellow sapphires. I saw this exact necklace go up for auction a few weeks ago and joked with Dad that it would be a good easter egg to wear for my school production. I tossed the necklace carelessly beside Dad’s note. I didn’t want his pitiful apology. So I took to letting it all out in the gym.  

Tears were quick to join the stream of sweat down my face. Whether they were from anger, or frustration, or just the irritation from all the salt that was already in my eyes, I wasn’t sure. I made a bad correction of my footing and missed a swing at the bag. Completely off my rhythm now, I tried to find the balance again but my efforts were fruitless. I swung and missed, jabbed again and barely moved the bag at all. I shouted. My nails dug deeply into the skin of my palms and squeezed my eyes shut. 

I felt dust crumbling onto my arms. I looked up and saw the punching bag lodged in the ceiling. I laughed dryly and made a feeble jump to try and reach the chain. It dangled just out of reach. I hung my head and made a move to a bench along the wall, where my water bottle and towel sat. 

“You kept crossing your feet when you stepped, you know.” 

I whipped around. Wanda was standing in the doorway. What was it with these European sleeper agents watching me throw punches like an angry frat boy? 

I pointed at the punching bag above me. 

“Seriously? That’s your constructive criticism right now?” 

Wanda smiled and pushed off the doorframe. She was halfway to meeting me where I stood before she sat down cross-legged on the mat. She patted the floor in front of her, beckoning me to join. 

We took turns passing my water bottle back and forth with our minds. Eventually we tossed in a few other items - an extra towel, a four pound weight, my shoe - and had a two-person juggling act going. 

I caught my water bottle midair, hovering it close to my face. The familiar but faint purple glow outlined it. I flipped it one way and then the other, trying to figure out whether my hands or my mind was controlling the thing. I concluded it was a bit of both. I didn’t notice the dents that were beginning to form, as though invisible fingers were pushing in on the plastic. 

“Don’t use so much strength, you’ll crush it,” Wanda said gently. “It is a delicate thing,”  I liked the way her accent pronounced the word delicate. 

I inhaled and relaxed a bit. I wasn’t sure if I could ever get used to this feeling. To hold something without touching it. To direct its movement from the inside out. I set the bottle down between myself and Wanda.

“What do you see when I do that?” I asked her. The pad of my thumb draws figure eights over my skin. 

Wanda’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“When I’m, you know,” I wiggled my fingers in the air, “doing all of this. What do you see?”

“I just see you.” Wanda shrugged. “I see the bottle moving. I see you concentrating. Why are you asking?” 

I’m not sure what I had expected to hear, but it wasn’t that. I allowed a small surge of energy to pool underneath my palms and the purple returned. 

“No reason,” I replied, shaking my head. I took to looking at the floor like it was giving me a talking-to. 

Wanda cocked her head to the side. “Well what do you see?” 

I opened my mouth but the words fell short. The last time I lost control, when I gave our kitchen an impromptu remodel, I caught a glimpse of myself in the shattered tiles. A smokey violet haze clouded my head, and I could have sworn I saw a similar light behind the crazed look in my eyes. I had to admit, it was a little monstrous. I just assumed anyone else could see it too. 

“It’s sort of hard to explain,” I confessed. 

“Try anyways,” Wanda insisted. She was always a woman of few words.

“Well,” I began, “it’s like a purple glow. Or smoke, like I’m on fire. But it’s not hot, I can’t feel it. And sometimes it seems like a trick of the light, but it’s always there. Surrounding me.” 

I flexed my hands as I spoke, watching the colour dance between my fingers. 

“Sometimes it does what I tell it to, but other times it feels like I can’t control it.”

Wanda remained silent for a while, and I began to worry that she thought I was crazy. I mean, seeing a purple glow that’s not really there does sound a bit crazy. 

“That’s very interesting,” she said, finally. “I’m hungry. I think Vision was attempting a new recipe. I might go see how disastrous that has become.”

She rose to her feet without so much as another word. I almost fell backwards at her capriciousness. 

The way Wanda said “interesting” lacked any hint of judgement, or any hint of anything for that matter. It seemed like she also had no idea what to think about it. Which I thought was weird, because she was supposed to be the knower of all things power-related. 

I drew a deep breath and gave the punching bag in the ceiling one more pitiful look before I abandoned it entirely. The adrenaline was finally beginning to dwindle, leaving a growing ache throughout my body. Nothing a good, long, everything shower wouldn’t fix. 

I stood under scorching hot water until my fingers looked like raisins. It was a mindless routine. Shampoo, soap suds, scub my skin a little too hard, rinse, repeat. I winced when the water hit the welds on my knuckles. Hearing the water hit the white tile floor was almost loud enough to silence my thoughts. 

I didn’t know where my father was at that moment. His voicemail left no indication about when exactly he left for Vienna. Had he sent me out the door for school that day knowing he was going to skip halfway across the world? Or was it another drop-of-the-hat plan? By my calculations he could have just landed or still have another few hours in the sky. I wondered how many whiskey on the rocks in he was. 

I crossed the threshold between my ensuite bathroom into my room. Water from my hair dripped onto the wooden slats as I wrung strands between a towel. I paused in front of the Cartier bag that I had discarded onto the floor. The rose necklace was strewn about beside it. I knelt down, the muscles in my lower back protesting as I did. 

The necklace was laying face down on the floor. I ran my thumb over the back of it. It was supposed to be hollow, a concave reflection of the three-dimensional rose shape. Instead, a tiny mechanism had been slotted into the space underneath my finger. 

It looked awfully similar to the bracelet design I had drawn just that morning. The size of the thing made it hard to be certain. I saw no visible power source, so whatever the sensor did it was useless for now. I wracked my brain trying to remember if I had left older versions of the bracelet blue prints around the house. I considered the possibility that I was wrong, that the likeness in shape was a coincidence and maybe Dad had made a tracker of sorts. I made a mental note to take the necklace into my lab once my compound house-arrest was lifted. 

By the time I got dressed and made my way into the kitchen (the strawberry-free one), Wanda had completely taken over Vision’s recipe. Judging by the taste of the dish, we were all better for it. 

One good thing about having very few friends my age was that I had pretty much avoided having to be a third-wheel. Sitting at the dining room table across from Vision as he tried to spoon feed Wanda Parikash was enough to take my appetite away. I was of the personal opinion that human and cyborg relationships were crossing all kinds of lines. But I also fully supported the “love is love” movement, so who was I to judge? 

I quickly excused myself back into my room and was occupied with a paper for history class. Funnily enough, it was about Steve. I was writing an argument that military emphasis on creating the perfect soldier entirely neglects that physical strength can only take a person so far, and that inner qualities are what distinguishes a soldier and a hero. It wasn’t due for another three weeks, but I figured I may as well take advantage of the canceled school days. 

My phone was blowing up with text messages from the Dalton Theatre groupchat. Dad had failed to consider that prohibiting classes to run for two days meant that I was losing hours of rehearsal time. He’ll make up for it with another donation to the department, I thought. 

I was nearly done with the outline of my paper when my computer screen started to shake. It was over faster than it begun, a steady rumble throughout the compound. An orange glow outside my window grabbed my attention. Something had just exploded in the yard. 

I leapt to my feet and dashed down the hall. I slid to a stop just outside the kitchen where I had left Wanda and Vision and tried to digest what I was witnessing. 

Clint Barton was in my living room. He and Wanda stood with their backs to me, looking down into what should have been concrete floor. But instead there was a gaping hole that spanned from our level all the way down to the underground storage rooms. Bits of rubble clattered against the bent rebar that stuck out every which way. My jaw hung lose. 

“Are you kidding me?” I gawked. Clint and Wanda whipped around. I placed both hands on my hips firmly, trying to chanel my best impression of Pepper. “We just had the gym detailed. Not to mention the pool that’s probably flooding into God knows what.” 

“Laurie!” Clint smiled warmly. Although the longer he held it, the more it turned into a grimace. He clapped his hands together. “So good to see you. My kids miss you.” I gave him an unamused look. 

“You were not supposed to see this, so I am just going to take Miss Maximoff here and we will be on our way.” He gave the hole behind him a pitiful glance. Dust clouds had begun to rise. “I’m sure your father can handle the reapirs for that.” 

Clint took Wanda by the hand and tugged her alongside him. They passed on my left, so I spun over my right. 

“Hold on,” I said. I reached out an invisible hand and glued their feet to the floor. Clint flailed his arms around to regain his balance. “Where do you think you are going?”

“You don’t want to get involved, kid-”

“Without me,” I interrupted. I folded my arms over my chest and spun the two of them around to face me. “I don’t care what you’re doing. But I know it had something to do with the Accords. I want in.”

Clint snorted. “Absolutely not. My mission was to get this one,” he pointed at Wanda, “and this one only.” 

I was about to give my rebuttal when I felt a shock go up my spine. A wave of cold came rushing up the neck and I gasped. It felt like a tiny, icicle hand was snaking through my brain. I involuntarily let go of the grip I had on Wanda and Clint’s feet and then it was over. Wanda had gotten inside my head, and I had let her. 

“That was so not fair,” I said.

“We have to go,” Wanda responded softly. 

“That’s so not fair!” I whined, stamping my heel into the floor like a rabbit or an oversized toddler.

Clint stepped towards me and put a hand on my shoulder. He bent down to meet me at eye level. “Laurie honey,” he started, “you can’t come. As a father, I would never forgive myself for putting Tony’s daughter in harms way.” 

“Then let me put myself in harms way!” I exclaimed. “Tony will get over it.” 

“I can’t do it, sorry kid.” 

“I’ll call him right now.,” I threatened. Clint was good at masking what he was thinking, but I could tell that got his attention. 

“If he wouldn’t want me going with you then he definitely wouldn’t be happy that you’re witchnapping Wanda. I’ll call him,” I said, point-blank. Clint continued to shake his head, so I slowly reached for my back pocket. “A.P.R.I.L., call Dad.”

“Okay, okay!” Clint held out his hands in surrender. “You win, but I am not taking responsibility for this.” I smiled smugly. He had no idea that I left my phone in my room. 

“C’mon,” Clint said, gesturing for me to take his other hand. “We got one more stop.” 

I skipped on the way out like a kid who just got permission to stay up past her bedtime. It wasn’t until I was happily stowed away in the backseat of Clint’s car that I realized I was still in my flannel PJ pants and slippers…

Chapter Text

“Nice pants, kid!” 

I slid into the backseat of Clint’s Toyota Corolla next to a dark-haired stranger in a grey t-shirt and hoodie. He was beaming at me while pointing at the bright blue pyjama pants I was wearing. Images of rainbow moustaches were scattered on the soft fabric. They were a Christmas gift that Happy gave me three years back. The dark-haired stranger was now making a fake moustache out of his finger. Awesome, I thought. Clint is recruiting all the crazy people. 

“Who are you?” I asked as Clint drove straight through the front gates of the compound. I noticed that the security guard was conveniently not at his post. Visions of taser arrows hitting him in the head flashed through my mind. I shook them away.

“That’s Scott Lang.” Clint answered for the moustache man. “He’s from San Francisco.”

“Okay, Scott Lang,” I said, turning towards him, “What’s your deal?”

Scott held a hand out and I shook it. His palms were sweaty. 

“I’m Scott, but I guess you know that now. Thanks Arrow Man. I think you’re awesome, by the way. Totally the most underrated Avenger. And I know you too!” He pointed at Wanda. “You’re awesome too. My daughter asked to dress up as you for Halloween but I told her I don’t think Party City has that copyright yet.”

Scott shifted back in his seat and looked at me. “I don’t know you, though.”

“I’m Laurie,” I said straightly. 

“Hi, Laurie. I’m Scott. But you know that already. Do you know where we’re going?”

I shrugged. “Not a clue.”

Scott soon revealed his role as Ant Man. I realized that I knew him from last year when he tried to break into the compound. He had just about beat Sam’s ass. Sure, he came across friendly enough, but he definitely had some muscle to him. 

Scott continued monologuing about his flight from San Francisco to New York. Apparently his seatmate had a cat, and he was going into extreme detail about the tricks it knew. I wasn’t listening. Instead, my attention was on Clint. He was silent, which was pretty typical for an ex-spy. Try as I might, I was not successful at figuring out what he was thinking in this moment, nor where he was taking us. 

I was ten when I met Clint for the first time. And the rest of the Avengers for that matter. Nick had asked me and my dad to defend the world’s security. He wanted Dad to join the Avengers, obviously, but he needed me to consult on containing the Tesseract. I got to sit at the round table with the rest of the team and offer my two cents on the issue at hand. Which, in hindsight, was not that helpful considering I was in fourth grade and had only just started to study astrophysics. 

But it was cool. Nick seemed to think that I was worth having around. I felt important, where normally I was used to sitting on the sidelines of whatever my dad was doing. 

And it wasn’t all fun and games either. Pepper upped my monthly therapy sessions to twice a week for months following the attack on New York. Loki scared the crap out of me. They asked me to go down and convince him to give himself up while my dad and Steve were busy having a threesome with Thor in the middle of the German woods. Loki surrendered without a fight, but I remember feeling like my life was at stake. I remember the strength of the wind up on that cliff nearly knocked me over. And the look that Loki gave me with piercing eyes as he loomed over me made my blood run cold. 

And then the ship got bombed, Coulson died, my dad almost died. It was a lot to digest at ten. 

Nick saw the potential I’d soon grow to see in myself. He knew that I was a valuable asset and pushed my dad hard to let me be properly trained. Dad refused every time. I worked closely with the Avengers for the three years that followed, playing the role of the guy in the chair. It sucked having to watch them be the heroes, knowing that I’d never get the same kind of official recognition for my help. 

Sometimes Nick would sneak small tasks my way under the table, if he ever needed my father’s brain but didn’t want his arrogance. Sneaking off to D.C. with Steve and Nat was the most fun. Sure, it was dangerous, and I was probably too young, but I didn’t care. I knew I was made for this, and my dad didn't understand. That’s why he pulled the plug after what happened in Sokovia. He framed it as protection, but it felt like imprisonment. I pressed a hand against the cool glass of the car window and watched the compound slowly fade out of view. 

Scott knew how to ramble. He was deep into a rant about his shrinking serum, and something else about the weird bodily effects quantum mechanics has on certain…areas. He managed to make not one but three more comments on my pyjama pants, and by the fourth I knew that there was no way I could step foot into any airport dressed like this. Clint was driving us upstate, as opposed to through the city to J.F.K. Airport. I figured a smaller, lower-profile airport was what he had in mind. Either way, I prided myself on maintaining a certain image. A shopping trip was imminent. 

“Clint, can you pull off here for a second?” I asked. I had spotted a sign on the side of the freeway saying a shopping centre was close to the next exit.

“Are you going to be sick?” Clint answered. He dug around through the pocket behind his seat and pulled out a plastic bag. “Here. Nathaniel has been going through a huge motion sickness thing, so I’m always prepared.”

“Who’s Nathaniel?” Scott perked up. I was pretty sure his smile hadn’t dropped once this entire drive. 

“None of your business, Lang,” Clint said sternly. “Laurie, take the bag.”

I plucked the bag from Clint’s hand but stuck it right back where it came from. “I’m not sick, Clint. I just really need to grab something from the mall.”

“What? I am in the middle of a rescue mission turned kidnapping,” Clint stammered.  “There is no mall in this plan.” 

“You don’t seriously expect me to step foot in public wearing this, right?” I pleaded. 

Clint continued driving down the freeway, making no move to merge right. I peered over my shoulder and noticed that the lane beside us was empty.

“It’s the middle of the night. Nothing will be open. And I’m not sidetracking us just because you decided that PJs aren’t fashionable.” 

I groaned. “It’s only eight, and there was a sign for a Bloomingdale’s off the next exit. Please?” 

Clint said nothing; classic dad silent treatment. 

“Pleeeeaaaaassseeee?” I folded my hands in front of me and pouted into the rearview mirror. Clint looked at me and rolled his eyes, continuing forward. I glanced behind us again. The lane was still empty and the off-ramp was getting closer. With my hands still clasped, I focused on the size of the car. A typical Corolla ran you just under three thousand pounds. A pretty big jump from a plastic water bottle, I thought. I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath. On the exhale, I jerked to my right and the car followed. The wheels skidded across the lane marks and all of us inside were thrown. Clint scrambled to regain control of the wheel. 

“Laurel Maria!” Clint reprimanded. He steadied the car, but by that point, we were already travelling off the freeway. I smiled smugly, proud of myself. “You are lucky you are a child, otherwise I would throw you out my damn car.” 

Despite what he was saying, Clint drove in the direction of the shopping centre. We pulled up outside the Bloomingdale's. As I predicted, it was still open. I thanked Clint profusely and promised to take no longer than ten minutes. 

“Five,” Clint demanded. “And Lang’s going with you.” 

“What? I don’t need a babysitter!”

“I don’t like shopping!” Scott and I complained simultaneously. 

“Get. Out. Of. The. Car.” 

Scott and I were booted out onto the sidewalk, and Clint took off into the parking lot. For a second, I was certain he was going to leave us both stranded here. 

Bloomingdale’s would not have been my first choice for clothes shopping, but I did not have the bandwidth to be picky. I trodded inside and was immediately assaulted by the harsh LED lights of the department store. A dusty draft of air blew gently from the aircon systems. The place smelled like cheaply-made fabric. 

Scott followed me closely, but kept spinning around to look at all the displays and tripping over his own feet. I bee-lined for the women’s section, only to grimace at their disappointing selection. The style of clothing was certainly on par with the season, but I could feel the polyester from a mile away.

I sifted through rows and rows of shirts and pants, hoping to find something that was on the brink of being higher-end quality. 

“It’s been seven minutes already,” Scott told me. He was sitting on a table covered in neatly folded jeggings. Disgusting invention, if you asked me. 

“Do I look like I care?” I chided, not bothering to look up from the racks.

“Are you all like this? Is this what I’m going to have to deal with in ten years?” Scott asked out loud.

“Am I all like who?” I responded.

“Teenage girls. Are you all so…prickly?”

“I’m sure your daughter will grow up to be just as much of a princess as you are, Scott,” I sighed. That seemed to shut him up, because Scott did not reply. Had I actually offended him? 

I turned around to find Scott pointing at me with an open mouth. “What?” I asked. 

“You’re Mr. Stark’s daughter.” 

My eyes went wide and I felt my heart drop into my ass. “What makes you say that?” I swallowed hard. All my life being told to stay hush-hush about Dad, but no one ever told me how to act if I got figured out. 

“Hank mentioned that Mr. Stark had a kid. I thought he was losing it because I figured the media would be all over that. But you’re the kid, aren’t you?”

I shook my head in disbelief. Who the hell was Hank? Why did he know about me? 

“It’s fine, I won’t blab. I might be a princess, but I don’t deal in gossip. Most of the time. But seriously, we have to pick you an outfit soon because I’m afraid the guy with the bow and arrow is getting one ready to go right through my eye.” 

I was still in shock that Scott knew about me, so I let him lead me to another section of shirts. I followed dumbly as he pulled some off the racks and into my arms. In the next three minutes, I had changed into and paid for my new outfit, and we were out the door. 

“What did you do to her?” Clint asked when I got into the car silently.

Scott shrugged. “I’m a dad too. I’ve got those dad superpowers.” Clint just grunted in response. 

“Can we please get going?” Wanda spoke up. 

“Gah!” Scott exclaimed and jumped back in his seat. “Oh my gosh, I totally forgot you were here.” 

…

Within the hour Clint pulled our clown car of misfit superfreaks into a desolate parking lot by the airport. One by one we climbed out into the dark. I was grateful that Scott had forced me to buy a grey hoodie to match his own because the evening breeze was awfully chilly. 

A freeway stood between us and the airport tarmack. I had the sneaking suspicion that Clint was about to have us dodge speeding cars to get across. Wanda tapped my shoulder and I followed the line of her extended pointer finger. I spotted an enclosed bridge going over the road. Thank God. 

Scott started to give himself a patdown.  “Oh, I didn’t bring my passport.” Wanda and I both raised a brow at him. He continued, “San Fran to New York is a domestic, you guys didn’t tell me I needed a passport. I don’t even think I have a valid passport. Do you have a passport?” Scott gestured to me. I shook my head. 

I had never needed to go through airport security before. Actually, I had never even flown commercial. I shuddered at the thought. 

“If you say passport one more time I’m going to put an arrow in your eye.” Clint pinched the space between his brows. 

Scott leaned down to whisper in my ear, “See? I told you!” I stifled a giggle.

“Told her what?”

“Nothing!” Scott and I said together. I bit my bottom lip and elbowed Scott in the ribs.

“I’m not even a citizen of this country,” Wanda sighed. She looked around nervously. “And I don’t think they would offer a free ride to a terrorist.”

“You’re not a terrorist,” I stated, placing a hand on Wanda’s arm. 

Scott added, “You don’t seem like a terrorist. I would trust you with my passport. If I had one.”

“No one needs passport.” Clint stuck a hand out to silence us. “Everybody who is not a responsible adult, shut up.”

Scott immediately raised his hand like a middle school kid. Clint glared so hard I could see little daggers in his eyes. Scott folded his hand back down and reclused. 

I broke the silence. “So how are we getting across the globe, Barton? Or did we not think about that before kidnapping a bunch of science experiments from the compound?” 

A look that could only read “I am questioning every decision I have made up until this point” flashed across Clint’s face. He pointed at me saying, “First of all, you are a fugitive and you were not invited, yet here you are-” 

“Yet here I am indeed,” I interrupted, plastering an insincere smile on my face. I tilted my head to the side. “Always need a Stark to save the day, I got it. Give me your phone.” 

Clint folded his arms over his chest. “No. We are going over that bridge and then we are keeping a low profile while I get us onto the aircraft I cashed a dozen favours in to get.” 

I didn’t wait for him to finish talking before I flicked my middle finger. Clint’s phone slipped out of the pocket of his vest and zipped into my waiting hand. I cracked his password without breaking a sweat.

“I’m not flying a transatlantic on a commercial flight.” I opened his browser and typed in the code to access A.P.R.I.L. remotely. “And neither are any of you.” A few more clicks and I handed Cint his phone back triumphantly. “There. The jet will meet us on the tarmak.” At the look of everyone’s dumbrstruck faces, I added, “Unless you wanted to fly to Vienna in a shipping container?” 

The group shook their heads. “Fine,” Clint said. He handed his phone back to me. “But it’s Germany, actually.” 

I took the phone and stood up a little taller. “Noted. Let’s go.” 

I turned on my heels towards the bridge. Clint, Wanda and Scott followed in suit. There were security guards posted on either ends of the bridge, but Wanda knocked them easily. The Stark family jet was parked and waiting patiently for us. Scott’s jaw remained agape the moment we boarded and he ensured the rest of us heard every impressed thought he had. Meanwhile, Wanda and Clint quietly took the seats closest to the emergency exit. 

I settled into my unofficial seat. It was positioned directly beside the right wing of the plane. As a kid, I loved to stare out the window and watch as we rose higher and higher, defying gravity with the magic of physics. These days though, the views were fantastic for aesthetic Instagram posts. 

Scott, who had clearly never flown private before, sat opposite me, despite the four perfectly spacious seats elsewhere. I didn’t mind though. I wanted to pick his brain about quantum mechanics and he said we could watch a Disney movie.

That pipe dream lasted all of five minutes though, because our flight attendant handed out a round of champagne flutes and Scott was out like a light. I had passed on the drink (obviously) and taken out my airplane laptop to figure out exactly how much schoolwork I could get ahead of on an eight hour flight. 

I didn’t see or hear Clint creep up to my seat and kneel beside me. When he spoke, I jumped. “Look, Laur. I don’t know what you think you’re getting yourself into, but this isn’t going to be fun.” 

I felt a surge in the pit of my stomach as the jet’s wheels lifted off the ground. Up until this point I had been putting on front for the sake of the game. I never stopped to think about what we might face when we touched ground in Germany. 

“What’s really going on, Clint?” My voice came out quieter than I had intended. I felt like a child. But I took comfort in the fact that Clint was one of the few people who actually gave me shit straight. 

Clint’s eyes softened. “I don’t totally know,” he said. I furrowed my brows at him, silently pleading. Clint pressed his lips together and nodded. “Okay. I’m going to talk to you like an adult, all right?” 

I nodded. 

“Someone attacked the International Centre in Vienna the day the U.N. was set to sign the Accords. An explosion killed the Wakandan King, but other than that there were no more fatalities.”

I frowned and gave myself a chance to absorb the intel. “So…we’re going to catch the guy who did it?” 

Clint never averted my gaze, but took a moment to collect his words. “No. We’re going to defend him.”

“What!?” I reeled back. Across from me, Scott stirred momentarily, mumbling something about cheese under his breath before sleeping again. My thoughts raced to the worst case scenario. Had the Accords tension created a break so bad that one of our people bombed a building? “What are you talking about? I don’t understand.” 

Clint reached across my seat and put his hand over both of my own. He spoke calmly. “Steve is the one who called me in. He and Sam were arrested in Romania for trying to help the guy they think did it get away. From what I can tell, I think he’s an old friend of Steve’s who is being framed. But I’m not sure. They were all brought to Berlin to be detained. That’s why we’re meeting them there.”

“It sounds like your dad is working with the Berlin authorities to bring Steve and his boys in, so Steve asked me to fly out to Germany with reinforcements. Sam recommended Lang and I knew that Wanda was being kept inside the compound. I had no idea that you were too, though.”

I held my breath as I listened to Clint and pretend that I didn’t feel the sting of not being chosen to help. I couldn’t imagine what my father was doing working with government authorities, he hated authority. But then again, he was dead set on getting the Accords passed, so maybe I just never knew him that well at all. 

“I don’t know what role Tony has in this, kid.” Clint must have seen the panic on my face. “My best guess is that he took it upon himself to try and resolve this quietly so that Steve and Sam wouldn’t be punished as harshly as would if the government got them first. And I also have no idea what will be waiting for us when we land. I’m honestly glad we’re taking this jet because they won’t be expecting us to arrive so fashionably. It was a very smart idea, Laurie.” 

I smiled weakly at that. Trying to process all that Clint told me had rendered me silent. Clint patted my arm gently. 

“We’re gearing up for a fight. It’s going to be messy and it will be dangerous. I have no clue what your father is bringing to the table, but knowing Tony he’ll pay to impress. And I’ve let you come this far, but honey, once we’re in Germany you have got to keep your head down.” 

“Dad is already going to be gunning for your head,” I joked. “So it doesn’t really matter if you let me put myself into a little bit of danger.” 

“I’m not telling you to stay low for Tony’s sake, Laurie. I’m keeping you out of danger because I care about you.” Clint squeezed my hand. He wasn’t normally one to tug at my heartstrings, but I guess it had been a while since I heard that sentiment from anyone. 

All I could bring myself to do was nod and bite back the sting in my eyes. Clint rose to his feet. He brought his hand to the back of my head as he did, offering a firm but silent gesture of warmth before walking back to sit with Wanda. 

I now understood the gravity of the situation. I felt its pull, I carried its weight. A friendly family feud in a foreign country.

What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter Text

I have spent an absurd amount of time in my life on planes. We travelled around a lot before Dad stepped into the role of Iron Man. He would have international meetings with clients and buyers all over the world. We could go from being in Tokyo one week and Alaska the next. Sometimes it was multiple trips in the span of a few days. Dad would simply get tired of the Malibu house and fly us out to a different property for a weekend.  

And strangely, I always loved turbulence. The sinking feeling in my stomach, the same one that came from those amusement park rides that drop you from miles up in the air. When I travelled with my dad as a kid, I used to stand in the middle of the jet during spurts of turbulence and try to time my jumps with the rise and fall. At least once a flight, I would manage to float, just for a second. I imagined that this must be how it feels to be on the receiving end of me on a good day.

On the flight to Germany, the turbulence came in bursts and stints, jostling us around like items in a shopping bag. Out of all of us, Scott had the hardest time with it. He nearly lost the caviar he had devoured an hour prior into an air sickness bag. Our flight attendant, Miriam, managed to scrounge up an anti-nausea pill in the first aid kit. Unfortunately, the medicine knocked Scott out so cold that Clint had to carry him out like a fireman when we landed.  

When we touched down in Berlin, I stopped at the top of the airstairs and yawned. My arms extended over my head, stretching out far and wide. Our pilot had informed us it was just after ten in the morning locally, but the stiffness in my shoulders felt like a New York five. Sleeping on planes was never something I could do easily, and I found myself wishing I had joined Scott in some recreational Gravol. 

Waiting for us on the private tarmac was a large white van. It was the kind of vehicle that teachers at Dalton warned us to never go near. The kind that transport shipments of narcotics, illegal weaponry and kidnapped children around the city. I skipped ahead of the group to open the door for Clint. He hoisted Scott into the backseat, letting his body slam against the long seat. Scott didn’t even stir. 

Wanda and I reached for the door handle of the passenger seat at the same time. When my fingers brushed over her own, she turned her hand over and squeezed. I met her eyes, soft streaks of greening flashing in the blue. The ghostly feeling of a hand running down my back stood me up a little taller. It didn’t scare me; all I felt was her. Wanda’s gentle touch sent waves of ease through my body. 

“Laurie, sit in the back,” Clint ordered as he climbed into the driver’s seat. 

Wanda let our hands drop. 

“Why?” I pouted. Clint rolled down the passenger side window.

“Because I told you that if you tagged along, you would do as I say. Capiche?” 

I rolled my eyes and jammed myself into the tight space at the back of the van. Three, maybe four black duffle bags were stacked on top of one another, taking up most of the furthest seat. Scott’s entire body took up the middle row, so I flopped down beside the duffles and prayed the drive wasn’t too far. Between the chaffing from the cheap materials I was wearing and the feeling of the velvet seat cover under my hands that hadn’t been cleaned in who knows how long, I was starting to feel very claustrophobic. 

There were no windows in the back of the van, so I had to rely on the minuscule view through the front windshield to gain my bearings. Throwing a pitiful look at Sleeping Scott, it was now my turn to get a bit motion sick. I swayed from left to right as Clint drove us in what felt like dozens of circles. I shut my eyes tightly and inhaled tense breaths exclusively through my nose. I was nearly going to start praying that the van would stop, then it did. 

Clint pushed the gearshift into park. Wanda was staring to her right, out the window. From what I could see, we were still at the airport. I guessed that we relocated to a higher level of the parking garage. Clint was busying himself with fixing the gear in his belt when he started barking more orders. 

“Wake Scott up and stay in this van. Under no circumstances are you to get out of the van. I don’t care what you see or what you hear, stay put. And stay out of sight.”

He wasn’t looking at me while he spoke, but I had a pretty strong feeling that he wasn’t directing his orders at Wanda. “What if there’s a fire?” I asked cheekily. 

That got him to look over the seats at me. “Then pray for a flood.” 

Though muffled through the walls of the van, I heard the screech of tires coming up behind us.  Without another word, Clint and Wanda opened their doors with a click and got out. I scrambled from my seat in the back to crouch by the door and pressed my ear against the metal.

I could hear voices talking, but the words were indistinguishable. I recognized Clint and Wanda’s voices, but there was at least one other person out there. Their voice was familiar. Male, likely a friend because neither party used tones that indicated hostility. 

“How about our other recruit?” The mystery voice said, raising his voice a bit louder. 

“He’s rearing to go,” Clint responded. I cursed internally because Clint sounded closer to the van. I threw myself towards the back of the van, landing on my forearms with a thud. And just in time too, because Clint slid the van door open with a crash that woke Scott up. He shot upwards. 

“Had to put a little coffee in him, but he should be good.” I hear Clint say. 

I pressed my body as far back as I could so that I couldn’t be seen through the opening. Scott peeled himself off the seat, still groggy from the anti-nausea meds. 

“What time zone is this?” He asked Clint, who pushed him forward. 

“Captain America!” I heard Scott exclaim. “It’s an honour.” I should have figured. I let my body relax some. Now that I knew it was Steve, I was less afraid of accidentally revealing my position. 

Clint leaned against the frame of the van and faced me, raising an eyebrow at my hunched form in the corner. “Why are you on the floor?” He mouthed. I shrugged with a smile. 

“I know you know a lot of super-people, so…thinks for thanking of me!” I covered my mouth with my sleeve to muffle a laugh. Poor Scott, he didn’t know how to handle his nerves. He spoke up again, directing his attention to someone new. “Hey man!”

“What’s up, Tic-Tac?” Sam Wilson’s voice rang out. I wondered who else Steve had looped into this. 

“Uh, good to see you. Look, what happened last time when I-”

“Look, it was a great audition, but it’ll never happen again.” Sam interrupted. I smirked inwardly at the memory of watching Sam get thrown around the Compound property from my balcony last spring. It was quite the show.

Clint motioned for me to sit up, so I shuffled a little closer to the door until he put his hand up for me to stop. 

“They tell you what we’re up against?” Steve asked. 

“Something about some psycho-assassins?” Scott responded. I heard some shifting around. 

“We’re outside the law on this one, so if you come with us, you’re a wanted man.”

I shot a hard look in Clint’s direction. I glanced out the door, then back at Clint, silently asking if what Steve said was the truth. It was so subtle I almost missed it, but Clint nodded. 

“We should get moving!” A new voice called out. Another man, and he must have been standing further away from the rest. His voice was sultry and had the slightest hint of a European accent. 

And as though it were a stage queue, alarms started to blare throughout the parking garage. A man over the intercom was saying something in German. 

“They’re evacuating the airport,” the Maybe European man translated for us. 

“Stark,” Sam stated. 

“Stark?” Scott echoed in a question. 

I was never one to miss a stage direction. Without missing a beat, I stepped out of the van and landed on the hard cement, despite Clint grabbing my arm and trying to pull me back inside. “Yes?” I said, drawing out the vowel. 

I took in the crowd. Everyone turned to face me. Scott smiled brightly at me, but Steve and Sam both carried looks of disbelief on their faces. They were standing in front of a blue Beetle car. I frowned at it. Not the most subtle car, I thought. On the other side of the car was a man in a red shirt. Steve and Sam were standing shoulder to shoulder, so his face was covered. 

“What are you doing here?” Steve asked. It was the closest to yelling he had ever gotten with me. He was frantically looking between Clint and me for answers. 

“Don’t blame Barton, please.” I put on my best puppy-dog eyes for Steve. He was known for falling for the innocent act. “I made him take me. I wanted in on the fun.” 

“This isn’t a fucking game, Laurie,” Steve said flatly. The sly smile on my face dropped instantly. Steve hardly ever swore, and he’d never directed hostility like this at me before. 

“We really need to get going,” the European man said again. Steve continued to hold me under a harsh look. The alarm was getting louder, the sound reverberating off the cement pillars around the garage. Steve closed his eyes for a moment before addressing the whole group.

“Suit up.”

Steve stepped out as he said it and, like a movie, I felt the world slow down. The blaring alarm became muted as my focus honed in on the man standing behind Steve. My vision narrowed until everything beyond him was blurry. The centres of my palms started to build up pressure, and I closed my hands into tight fists. There was a car between him and I, just like last time. He looked different without the mask and military attire. But his eyes were the same, frightening blue. 

The Winter Soldier stared back at me. 

I staggered back, my calves hitting the ledge of the van. I sat down, suddenly very lightheaded. How long had it been since I’d last seen that man? A year? Maybe two? And yet I remembered our first meeting like it happened days ago. 

I was twelve and I had never felt so small. I can still hear the ear-splitting screech that the car made as it slid on its side down the freeway. It was all I could hear every time I closed my eyes for weeks after. The doctors said that my eardrum ruptured and I nearly went deaf in one ear. I remembered hugging myself so tightly, stretching to cover the exposed parts of my body. I remember the feeling of a thousand hands pressing around me. They cushioned the fall when I was thrown from the car.

I remember opening my eyes and being on the ground. I remember pushing my aching chest off the pavement and seeing a machine with a beating heart thundering towards me. He got close enough for me to see the violence in his eyes. He raised a heavy-duty gun and pointed it directly at me. His soldiers flanked around him. I remember feeling so afraid, but not able to look away. I watched the bite in his eye flash with something I could only describe as terror, and he lowered the gun and marched past me. His men followed. 

It had been two years, and I still occasionally got nightmares. They’re infrequent these days, and far less intense than they were that first year, but still omnipresent. 

I stayed put while everyone else got right into motion. Clint popped the back of the van out and passed a set of black duffle bags around. I had guessed they were filled with illegal contraband, and I wasn’t far from it. Gear, combat boots, heavy-duty belts, and from what I could tell, everyone’s suits. I tried to reach a hand forward as Sam walked past with one of the bags, but he dodged me. 

I slumped back into the same position leaning on the edge of the van. I let my head fall against the metal frame. My eyelids closed, and I listened to the sounds of several pairs of feet shuffling off every which way. Adrenaline before the fight must have kicked in already, because I was sweating and realizing that the announcement of my father’s arrival didn’t rattle me. 

A deafening bang vibrated through the van into my skull. 

Bucky’s metal arm was the first thing I saw when my eyes shot open. The reflection of the light hit my eyes directly, and I winced. He stood over me, leaning one hand against the van. His hair was longer than before, and the tousled locks fell over his eyes, casting shadows over his nose and jaw. 

The air in my lungs was caught in my throat. I was trembling. I blinked hard, and then I was back on that bridge in D.C..

Bucky’s voice was low and gravely. “I’m sorry. Sometimes the arm comes down harder than I meant.” 

I said nothing as I continued to stare blankly upwards. I planted my vision on the small scar on his chin. I did my best to control my facial expressions, but I was sure that the fear was shinning through.

He stuck out his metal arm for a handshake, and I jumped back. With a frantic motion, he put his hand back on the van and wiped the palm of his real hand and held it out to me. 

“I’m James.”

“No one calls him that, only Sarah,” Steve said. His face was covered in shadows that bounced as his mouth moved. I pulled the blanket up higher around me, tugging on the bits that were stuck under Steve sitting on the edge of my bed. 

“Who is Sarah?” I asked meekly. In the darker corners of my room, I saw flashes of the dream I had just awoke from. They were taunting me. My screams had drawn Steve into my room for the fifth night in a row that week.

“Sarah was my mom. She passed away when I was pretty young.”

I pushed my nails into the palm of my other hand. Steve reached through the dark and grabbed hold of me, setting both our hands onto the soft duvet.

“Do you miss her?”

“I do. But I wasn’t alone. After she died, Bucky and his family took me in like I was always theirs. He made sure that I stayed out of trouble and saved me when I got myself into it anyway. He was my best friend.” 

“No one calls you that, only Sarah,” I said. I hated how shaky my words came out. The frozen look of fear on my face cracked the faintest bit. I made myself look Bucky in the eye. 

“How do you know that?” The edges around his eyes crinkled. 

“I used to have nightmares about you and that day on the bridge. I think I woke up screaming every night for a year after. I thought you were going to kill me.” The words were tumbling out of me faster than I could stop. “But every night Steve would come into my room, and he’d sit with me, and he told me stories.” 

I paused and gave Bucky a real once-over. He had shifted from leaning on the van to standing upright. His arms were crossed, but the muscles in his biceps and shoulders were becoming less and less tense. 

“He told me stories about you. Not the Winter Soldier, or even Sergeant Barnes. He told me about the real you, the “Bucky” you. He talked about how kind you were as a boy, and the lunches you’d share with him at school. He told me about the couch cushion sleepovers on your living room floor and how you always protected him.”

“It took a while, but eventually those stories helped. I started imagining that you weren’t this scary soldier, and that you lowered that gun to protect me. I realized that it wasn’t your fault, that they took advantage of your body and your mind, and you couldn’t control it. And I knew what that was like. And then the nightmares went away.”

Bucky didn’t reveal what he was thinking on his face. We became shrouded in silence. 

“Steve said that he cares about you,” Bucky said lowly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Steve standing by the blue Beetle. He was eyeing us, trying to sense if he needed to come save me. I shook my head at him. I was alright.

Bucky broke the silence again. “And I’m sorry anyway.” 

I just nodded. I had reached the extent of what I could say to him and resorted to offering half smiles. It felt like he had more than he wanted to say, but his chance was taken away. 

Sam had strolled up to us, trailed by everyone else. They were all holding bits and pieces of their suits. Sam tapped the van twice.

“You guys wanna have a meet n’ greet reunion somewhere else? We need to take turns in the van to change.” 

I stood up and bit my lip to stifle a laugh. For every four cool things about being an Avenger, there was one humiliating part. The thought of these six-foot-tall men trying to crouch inside the van while fighting to get into spandex suits was enough to send me into a fit of giggles as I walked out of the way. 

Bucky didn’t follow me, and I didn’t want him to. But I looked back over my shoulder and felt a certain measure of pride bloom in my chest. 

Chapter Text

Steve had never been honest about his time as a soldier. He would tell me stories about the people; Peggy and their over-dramatic love affair, and the men he befriended in the barracks. But the fighting and the bloodshed was always something I needed my imagination to fill in the gaps. 

Everyone around me rushed to equip weapons and defensive gear. I stood in the midst of the chaos, hands by my side, fingers fiddling with the loose threads sticking out of my cheaply-made flannel. I wondered if this was what it was like for Steve. I wondered if he felt this useless, back when he was scrawny and unimportant. 

The group gathered around Clint, standing in a small circle in front of me. I had the instinct to step forward, but it was an effort to squish in between Wanda and Sam. Clint was handing out small pieces of tech. They were round and black, with a small hook on the edge. Earpieces. 

He hesitated when he got to my spot in the circle. I stuck my hand out affirmingly. He looked down at the device, then at me. I thought about our conversation on the plane. I was a person of interest to Clint, something to keep safe. But in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be seen as one of them. To be seen as equal.

Clint’s eyes held a dark expression, a warning that he did not, and might never after today, see me that way. He placed the earpiece in my open palm anyway. 

Steve explained the plan with the least amount of detail possible. Sam and Bucky were who we needed to protect. The Quinjet was parked somewhere in this airport. We weren’t sure which hangerbay. Their mission was to find it and flee as soon as possible. 

The rest of us were the distraction. Steve would approach my father first. He would try to talk our way out of this, or talk his way into giving Sam and Bucky more time. Wanda and Clint were assigned to higher ground. They would be scouts and, if necessary, snipers. 

Scott was our secret weapon. The other side didn't know that Steve brought him in. In fact, I was pretty sure that my dad had no idea who Scott was. His break-in to the compound last year was kept under wraps - mostly to save Sam's ego. 

It was no surprise that I was assigned to do nothing. Steve didn't so much as look in my direction while giving people instructions. Something sparked in my stomach, a fire that was either stubbornness or determination. Or both.

The group dispersed. I remained where I was, and so did Steve. His back was turned to me, his shoulders tense and I could just make out a vein protruding through the top of his suit. 

In all my years knowing him, I had never successfully made Steve upset. And believe me, I tried. Even when I pranked him by stealing all his shirts and dying them bright pink when I was eleven, he just laughed.

With my father it was easy to get under his skin. I knew him as well as I knew myself. I could annoy him by changing the pattern of my breathing while we worked side-by-side in his lab. I could bother Natasha by not working hard enough. By pulling my punches and acting like the entitled brat she believes I am sometimes. I liked knowing that I could piss them off. I told myself it proved that they cared.

Steve was an anomaly to me. He never raised his voice, he never, ever, lifted a finger at me. I came to the conclusion that he didn't know how to be upset with me. 

Although he wasn't more than a few feet in front of me, I felt like he was in another world. He stared off into the distance, at the eerily quiet maneuvering area. The whirring sounds of machinery had ceased once my father shut down the airport. 

When I spoke, my voice echoed off the concrete pillars. 

"I'm here. Whether you like it or not. Let me help."

Steve’s crossed arms dropped to his hips. His head dipped. "I don't underestimate your ability to be helpful. Or your willingness to do what needs to be done. But you don't know what's going on, Laurie." 

"Then help me understand,” I pleaded. “Otherwise, for all I care, your friend needs our help and my dad is throwing a hissy fit about it.”

"He didn't do it." Steve turned to face me now. His eyes were sullen. It only lasted a beat, but I caught how exhausted he looked. Maybe he had a point. I knew the details, I knew what would have been written in a mission report. But I had no idea what was going on inside for him. For any of them. 

"I know that. Clint said you think he's being set up. And I believe you." 

His eyebrows lifted. "That easily?" 

"If he had, you wouldn't have let him come within ten feet of me. Let alone talk to me." I stepped forward and gently touched Steve's forearm. "You trust him, and I trust you." 

Steve gave me a pained smile. With the arm I was holding, he pulled me against his chest, although it felt more like a threat. 

"I don't like that you're here, Laurie. I don't like knowing that your father is about to arrive with every gun raised at me and you'll have to watch. You shouldn't have to see that." 

I pulled back and looked up at him. "He's as stubborn as I am, you know that." 

Steve chuckled and shook his head. “Yeah, I guess I do.” 

“I can handle a week of silent treatment from Tony Stark. Wouldn’t be the first time, and it definitely won’t be the last.” For what felt like the hundredth time in the last forty-eight hours, I stifled my pride and begged. “Let me help. Please. Let me at least try to talk to him, I can convince him that he’s wrong.” 

“No, I can’t let you do that.” His words hit like a punch to the chest and my posture deflated. “This isn’t your problem to fix.” 

I nodded sullenly, lips pressed together and pursed to the side. 

He sighed and turned his head. His eyes scanned the area underneath the terminal. “You stick with me and you stay put behind there.” He pointed at one of the concrete pillars holding up the terminal. “You’ll have a good vantage point and you can talk strategy into the comms.” 

I nodded. A rush of adrenaline fluttered through my heart and down into my stomach. Steve was the first to believe in me all those years ago, when we met on that giant SHIELD airship. He was the only one who didn’t doubt my being there. And maybe it was because he followed orders and trusted Nick Fury blindly. But he never treated me like a liability. He didn’t step around me with doubt. 

“But kid, the second I think things are heating up I’m going to give you a signal to fall back and you will follow that order. Do you understand?”

“Promise.”

…

Of course the earpiece that Clint gave me was defective. 

Under strict orders, I ducked behind the pillar Steve assigned me to and sat back on my heels. When I put the earpiece in, it buzzed loudly before emitting a deafening screech. I was dizzy when I ripped it out of my head.

It wasn’t very complicated to crack the casing open with my fingernails. I carefully pried the earpiece apart, making sure I didn’t accidentally detach any of the connecting wires inside. I cursed myself for not bringing my pocket toolkit. 

The microchip that received transmissions had been bumped out of place, which explained the buzzing and the screeching. I frowned because this chip was meant to be slotted and glued into place. It was almost impossible to accidentally knock it, which made me think Clint had tampered with the earpiece on purpose. Asshat. But fair enough, if he truly wanted to keep me away from the fight. 

I pinched the microchip back into its place, but without any glue on hand, my hopes and prayers that it would stay put would need to be enough. I slid the earpiece back into my ear and tensed, half expecting to be ear-raped again. 

“That doctor, the psychiatrist, he’s behind all of this.” I was relieved to hear Steve’s voice coming through the tiny speaker. It was slightly muffled and he sounded a bit like I’d trapped him in a microwave but it wasn’t nothing. 

Without a visual, I had to rely on my auditory senses alone to paint a picture of what was going down. Dad wouldn’t have come alone, and I was willing to bet a thousand bucks that Rhodey was at his side. 

“Ross gave me 36 hours to bring you in. That was 24 hours ago. Can you help a brother out?” I could only barely make out what my father said. Steve must have been standing close enough that his earpiece picked up Dad’s voice, but I could do better than that. 

“APRIL, tap into their comms systems.

My favourite country accent spoke through my earpiece. “Their communication line is highly encrypted, boss.” 

“Girl, you know as well as I do that we’ve gotten into them before. Put some muscle into it.”  

“I don’t have muscles, I am an artificial intelligence program designed to assist you, Laurie Stark.” 

I palmed my forehead. “So maybe do a little more assisting and a little less getting on my nerves.” 

APRIL went silent for a moment. I was about to open my mouth to verbally berate her again when she announced, “You’re in their system now, boss.” 

“Thank you,” I lowered my voice to a whisper now that I was on an open channel. 

“Do you really want to fight your way through this one?” My jaw twitched the moment I recognized the female voice that came through the comms. I should have figured that Natasha would make herself present, but doing the government’ dirty work for them? That was out of character, even for her. 

“He doesn’t want to but I will,” I muttered to myself. 

“What!?” Dad’s voice echoed throughout the airport. 

Oh fuck. 

I tensed up and crouched lower behind the pillar. The earpiece must have picked up my voice. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

In a split second decision, I stood up. A heavy rush of blood went to my head. My movements began to feel slower and flowy. Every time I had ever performed in a show, this feeling would take over. It always felt like I was moving through honey and molasses. And I guess I had just heard my cue. 

I stepped out from behind the pillar, hands raised beside my head in mock surrender. I squinted in the bright daylight, shielding my eyes from the sun with a hand over my brows. I scanned the surrounding area, just as I’d been taught. 

Steve was about fifteen feet in front of me, his hands on his hips again, wearing an expression that said “are you serious right now?”. I mouthed a sorry in his direction. 

Dad was inside one of his newest suit models. Mark 45 or 46 at this point, I thought. He was twenty feet away, with the Iron Patriot at his side. Or was it War Machine now? Rhodey was incredibly indecisive and I owed myself a Benjamin now. 

Off to the right of Steve and myself, stood Natasha. Her brows were raised, and despite the narrowing of her eyes, her lips were tilted upwards in a smirk. I felt her pride strengthen my own. 

Someone new was crouched to the left of my father. A man enclosed head-to-toe in a black suit. The mask resembled a cat, with purple details lining the body. Wait no, he was a panther. The Black Panther.  

I bit my tongue and held back from yelling at Steve for not actually explaining what the hell was going on and who was involved. How many more surprises would find me in this German airport? 

Across the empty maneuvering area, I watched my father start to short circuit. He was sputtering nonsensical noises, eyes wide with fury. 

“Oh now you’re messing with me,” Dad scoffed. He waved his arms around wildly, pretending to look for something in the distance. “Cut the cameras! You got me good!” 

And he wondered where I got my theatrics from. I covered my mouth to camouflage a giggle. This entire situation was so completely unserious. 

Dad turned his attention to Steve. “Are you kidding me, Rogers? You know, I always knew deep down you were a dirty little player, but sinking this low? She is fourteen years old! No seriously, you have got to tell me what your plan was. Hold her for ransom? Trade her in for letting your buddy run free? Why the fuck did you bring my daughter here, Steve?” 

“Unbunch your iron panties, Dad. I hitchhiked.” I raised a pointed finger to butt in. I walked the ten steps it took to join at Steve’s side. “Steve didn’t know I was coming.” 

I was too far away to see it up close, but I just knew that the vein in my father’s forehead was about ready to explode. He swallowed hard and pierced me with a devastatingly disappointed look. I didn’t let him knock the confidence out of me. I made myself taller. 

“Alright, I’ve run out of patience,” Dad said. He raised two iron-clad hands and cupped them around his mouth. “Underoos!” 

A flash of blue and red flipped over Steve and my heads. The sound of rope whipping through wind made me duck on instinct, covering my head with my arms. Something white flashed through the air and I blinked. Steve’s shield had been torn right off his arm and was now in the hands of a stranger. Steve’s wrists were entangled in an intricately woven webbed handcuff. 

I had caught wind of The Spider-Man on Tumblr and YouTube. He had become somewhat of an internet sensation. I thought he was a bit of a poser, but he was certainly strong. And here he was, crouched on top of a large white van.

“Nice job, kid.” My dad said. 

“Thanks.” The Spider-Man’s voice was thick with pride. He sounded on the younger side, maybe an early twenties. His suit didn’t have a mouth hole, but his jaw kept moving as he spit out words at a rapid-fire pace. “Well, I could've stuck the landing a little better. It's just the new suit… Well, it's nothing, Mr. Stark. It's--it's perfect. Thank you.”

“Yeah, we don't really need to start a conversation.” Dad tried to wave him down. My chest started rising faster. When did my dad meet this guy? How long had they been working together? 

“Hey, everyone.” He turned left and right, giving a courteous nod to everyone. The slits in his mask actually narrowed when he looked at me. 

Nano-tech, I thought. Dad hand-picked this guy. Even made him a brand new suit… 

The Spider-Man’s head cocked to the side. “Woah, you’re just a kid.” 

“Who the fuck are you?” I threw back. 

“Language.” Steve crossed his arms. 

“Sorry,” I muttered. Heat rose to my cheeks and my eyes made friendly conversation with the concrete. I didn’t appreciate being chastised in front of the new guy. 

“You've been busy.”

Dad was quick to bite back at Steve. “And you've been a complete idiot. Dragging in Clint. 'Rescuing' Wanda from a place she doesn't even want to leave, a safe place. And now Laurie’s caught up in this? I'm trying to keep . . . I'm trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart.”

My nails dug half-moon crescents into my palms.

“You did that when you signed.” Steve was eerily nonchalant. He hadn’t moved an inch, even when surrounded and outnumbered. 

“Alright, we're done. You're gonna turn Barnes over, you're gonna come with us. NOW! Because it's us!” Dad put an emphasis on the word us, as though he would will Steve into changing his mind by the tone of his voice alone. He used to be able to do that. They used to do all kinds of great things together. “Come on.” 

I’d only ever heard my dad sound so defeated once before. He didn’t know it, but I sat on the top of our staircase the day Pepper left him. Left us. I listened to the entire conversation he had with her over the phone, pacing back and forth in our kitchen trying to reason with her. Trying to convince her to stay for them, for me, for us.  

A squeal of feedback played through my earpiece. I squirmed, my shoulder involuntarily raised itself to cover my ear. 

“We found it, Cap.” Sam’s voice was muffled and breaking up. Damn you, Clint. “The Quinjet is in hanger five, north runway.” 

I didn’t know where hanger five was. I glanced sideways at Steve. His face remained stoic, eyes never leaving my father’s as he raised his arms above his head. He gave no signal, no order, and yet a single arrow flew through the air, slicing through the webs that bound Steve’s hand. 

This was the teamwork I recognized. My Avengers, whose actions flowed like perfectly oiled parts. They didn’t need to read each other’s minds; the skill of one echoed that of the other, gears turning in harmony. If one screw in the machine fell out of place, there would be chaos. 

There was once a time when my father would refuse to call us soldiers. He resented the idea of being bound, of following the orders of someone else. And there never was one true leader in their group of six, not really. Everyone respected Captain America the most because he understood the importance of an organized attack. But Steve never pretended that he was above any one of his teammates. The Avengers were not a team of soldiers. They were a band of friends. 

In the blink of an eye, I watched as everyone picked a target to go after. A friend to tie down. My father flew off to force Wanda back into confinement, Steve darted away to give Bucky his chance at freedom. My body felt heavier; I couldn’t move. 

Innocent trucks and moving vehicles around us took the brunt of the fighting, collecting dents and scratches that would stall the work of airport employees. I thought about Sokovia, and New York, and Germany, and Minneapolis, and Iraq, and every place this team had ever tried to help people. In the far away corners of my mind, I wondered if the Accords were constructed for this reason. 

“Hey, Mr. Stark, what should I do?” The Spider-Man’s voice brought me back to the fight, although the feedback itched at my brain. 

“What we discussed. Keep your distance.” Dad’s palm engines ignited and he hovered above ground. “Web my daughter up and keep her away from Rogers.”

The air I exhaled caught in my throat and became a choked cough. My whole life I had gone without ever hearing my father admit who he was to me. Not to anyone outside of our tiny, miniscule circle of soldiers and spies. And now he was throwing my namesake around like it was nothing? To a stranger in high-tech Spandex?

I was given no time to react. No chance to hold up my fists and fight. The webbing that shot out of the Spider-Man’s wrists was cold against my skin. It adhered to my feet first, turning my metaphorical frozen stance permanent. The force knocked me off balance and I began to fall backwards. Though disoriented,  I forced a surge of energy through the very centre of my chest, extending it out to my arms, which failed wildly on either side of me. I loosened gravity’s hold on me, floating effortlessly with bent knees; the same trick gold-painted men in Times Square played on tourists. 

Another splat of webbing hit my chest. The Spider-Man jumped from the van, flipping over me. In midair, he tugged on the web that branded my front. The white strings were fluid, moving with him, as though an extension of his own hands, sticky fingers pulling me upright. Once I stood tall again, I craned down at the mess on my shirt. He was lucky as shit I got it from Bloomingdales. 

“I could have done that myself,” I scoffed. I wiggled my toes in my shoes, like that would make any difference about the webs holding my feet down. The sticky stuff was strong, like glue, and no amount of gravitational force was making them move. 

“Sorry about your shirt,” The Spider-Man said, ignoring my comment completely. “I would offer to buy you another one, but knowing Mr. Stark’s tastes I imagine it’s probably way more than my allowance. But this stuff should wash out after a load or two. As long as you’ve got good detergent. My aunt tells me there’s a lot of things in this world you can skimp out on, but good detergent isn’t one of them.” 

I blinked in rapid succession. My neck and shoulders were beginning to hurt from having to twist around to see this stupid guy. I turned my back to him and muttered an endless string of profanities under my breath. Over the comms I swore that I heard Steve saying “oh brother.” 

I bent down to examine the webbing on my shoes. If it dissolved with detergent and a few washes, then it had to have some chemical bond that was soluble with water. Which, if you asked me, was poor design planning on The Spider-Man’s part. What if he needed to fight mid-swim.

My brows scrunched together as I held an open palm over my left shoe. I doubted that this would work. I barely used this skill of mine, I was scared enough of the things I could do. Elemental manipulation was high up on the list of things I could barely wrap my head around, let alone control. Gravity was far easier to work with, it was predictable and solid, and it didn’t embarrass me in a fight. Scratch that - it usually didn’t embarrass me during a fight. 

Flexing my hand, I reached outwards and got a feel for the makeup of the web fluid. It was similar to picking a lock, weaving through and between molecules like pins inside the mechanism. This was far more tedious than working with gravity. But eventually I found the threads I needed and began to pull apart at the seams. The web fluid pooled around my shoes, leaving a sticky (suspicious-looking) residue on the laces. 

“Hey, what are you doing!?” I heard The Spider-Man call out from behind me. I had already begun dissolving the webs on my other foot. 

I heard a swoosh and a thud as The Spider-Man landed with one fist on the ground, kneeling in front of me. He looked like a poser. 

“You look like a poser,” I said aloud. “And have you ever actually been in a fight before? You talk way too much.” 

“Look, I’m really sorry, but I have to impress Mr. Stark.” Something about the eagerness in his tone made the hairs on my arm stand on edge. “He told me not to let you near any real fighting ‘cause you’re, like, really important. And I can’t let him down. So, I’m really, really sorry but-” 

The Spider-Man cut himself off by shooting a series of webs faster than I could count. In one whiplash-inducing moment, I was flat on my ass with my arms, legs, and hands pinned to the concrete. 

“Let me go!” I cried out, struggling against the sticky restraints. The Spider-Man shot two final webs. They landed on my feet. He turned and bent close to the ground, readying to launch back into the air. I yelled at him again. “You really think my dad wanted you to leave me exposed and vulnerable in the middle of a terminal!?”

The Spider-Man sprung up, but faltered instead of springing up high. He looked down at me over his shoulder, the eye slits on his mask scanning me up and down. I shivered. 

“I don’t think your dad wanted you here at all,” he said. He hooked a web at a nearby boarding walkway and swung back towards the fight.  

…

It took me ages to dissolve as much of the webbing as I could. I shook free from the debris, wiping the melted strings on my pants and scrambled to my feet. I could hear everyone else in the distance, my visual on them blocked by one of the parked commercial planes. 

I sprinted as fast as my feet could carry me. Some of the web fluid that clung to my shoes threatened to tug my shoes off with each step. My chest was burning and I was wheezing when everyone finally came into view. 

Vision floated above my people. From the stone embedded in his skull, a thick and powerful lazer pointed at the ground. I picked up my pace, running towards the light, beads of sweat falling off my face, the salt stinging my eyes. I just about made it to the crowd when my feet skidded to a halt and I drew in a sharp gasp.

Vision’s lazer cut through the pavement. I watched in horror, and a bit of amazement, as he bowed his head and drew one long line. I traced it with my eyes, watching the concrete turn red hot, then black, marking a very real division into the ground. 

I swallowed hard. I felt childish for pretending that this was all just a game, and foolish for trying to convince myself that this fight was nothing more than a family-style sparring match. The line in the ground made it very clear to me that there were true sides to this mess, a good guy and a bad one. And if you had asked me to tell you which side was which, I wouldn’t begin to know what the right answer was. Everyone had chosen a side. And unintentionally, to my horror, so had I. All I knew from where I stood was that my team was about to be forever severed. 

I took my sight off the ground and raised my head.

My father stared back at me from the other side.

Chapter Text

When I was younger I really enjoyed drawing. I would doodle at the back of meeting rooms during Dad's press conferences. I would draw small stars and other symbols in the corners of math worksheets and in the margins of books. I have always seen the world in a visual way. 

Eventually Steve came along and he taught me how to sketch. And while the team was across seas fighting for justice or righteousness, I would listen over the comms and I would draw. I could just barely picture what they were seeing from the blueprints of the buildings they broke into and the short descriptions they uttered into mics. I would close my eyes, lean back in Dad's office chair, and draw the fight in my imagination. 

Dad’s team lined up one by one: The Black Panther, my father, and Nat. Vision floated above them, The Spider-Man and Rhodey to his left. On either side of me, Steve's allies fell into a similar formation. 

It was an even division, six against six. The eye slits in Dad’s suits glowed white, and from so far away I wondered if this was how the men he punished felt like. Terror paralyzing them to the spot, unable to look anywhere but at his emotionless face mask. 

“What do we do, Cap?” Sam’s eyes never left the target. 

I held my breath. 

“We fight.” 

That was all the signal they needed to move into the next act of this performance. It felt rehearsed, everyone knew the motions, knew their blocking on the stage. I was motionless as they began taking slow steps forward, testing the opposing side with each plant of a boot on pavement. 

I snapped into tune with my team. A shudder crawled down my spine. Accepting a spot on any team came too easily.  With every inch we moved, Dad's team moved three. Soon enough we were running at full speed towards each other. I braced myself for impact. 

I skidded to a halt, arms thrown out to keep my balance. The dance continued, each fighter on the field wordlessly choosing a partner. The screech of metal colliding rang out when Dad's iron-clad fists met Steve's shield. The Black Panther opted to take revenge for his father’s death against Bucky. Clint shot arrow after arrow at Natasha, but a gleam in both of their eyes gave me the sense that they were having fun with it all. Vision tried to intercept Wanda, lover against lover, friend against foe. The battle had begun. 

It felt natural for me to stand alone, watching from the sidelines. I could feel the younger version of myself rattling against my ribs like a rabid sports fan against the plastic barriers of a stadium. This was her dream come true; seeing the action unfold in real time.

I almost didn't see him coming. I was completely enraptured by the thrill of the fight, that his blur of red and blue came hurtling into my line of vision too late. 

I threw myself to the ground, attempting a duck and roll manoeuvre that ended up feeling (and looking) more like a child in gymnastics class. I ignored the ache along the right side of my body where I landed too hard. I expected I’d wake up a bit blue tomorrow.  

The Spider-Man surrounded me. He swung down from above, kicking me hard in the chest. I landed on my ass with an oof. He leapt down again and I held my forearms in front of my face. The webs he shot nearly caught my wrists and bound them to the cement again, but I managed to catch them in midair. The clump of sticky white substance was suspended for a moment, until I launched them right back at him. The mass landed on his face, blinding him. He reeled backwards. 

I was impressed with myself. Wanda and I had experimented before with this side of my abilities, but that almost always ended with her hitting me in the face over and over.

I supposed the element that was missing from our training sessions was the white-hot fire burning inside me now. The adrenaline, the rush. My senses felt more heightened. I was more aware, more present. 

The Spider-Man wiped his mask clean, although strings of webbing stuck to his cheek and under his chin. His knees bent, and before I had time to react, he had launched into the air. He flipped over the several feet of distance between us and landed inches from where I stood. I tripped back a step. 

The first swing of his fist barely missed my cheek. I dodged it by leaning, but not enough to miss the rush of air that brushed my skin in his place. 

I was wildly underprepared for sparring. He was completely decked out head-to-toe in a suit made of protective nanotechnology. That, combined with what I now recognized as superhuman-level strength, meant that I was at a massive disadvantage. 

I charged a fist at him anyway. He caught my hand in his own but I reacted quickly. Digging my nails into my palm, I sent a surge of energy through my arm into him. He flew backwards, his body slamming into the outer wall of the terminal before slumping to the ground. 

He hadn’t expected that, clearly, from the way his limbs shook and he pulled himself up onto one knee. The white eyes of his mask narrowed again. I had figured earlier that there must have been a camera on the inside of the suit that tracked and mimicked his real facial expressions. And if I was right, the look The Spider-Man was giving me now caused my stomach to flip. 

He was low to the ground preparing to lunge at me again, when something beyond me caught his attention. His eyes looked behind me and, against any of my training, I turned my back to him. My jaw fell slack. 

Scott was, well, huge was the only word ringing in my head. He had become a giant, growing hundreds of feet tall. His hand was extended up, fingers balled into a fist around something small and shiny. 

Oh hell, I thought. He was holding Rhodey by the foot, the way a toddler would grab a Barbie doll. 

A stunned laugh escaped past my lips. I looked over my shoulder, relieved to see that The Spider-Man was still distracted by Scott's transformation.

I used his lack of attention to my advantage, booking it to my left where I could take cover inside a cage of parked vehicles. I slipped between the hoods of two transport vans, planting my back against the cold metal. 

Following the few moments of reprieve I took to catch my breath, came the waves of pain. The adrenaline slowed its course in my veins and I was acutely aware of how sore I was. I rolled up the flannel sleeves, which were now tattered with rips,  and hissed at the sight. My arms were covered in red splotches of road rash and freshly blooming bruises. I was sure the right side of my torso looked similar. 

I steadied a palm on my bending knees and keeled over, holding my stomach and swallowing a wave of nausea that washed through me. 

"A little bit far from home, aren't we?" 

I hadn't heard Natasha step into the circle of vehicles. She was dressed head to toe in fighting black. 

I was in no mood for a lecture. I peeled my back off the van door and squared my shoulders. Fists tucked tightly in front of my face, I teetered on wobbly legs. 

Natasha raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a downwards smirk. She  narrowed her eyes, contemplating. Whatever she was thinking, it wasn't written plainly on her face, unlike the way I knew she was reading mine. 

"Alright." She bowed her head. "Have it your way." 

I blamed the exhaustion for my slow reflexes. I blinked, and Natasha was  on me, beside, behind and around me. Her jabs were fast, perfectly calculated. 

It was a familiar dance now, after nearly two years of rehearsing the same steps. Natasha would wait for my attack, sometimes allowing me to know what it felt when knuckles met muscle. At the compound, I was protected on all sides by padding on the floors and walls. Or by ropes lining a fighting ring which kept me from falling. 

And despite what she’d say, I knew Natasha played it safe with me. No one would let her hear the end of it if I got injured during a training session, least of all my father. So I was protected by him too, even when he wasn’t around. 

Out here, on this airport tarmac surrounded by an opposing team and concrete, I was on my own.

Natasha jutted her chin towards my feet.  "Your stance is much better.”

Her eyes dragged up and down, silently examining my form. I had positioned my feet further apart and angled my hips better. "When did you have time to make that correction?" 

I dodged another blow and got my hands back in front of my face. "Not a whole lot to do when you're being held hostage." I blew a strand of hair out of my face. 

Natasha rolled her eyes and leaned back when I tried digging a punch into her side. She made the act look effortless, as though she was bored. "That's some strong language, Laurie. You weren't a prisoner." 

"Yeah," I said, my breathing heavy. "That's what they keep telling me." 

I filled my lungs with air, deep and slowly, just as Natasha had taught me. You can’t control the other person’s movements, but you can keep your head levelled and memorize their patterns. Natasha aimed a strike at my right side, and I managed to dodge it and hit her shoulder. Somehow, my attack was stronger than I anticipated, and she actually staggered. Or maybe she wasn’t prepared for me to actually fight. 

I took advantage of her loss of balance and struck again, this time by grabbing hold of her bicep and tugging with all my might. It was a move she had done with me many times, flipping me over her shoulder so I would land flat on my back, often with a grunt and greeted with her elbow jabbing into my sternum. 

It would have been so cool to finally have won a fight. Unfortunately, I was no Russian spy. I never even had an advantage over Natasha, her feigned wavering was all a ruse to get me exactly where she wanted. 

She lunged backwards and I lost my footing. Her leg swept under my own and I landed on my back. I felt the crack of my skull on concrete vibrate all the way down to my toes. My eyes clamped shut, but I saw stars anyway. 

Far away I heard Natasha chuckle. I was never a match for her, only a game. 

“Come back up, птичка.”

She offered a hand for me to take. I hated how my face flinched as she extended her palm towards my face. Reluctantly, I grabbed hold and she hauled me back onto my feet. 

"Folllow me," she said. She ducked low to the ground, peering out behind one of the parked vans. In the distance, I watched Dad, Rhodey, and The Spider-Man try to take down Giant Scott. 

The Spider-Man swung around Scott's legs in circles and Dad and Rhodey distracted his visual field. I realized then where I had seen this scene before. Star Wars Episode Six, with the giant four-legged machines and wookies. Someone on that teamwas a big fucking nerd. And this time, it wasn't Dad. He hated those films. 

Natasha tugged firmly on the hand that was still within her grasp. I bent my knees and followed her lead as she dragged me out into the terminal. 

We zipped through the tarmac, ducking behind vehicles and carts holding suitcases in every colour. We moved tactically and low to the ground. About forty feet in the distance, a smaller hangar stood with its exterior doors open. Natasha angled our path straight for it, and it dawned on me that the Quinjet must have been parked inside. The very same one that Bucky and Sam were fighting to get. 

And here I was, barreling through the tarmac at full speed alongside someone actively trying to stop them. 

With our backs turned, someone began to fire shots in our direction. Natasha pushed me down behind a refueler truck and fired back at them. I only saw the red burst from the barrel of Natasha's gun. I hoped the receiver was good at dodgeball. 

When we crossed over into the hangar, I keeled over, hands on both knees as I tried to catch my breath. My limbs felt heavy, weighing me down and whispering sneering ideas about laying down into my ears. I mentally made a note to start working on stamina instead of strategic sparring with Natasha. 

She guided me off to the side of the hangar, still in front of the Quinjet. It took me a moment to realize we got there before Sam or Bucky. I pushed the thought of having to fight either of them from my mind. Or worse, having to be a helpless bystander as Natasha took them out. But mostly, I was grateful to be away from the fray.

It was quieter inside the hangar. The sound of gunfire and exploding cement that was so prominent before became soft echoes that reverberated off the hangar walls. The sheer size of the open doors made it look like I was watching the fighting happen on a movie screen. Not unlike how I used to see the Avengers fight when I was small. 

Natasha paced up and down the width of the hangar. I stayed off to the side, watching her check the communications device on her wrist every few steps. A moment’s rest came and went quickly, disrupted by a deafening crack just outside the hangar. 

Two dots of silver and red were running towards us, one slightly faster than humanly possible. Whatever held Sam and Bucky off had been defeated, or abandoned, and the two men were hurtling towards me and Natasha. I imagined they had no idea we were in here, though. 

I moved close enough to the door to find the source of the cracking sound. To the left of this hangar stood a communications tower. Or rather, it used to stand. Something had cut the tower clean off from its base, and the remains now hovered above the ground. I could not see her, but I knew that Wanda was somewhere holding it up.

The tower remains were shaking in midair, and it was clear that Wanda was struggling to hold the weight herself. I didn’t think twice before I felt a rush extend out through my fingertips. An invisible extension of my hands and arms examined the tower. Gravity was a stubborn force, and it was pulling and fighting with Wanda to bring the pieces towards the ground. I imagined my hands resting on top of gravity’s, asking it to release its powerful grip on the tower. 

My entire body was shaking. I had once held up a structure much larger than this, but that was a different time, when I was a different girl. 

I was able to see the white reflection of sunlight off Bucky’s metal arm. I blinked, because I must have been seeing things, but I swore that the other dot was carrying a red and blue shield. This wasn’t the mission. This was not the plan. Where was Sam? 

As the dot grew larger, Steve’s outline was clear as day. He had taken Sam’s place, running alongside Bucky towards the Quinjet. They were going to make it. In the back of my mind I wondered why Natasha was letting me aid Wanda, why she wasn’t taking me out to secure the hangar bay. 

An ear-splitting screech consumed all my senses. I let go of gravity’s hold on the tower and covered my ears as I crumpled into a heap on the ground. I couldn’t see anything besides blinding, white-hot pain. My muscles contracted involuntarily, leaving me paralyzed. I choked on air that could neither leave or enter my lungs. I was dying. Natasha had struck me with her taser or maybe gravity was finally taking its revenge over my rule. Either way, surely, this was dying. 

I felt the cold press of cement against my cheek. Although coming back to the world was slow and sluggish, I eventually regained awareness over my senses again.  Every nerve in my body hurt. Something warm and liquidy pooled under my skin. 

Someone, Natasha maybe, hauled me to sit upright against the wall. I lay my palms flat against the ground. My lip quivered, the way it does after throwing up in the middle of the night. A pathetic whimper slipped through them. I swallowed the taste of bile and gasped for air. 

I forced my eyes to peel open, an ache at the base of my skull groaned in protest as I took in the light of day again. Time was moving strangely, and I watched the scene unfold before me in a dream-like trance. 

The tower had crashed into smoking pieces, barricading the hangar door. Steve and Bucky had just made it through. They stood a few feet away from Natasha, who had her arm raised, ready to fire her taser if they moved an inch. Their mouths were moving, but the ringing in my head kept me from hearing what they were saying. 

Natasha fired her weapon, and my heart sank. I willed myself to get off the ground, but my muscles had transformed into honey, keeping me glued to the spot. I could barely process my confusion when neither Bucky nor Steve took a hit. I craned my neck, ignoring the searing pain that came with movement, and saw that behind my teammates the Black Panther was on his knees. 

Natasha was a traitor. 

That was why she let me assist Wanda with the tower. This was her plan all along - betray my father and help Steve escape. A part of me was angry at her, the part of me that would forever be loyal to Dad no matter what. But mostly, I was astonished. Out of every Avenger, Natasha was the one who knew how to follow through with orders. 

But she had also escaped captivity by following her own agenda. Just as she was doing now. And with me as her witness, she had just condemned herself to a life locked away. 

Steve and Bucky took their golden ticket and ran. Steve slipped straight past Natasha and up the Quinjet’s lowered onramp. Bucky followed in suit, but hesitated at the bottom of the ramp. My vision was too hazy to see his face clearly, but I swore I saw him nod in my direction before slipping inside the Quinjet. 

The engines roared to life, I felt the vibrations shake the ground and my head. A surge of nausea forced me to curl to the side, bile spilling from my throat onto the ground. The Black Panther tried and failed to leap towards the Quinjet, his claws barely catching one of the tires and narrowly escaped being sliced off as the tire drew upwards into the wheel well. 

The Quinjet hovered inside for a moment before pushing through the rubble of the tower and taking off into the open sky. A flash of red and gold sped into the hangar. I expected my father to hurry off after Steve. The repulsors in the hands and feet of his suit were probably fast enough to catch them if he redirected his fuel deposits. 

Instead, he landed in a crashing heap beside me. The fall was so hard that his knee cracked the pavement. Dad caught himself against the wall, his hand slamming right beside my head. The face mask lowered immediately, Dad’s eyes wide with concern as they scanned my helpless shape. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., read her vitals, now.” I couldn’t remember the last time I heard so much fear in his voice. 

My father did not grow up with role models who showed him how to express emotions. At least, not in a healthy way. He repressed a lot of what he felt, and I knew that he fought really hard to change his ways when I came into his life. He never made me feel like I had to hide what I was feeling, and the older I got the better he became at showing his as well. Sadness and anger were safely shared in our house. But Dad never showed me his fear. He always masked it, whether behind iron or behind sarcasm, fear was the one thing that was not mine to know. My theory was that he didn’t want me to know that truthfully, he was afraid of so much, all of the time. 

My useless earpiece had fallen out in all the chaos, and I did not hear what F.R.I.D.A.Y. had to say about the state of my health. Not that I wanted to know anyways. Dad reached out and cradled my head in his iron hand. The metal was cool against my skin and I leaned into the touch. I didn’t know when the tears had formed, just that they were streaming steadily down my cheeks. 

“You scared me so bad, babygirl.” 

The last time he had called me that, I was still small enough to be entirely enveloped in his arms, carried to his bed after nightmares. In this moment, I felt like that little, broken girl again, scared of the world but safe in her daddy’s arms. I wanted nothing more than for him to scoop me up and fly us home. I wanted to go home. 

Someone spoke into Dad’s comms and made him momentarily look off into the sky. He muttered under his breath, then shot a glance back at Natasha. When his eyes met mine again, they were glossy. An expression he only ever shared with whiskey, or with me. 

“I need to go, sweetheart, but you are going to be okay.” He pressed a firm kiss to the crown of my head. I tried to nod. “I love you, Little Miss.” 

He was gone as quickly as he had come. Without his hand supporting my head, it lolled sideways. I fought feverishly to stay with the world, but it was fading too fast. Falling miles and miles down, and also none at all, I slipped into the dreamless dark. 

Chapter Text

Pain was not enough to describe how it felt to wake up that morning. Or afternoon. I could see light shining from behind my closed eyes, and from the warmth that kissed my cheeks I had to assume it came from the sun. 

I felt heavy. 

I was used to weight. I spent most of my days dancing with her, threading her through my fingers, weaving in and out of her grasp, usually winning our ongoing fight for control. 

Today she won. She sat across my chest, she had her hands spread over my shoulders, on my thighs and my calves. I was sunk deeply into the mattress and would surely leave an imprint when I finally managed to pull myself up. 

I could smell the unpleasant stench of disinfectant in the air. It burned the inside of my nose with each breath. A faint beep repeated a steady pattern. It matched my heartbeat, I realized. 

I had never been in a hospital before. I was never prone to illness as a child, never broke a bone or needed my appendix out. And had I required such extensive medical attention, I was sure that my father would have just gotten his M.D. to heal me himself. 

The few times I got truly ill as a child were spent curled into the side of Tony Stark, snuggly tucked underneath a mountain of blankets and tissues. My favourite musicals would be projected onto the widescreen television. I would fake being ill sometimes. Not to get out of school or my tutoring sessions, I was never dumb enough to fall behind. 

Rather, I knew that being sick was one of the few times I could get Dad to watch a musical with me. I tried every other route: bargaining, tantrums, promises to not sing along with the soundtrack. The only effective way to get my father to sit through the entirety of Singin’ in the Rain or Rent was by being totally and completely ill. My suffering was Dad’s biggest weakness. 

My head felt like a bowling ball had been attached to my neck. I tested the waters slowly, gently encouraging the muscles in my neck and back to lift up. It was no use, I was being effectively paralyzed. My hands lay limply by my sides. I could ball them into fists, but no surge of energy was going to erupt anytime soon. I swallowed my pride, which, thanks to being more parched than a donkey in the desert, only made me sputter and cough. 

I became acutely aware of the presence of another person in the room. My coughing had brought them directly to my side, calloused hands splayed over my own. I would never not be able to recognize my father’s hands. 

With more mental push than necessary, I peeled my eyelids open. It felt like ripping sandpaper in half. The room was lit up by the sterile blue-white lights in the ceiling. I thought that I had been laying flat on my back, so coming to and staring straight ahead startled me. Made me dizzy, and a bit nauseous.

My vision was blurry at first. I blinked, each time my mind caught on to a new object in its peripheral field. The door to my hospital room. Glass, I noted, and sliding. An ICU door, if I didn’t know any better. I blinked again. A small counter and matching cabinet dawned with medical posters and trays. Blink. Blink. My father. 

It occurred to me then that I must have been put on some crazy, heavy-duty painkillers. It would explain why my mind was so sluggish, why it took so long for my eyes to communicate with my thoughts. Of course Dad was the first thing I saw when I came to. It just took me a minute to register him. 

I noticed the dark circles under his eyes first. He was wearing a black leather jacket with the collar popped. It acted like his armour for him, an appearance of intimidation in place of the iron. A fresh  purple bruise painted his cheekbone, just under his right eye. 

My heart dropped. Pairing with the utter disheveledness of his demeanour, patches of irritated and inflamed skin had appeared under his eyes and along his cheeks. Tear burns, the sign of a man who had been weeping for hours. Weeping for me. 

Tony Stark was an incredibly emotional man. He did not have a concept of “chill” when it came to emotional expression. His highs were ecstatic, ranging from bouts of laughter to erratic fits of excitement when a project finally worked out right. His anger was just as loud and his pride was even louder. Or worse, when he was quiet, when his fuming was silently steaming off of him and the smallest slip-up could make him erupt like a volcano. 

And unlike his fear, he rarely shied away from sadness. I had seen it nearly drown him a handful of times in my life, yet somehow it was always me finding him that would help him resurface. So yes, I had seen my father shed a few tears here and there. Any stage performance of mine was a surefire way to crack Dad’s waterworks. But I had only ever seen him tear up, maybe shed three or four before wiping his eyes and hauling me into the world’s best kind of hug. 

Seeing the devastation in Dad’s face broke me. In that moment, I forgot everything that had brought us here. I forgot about our fight in the hallway of the compound. I forgot about being locked away there, and the betrayal when he first saw me in Germany. Everything became laser-focused on pulling him back from the deep. 

I turned my palm over underneath his, palm up, and slid my fingers around his own. I half expected to feel his other hand caress my cheek. It occurred to me that I was facing into the hospital, away from the windows, and that the warmth from the sun I felt earlier was Dad. 

I glanced down to find where his other hand had gone and winced. His left arm was snug against his chest, tied in a sling. Whether he dislocated it or broke it, I wasn’t sure.

My lips parted to ask. He spoke first. 

“Hey there, sunshine.” His voice was low and gravelly. When his eyes met mine for the first time, they softened immediately. I could feel gravity releasing her grip on Dad’s heart, relief washing over his face. “You gave us all quite the scare.” 

“What happened?” The words scraped against my throat as they came out. 

Another cough followed and Dad released my hand to hold a pink plastic cup with a white straw up to my mouth. I drank the water down in generous gulps. A few drops dribbled down my chin, Dad set the cup down and folded the edge of his sleeve over his hand, wiping  them away like he did when I was small. 

“You got knocked down.”

I knew that already. He was there, he saw me on the ground. I hadn’t lost my memory, or at least I was pretty sure I hadn’t. 

My eyes narrowed. “By who?”

Dad tore his gaze off of me. He was suddenly very interested in reading my vitals off the beeping monitor behind my head. 

“Rhodey was trying to stop Wanda. We didn’t know that you were in the hangar bay. He didn’t mean to strike you down too.”

The screeching sound, the head-splitting pain, it all made sense now. Rhodey had shown me that feature of his suit the day Dad installed it. He’d made me wear industrial headphones then. 

“Why does it sound like you’re trying to defend him right now?” I pressed my lips together to keep them from quivering. “Look at me. I don’t see him in a hospital bed.”

“He just got out of surgery a few hours ago.”

“What?” My heart sank. So maybe I did miss out on some important details from the airport. It hadn’t occurred to me that they kept fighting after I passed out. 

“What happened?” I asked again, this time more urgently. I pushed up on the palms of my hands, trying to see through the glass into the rest of the ICU. I scanned frantically for Rhodey’s face, for his name on a door, but it was all muddled reflections. 

“It was Vision. Hit Rhodey in the back when he was ten thousand feet up. Disabled his suit and he fell.”

“Vision was on your side.”

“He was trying to hit Wilson.”

I waited for Dad to go on, to tell me something about Rhodey’s status. I balled my fists when it was clear he was trying to keep me in the dark. 

“Stop being so vague. Tell me what’s going on!”

“The doctors say Rhodey’s spinal column was shattered. Effectively snapped in two. He got lucky, he’ll likely only be paralyzed from the waist down.” 

Lucky? Only? I felt like we were speaking different languages. My head was spinning as I tried to grab onto the pieces of information Dad threw at me. Rhodey was paralyzed. Rhodey almost died. I almost died.

“What about me?”

Dad’s face hardened. “You are going to be fine. It was just sound waves, you’ll recover. I’m taking you home today.”

“Oh.” I swallowed. I nodded towards the cup that rested on the side table, but Dad didn’t hand it to me this time. “Okay.”

Dad had shifted back a few inches. His shoulders were taut and the familiar line between his eyebrows was growing. Now that he and I both knew I was going to be fine physically, it was only a matter of minutes until I’d face his reprimand. 

The repetitive beep, beep, beep, beep, from the monitor felt like a sharp stab with every passing moment of silence. The whirlwind of doubt I was spinning around in was getting stronger. I needed him to say something. 

“Just yell at me, please.”

“I don’t even know where to begin with you.” He was so quiet I hardly registered what he said. A vein in his forehead was protruding. 

“I know I messed up, okay? I know you’re mad at me, so just say that. But it’s not my fault you guys took it too far and got Rhodey hurt.”

Dad stood up so fast the bed shook. He turned his back to me and wiped a hand down his face. My heart picked up its pace, which was embarrassing because the monitor reflected it. When Dad turned back to face me, I was uncomfortably reminded of who he was to the world. 

Man of Iron. A billionaire entrepreneur to be admired. And an overpowered genius who was feared. 

“No. Just, stop while you’re ahead. You aren’t Kevin McCallister, I didn’t accidentally leave you home alone and you aren’t clever for sneaking your way halfway across the world. In fact, all this says about you is that you must be incredibly stupid. What were you thinking?”

It was my turn to answer with silence. If he was going to speak to me like that, I wasn’t going to dignify him with a response. 

I could see how easily he got frustrated. “Well?”

One of my eyebrows popped up. “Oh, I’m sorry, is it my turn now?”

“Don’t start, Laurie.” If I could draw a little cartoon of my father now, he’d have smoke coming out of his ears. 

I breathed in deeply and tried to think of something calm and mature to rebuttal him. 

“You turned the one place in the entire world where I feel remotely normal into a prison. And then you expected me to just sit there, by myself, when Clint came to rescue Wanda?”

“He didn’t rescue, she was never being held captive!” Dad kept cutting his own thoughts short. “I expected you to tell me what was going on. I expected that you’d give me a heads up!”

“Give you a heads up?” I let out a genuine laugh. “Are you serious? You left with no notice except than that stupid fucking necklace-”

“That necklace cost a fortune and it looks beautiful on you.” 

I almost bit back with a snarky remark about how he couldn’t buy my forgiveness, but the words died in my mouth. I flung a hand to my sternum and felt cold metal kiss my fingertips. I rolled the necklace between my fingers, feeling the outline of the rose press into my skin. He put it on me while I was out cold. 

I shuddered. 

Any sarcasm that was reeling to escape me had fled. Adrenaline washed over me with a sense of calm that was so strong it almost frightened me. 

“I had no idea where you were. I had no idea what was going on. I found out that Steve was under fire from Clint Barton instead of my own father. And then you start shooting at everyone for no reason! What was I supposed to do?”

“You weren’t supposed to be there at all!”

“Well then build a time machine and lock me up better. I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

“I want you to take some goddamn accountability. I want you to-”

I stopped him in his tracks, sitting up to make myself taller. The sudden movement caused my muscles to scream in protest. “Me take accountability!? Are you kidding me?”

“Don’t cut me off again. Yes, you taking accountability. You endangered yourself, you endangered everyone around you-”

“I’m pretty sure it was you with the weapons but okay.”

“Laurie, I swear to God if you cut me off one more fucking time.” Dad’s good was raised like a prayer. Or a warning. 

“You’ll what? I’m already in a hospital bed, and I doubt you’re letting me escape the mighty grip of Tony Stark anytime soon.”

Dad’s chest began to rise and fall rapidly. His good hand balled into white-knuckled fists at his side, and his jaw flexed. 

"I can't even look at you right now."

He turned his back to me and folded his one fist behind his back. With his gaze locked on the plaster hospital wall, Dad started listing off names like he was reading directly from an incident report. 

“Barton, Maximoff, Wilson, and the little guy are being held at a secure facility for the unnaturally enhanced for the time being. They’re all going to face trial in the coming weeks to decide what the consequences of their actions will be.”

“Rogers and Barnes are unaccounted for. They stole government property and are seemingly in hiding. There’s a warrant out for their immediate arrest without trial.”

I felt every word like a gunshot to my chest. 

“Natasha has cut off all communications with me, and from what I can tell she is choosing to live on the run instead of facing authority. All three of them are being declared enemies of the state.” 

“What’s going to happen to me?” I regretted the words the moment they tumbled out of my mouth, how selfish they sounded. Stark or not, I was rich enough to have my treasons covered up in cash. I knew better than to ask stupid questions. 

“You,” Dad began, folding his arms over his chest, “are lucky that I am your father. I paid double some kid’s college tuition to have you expunged from any record of this incident.”

“What did you really tell them?”

Dad sighed. “I told Ross the truth. That you’re an immature teenager having some sort of hormonal psychotic break.”

I blinked away the burning in my eyes and stared at my hands in my lap, at the crescent moon marks that were never deep enough to scar, but appeared often enough to never disappear. 

“I don’t understand how it got this far.”

“Of course you don't understand. You were never meant to understand this. Baby, you’re still just a kid.”

My head shot up, and this time I let the tears make their appearance. 

“That isn’t fair, Dad. You don’t get to stand by my side after everything we’ve gone through, after what I had to do in sokovia? After Ultron?” voice breaks tears fall “After I sat and watched the news every day for three months while they kept you in that cave, just praying that the headlines would say something about you coming home. You don’t get to stand by me through all of that and still call me a kid.” 

“Well you are a kid.” Dad shrugged, dismissing my dramatic monologuing and everything I wanted him to understand. “You’re my kid and you almost just died!”

Dad had taken a seat again and was holding my hands between both of his. The arm in a sling was angled outward, and I could see that the position was uncomfortable, pain was etched on his face. 

He was squeezing my hands so tightly it hurt. I winced and his eyes widened in realization. He dropped my hands as though I was the one hurting him. I felt the remnants of energy trying to pull him back as he did. A heartbroken frown glossed over my face. 

“Well now I wish I had.” I shuffled lower into my hospital bed and leaned sideways, turning my shoulder to Dad. 

I wasn’t expecting the feeling of a hand gripping my shoulder, so I inhaled sharply when Dad pulled me back to look at him. 

“Shut up.” His one hand kept my shoulder firmly pinned in place, and his other held a finger threateningly in my face. “Don’t say shit like that if you don’t mean it.” 

I lay frozen, glaring at him, though the image was blurred. I tasted metal and salt in my mouth. 

I watched Dad snap back into his body. He blinked, the coldness behind his eyes replaced with concern, and he sat back in his chair. His bad arm returned to rest against his chest. The hand on my shoulder didn’t leave. His iron grip transformed into a firm but gentle squeeze. A silent apology. 

Dad shut his eyes and momentarily released me to rub his temples. He got headaches frequently, and this time I don’t think he would have been joking if he said I was the reason for it. 

When he placed his hand on my shoulder again, it was a warning this time. 

“You’ve lost the privilege of being out of my sight.” 

I let my gaze fall. I nodded in response, shame taking over.

“I have business with Ross and you’re coming with me. No, zip it. I don’t want to hear it.” 

I opened my mouth to protest, to plead to be brought home, but snapped my jaw shut. Dad rose to his feet and I felt the absence of his hand on my shoulder hammer a nail in my heart. 

“The nurses are outside with your discharge papers that I’m going to sign. And don’t bother trying to come up with another escape plan. I’ll know where you end up.” 

His words hung heavy in the air. As he walked out of the room they landed directly onto where the rose pendant rested on my sternum.

Without much choice left, I forced my body to leave the safety of this bed and put on the clothes that were folded neatly on one of the countertops along the wall. The flannel and pants I had worn to Germany were replaced with a plain shirt and jeans. The items easily cost more than someone’s cellphone, yet I found myself missing the polyester. 

I tugged the shirt over my head and slipped through the door into the ICU. Dad stood at the nurse’s station in the middle of the room, leaning his good arm on the desk. When he saw me, he nodded his head towards the exit. 

I walked gingerly towards him, legs wobbly and weak. He and I nearly made it to the exit when the elevator doors to our right opened. A team of surgeons and nurses crowded around a gurney. They wheeled the patient past us towards an empty ICU room. 

Everything in my gut told me to keep walking. But I looked down as the team passed us and almost succumbed to gravity. 

Rhodey didn’t look like himself. A breathing tube was jammed down his throat, mechanically breathing for him. He was asleep, but he didn’t look peaceful. 

Dad’s good arm slung around my shoulders and kept my feet moving forwards. 

I’m sorry, I thought. 

I’m sorry.