This story is probably a little bit strange. It's side-story told by it's protagonist and it's related to „And What Am I" with OC, Peter Quill and the rest of his crew in the space. The protagonist of this story is the older sister of the mentioned OC, so it will fill in their family background, the connection to S.H.I.E.L.D., Avengers and aliens and also, at a certain point, it will clash. But still, this is not the life of Jenna Coulson after CA: WS in GotG, but the life of Danielle Coulson from the start to GotG2 (in the canon for this, the events of the Guardians movies were farther apart). Actually, I made this up wit my friend Jenna (yeah, that friend) a looong time ago. Years. Only now I finally put it together and the category was also a problem because it's happening everywhere. But my heart lies with the truest S.H.I.E.L.D. which is personified in Coulson (what the hell did happened with him in the end of season 4?!), so I decided for Agents crossing with Guardians. Or, in a fewer word, my MCU fanfiction from another point of view.

P.S. You may think that Danielle is kind of Mary Sue with her abilities and family, but trust me. This Mary won't have a perfect life, otherwise she would not be what she is. She's insufferable sometimes, I'm not joking with her hard heart, she can be ruthless and she will do... things.

I don't understand how could I get into this. Hm. No. Lie. I do. I think I just don't want to think about it. I'm not able to think about anything that happened and mainly what I did. Someone would probably tell it was a damn wild ride. I would agree with him. Yesterday. It was my life and I accepted it as it was. Absolutely extraordinary. What else could it be? I even enjoyed that. Everything around me. My abilities, my training, my position, contacts and my hard heart. Everything was giving me the sense of power and freedom I only need to reach for and have it because there's no one to stop me. I loved it. And maybe that's why I didn't let myself hear the echo of cracks in my aura of a mysterious agent. If anything wasn't according to the plan, I changed the plan. If something failed, I let it be and moved on. Just so. As if nothing could pierce it deeper. I thought that impossible. But now I know I just didn't want it. It was easier to be an agent. Not to work like one, but to be it. I think I felt like that because they killed my innocence in the time it still needed to rule longer over me. No, I wasn't a golden, perfect child. And I as hell wasn't an abused child. It all just happened too fast. I just wasn't fit for this planet.

I was fourteen then. I've always known I was different. Weirdly different. I hardly hurt myself. I am strong. Fast. Tough. And incomprehensibly heavy, although just like others, at least for the eyes. And I knew my sister Jenna was different too. I loved to spy, watch and find anything connected to the job of my father and my grandmother and it didn't take a long time to get used to the difference as our essence. I couldn't find out how much different am I, anyway. What I am. And maybe I didn't really care back then. I was just a high school student, true, not only one school. We were moving from time to time as our dad was a field agent. But he wasn't so important. The name Phil Coulson didn't hold the hallmark yet. If I can skip the fact that his mother established S.H.I.E.L.D. But he wasn't busy any less. Actually, it was a wonder that our family worked. And if not, he prepared another wild ride. Like the cavalry May as a babysitter. We saw her sides that the rest of the world doesn't believe she has. The meeting with Hank Pym. Once, a really long time ago, our grandma Peggy had to take me with her to Howard Stark. I didn't like him. And he died, though. But I learnt to see my life among legends as normal.

And I also lived normally. A normal school, normal hobbies. Normal lessons of a flute. I hated it. Notes were... I don't know, no language is a problem for me. Save for the language of the music notes. And maybe everything could be different if I didn't attend the lessons. Maybe there would be no first massive point on my list of "Happened" and no list "I did" at all. I would just sit at a desk in the headquarters or some base and dispatch the agents. Or sit on the bench in the courtroom, pointing on the sinners. But I did attend it.

It usually took a place at evening. And usually, someone was picking me up, or I used the tram once in a while. But once my dad was out of the town and it seemed logical to me to walk home in the middle of the summer. I was no package of golden bricks in need of an escort.
Well, they thought I had one with me. Or a wallet or a few carats on my neck. Perhaps. I was as heedless as a fourteen years old can be. And helpless as well when I realized, that the two shadows behind me wouldn't pass and I wouldn't outrun them. When I felt a hand on my neck and bumped into the wall.

There were only two of them. Today... I would deal with them before they realized their fatal mistake. Then... it cost more.

I was terror-struck. I barely noticed what were they saying. One of them tore my bag off my shoulder and ransacked it. He couldn't find anything, I didn't carry golden bricks after all. The second one pulled out a knife. Or was he holding it the whole time? I was so afraid. Blood roared in my ears more than words. They could take my bag and run, but they just threw it on the ground. I had nothing with me. They knew. Yet, they didn't run.
Both of them were older than me. Bigger. Stronger. Or I thought in that moment and didn't realize any advantage I could have. And they smelled. Not... of sweat or filth. Nor a cheap cologne. Or an expensive one, when it comes to it. It was a strange smell. Perhaps, I even didn't smell that, more like... felt it. It was scary. Suffocating. It choked me along with dread, so I couldn't even scream. I couldn't put together any words. Or grasp what did they want. Only the smell told me. It and a shiny, short blade by my neck. A blade that went down to my shoulder and cut the strap of my top. The smell... the feeling was stronger then. I panicked.

I couldn't move nor scream. They would hurt me, I knew. I was afraid. Of pain. Fear. But I didn't get a word out of me. I didn't try to escape. I couldn't pick up a single thought. The panic took over me. Instead of observing the situation and a solution, instead of the voice of reason, chaos flared up inside me.
They could be two. Searching my bag and tearing my jacket off. They could be ten. Singing opera. It didn't matter. Chaos was burning more and more, that... that scream or... the singing was louder and louder, the red around me blended with bright orange. The heat was spreading all over my body.
And I cried out.

It wasn't my inner chaos what was burning anymore. My palms were full of flames climbing up my arms. And where their fingers were holding me a while ago, blackened sticks remained.
The fire was climbing up to me and them. But while I felt a calming, cleaning warmth and heard a singing, they were screaming in agony, until the heat closed their throats. Incredibly fast. Incredibly gracefully.
Then the scream stopped. Chaos disappeared.
My back hit the wall again and I dully watched the show in front of me.

They couldn't cry anymore and they couldn't stand. They both collapsed. Their skin cracked and smoking blood was flowing from under their burnt clothes.
They lost their hair and lips. Boiling slime flowed from their eyes... from what used to be their eyes. But they were still alive. They jerked with the final spasm of incredible pain. A smoldering tongue was lying next to a collapsed, black face of the first one. The second one... clenched his fists, like he could defeat the fire. He desperately tried to roll on his back. Eventually, the flames burned out the last drops of their energy and their spree was over.

My hands remained intact. I lost my sleeves, but not a single blister implied the flames touching my skin. I examined them. I was warm, they heated, more than they should. Otherwise, they looked normal. I could pretend to not understand. Yell, want an explanation. But I knew I did it. I brushed off the ash, their former skin, of my forearm in a sudden attack of disgust. I knew the flames came out of me, that I was on fire and burned them. And that... that it was so...

In that moment, I got scared again. Of what I felt. This was so... so wrong... I shouldn't do it. I shouldn't feel it. I couldn't feel it! I couldn't be such... monster.

I ran. But not home. I just wanted to get as far as possible from the look at the two terribly scorched bodies. I let my bag there. I didn't think. I didn't care whether someone would find my stuff, saw me, whether the police would come, make an opinion. I was running and didn't care to where.

Finally, I squeezed between a wall and a long time unloaded dump container behind some restaurant with hammered windows and the sign FOR RENT some blocks further. I was shaking. I felt a pressure behind my ears and a fear everywhere. Different, though. Not worry about myself, but of myself. Of what could it mean. What would happen. What was I. What would I do. That fire woke up inside of me. And that I was a murderer.

That was the first step to becoming what am I today. Maybe it still could be reversed. My sister is afraid of her abilities and doubts herself like I did then. She caused some unpleasant incidents too. But, I don't know how, my dad found me. Probably because S.H.I.E.L.D. immediately jumped after this strange ignition. Maybe he was just lucky. But he found me and understood what happened. What did I do. He seemed like he expected something like that. He expected, that something would be in me at least because he told me I am not and never will be a monster. I was confused. And he didn't explain, like always. He'd never explained our origin regardless my notions. He didn't want to. Just repeated I'm no monster. That I'm more. That I'm his angel. And I calmed down... and never said that. Never saw myself like that. I ceased to fear.

I had to add a training, of course. My dad had to allow to use my "gift" in exchange for covering this event up and for the fact, that it all remained only at the head of S.H.I.E.L.D., basically only the director knew, and no one would examine me. No bargain. They could let a pyrokinetic slip between their fingers only if... a god would fall into their lap instead. Not that I objected. They'd always known how to lure people. So I started my training at an extremely young age and director Fury looked forward to a special agent carrying out the riskiest missions.

It took time. I didn't want to give up the formal education. I chose the law. And next to it, hard drill constantly escalated to make me an agent. And when Fury had been sure I was in and wished to fully cover my abilities, that I liked it and wouldn't back even from a high price, he let me know he's making me a killer. He taught me, or the instructors of S.H.I.E.L.D. academy, combat and defense, shooting, spy techniques, everything the others were taught. On top of that, I had to work on my fire, out of the knowledge of the instructors and anyone else. Control it, cause it, smother it, use it in a place of a weapon and as a technique of mass destruction. Flare up on command and so intensively, that no material would withstand. And don't kill myself by thoughtlessly burning out the oxygen. He wanted to reach the maximum. Push the boundaries. And me too. To burn down a complex in minutes. To melt down fired bullet. Don't stop.

I had to say I let them beguile me easily. I just had to remember what did my father say. That I'm no monster. It was easy. Ultimately, to know there are a few ways to kill me, almost none to hold me or to force me and to know about my dangerousness intoxicated me. I had a power over life and death and I had a power over myself. Although my training kept me in check and made sure I wouldn't overstep Fury. How easy is to slip to killing as long as someone else orders it and I can act merely as a perfect weapon? I didn't feel regrets because I didn't think about it. I didn't let my morale or conscience be heard and I definitely didn't look into my targets. Moreover, I led the agenda of an ordinary agent usually. Carrying out missions, monitoring, detection of threats, eventually the elimination. Flying around the world, a deliberate romance with a bad boy. And only sometimes being assigned to a special task, that would be a suicide for someone else.

Dad didn't know. No one did. I had a high clearance, worked closely with Fury, but no one was allowed to know on what. He kept his word about covering the truth, it came extremely handy for him. S.H.I.E.L.D. was in a completely different regime then. More friendly to the government, international organisations, the world. On the contrary, Fury was full of secrets and dirt like always, so he truly welcomed a secret section of his own. In fact, just like me. It felt great to be the one of the few in the world who knew about such terrific part of reality.

But on the other hand, I wasn't a machine. Some called me Fury's right hand. To the anger of agent Hill. Others just agent. Perhaps it was my main feature. However, there was still more. I was still in touch with colleagues and family. I was still a person. And then I just married.
It was a foolish idea. I was an agent, but there still remained something inexperienced or stupid in me. I don't know whether did I truly love Matthew Chase. Agent Case. Probably not. No wonder we surprised everyone so much. And no wonder it didn't last.

Few months, almost a year. I was glad for any mission and any reason to get out of our home. We've never divorced, but I got out for good. He didn't mind. We shouldn't have get married at all.

And that wasn't even the end. Rather the beginning.