Prologue: Trespassing

Her face was screwed up in concentration, her blue eyes glittering with the promise of a challenge. The boy, looking worn out but ready for a fight, ran at her. It appeared as though he was trying to find a way around her. And why wouldn't he? He had the ball.

I shook my head at the foolishness of the boy. Did he really think she was going to stand there and let him score? Of course not. That's why she jumped at him, swinging her right foot to connect with the little black and white ball. There was the sound of a collision at the two of them crashed together. The boy was knocked to the ground, but she remained on her feet, quickly running away to pass the ball onto another teammate.

Ah, the joys of soccer.

"She's pretty good at that," Steve Rogers remarked. I saw him watching the screen out of the corner of my eye. His fists rested lightly on his hips. Typical Captain America stance.

"Yeah, I guess so." Tony Stark's highly critical voice met my ears. "She looks pretty good out there. But I could take her."

I shook my head as Thor countered his proclamation. "Don't be so sure of yourself, Stark," his deep voice warned. "She looks rather dangerous. For a mortal, at least."

"Let's not argue about who can beat her at soccer," Bruce Banner intervened, his voice coming from a little to my right. "Barton." I turned my head. "Switch it over to a different clip."

Shrugging my shoulders, I walked over to the large screen and tapped a few keys. Another video of the girl popped up, this time showing her standing on a stage.

This video consisted of many different segments, and switched to what looked like a school cafeteria at one point. There was the girl dressed in a crude knight costume, speaking in a deep throated voice; another showed her dressed in an ugly green dress and equally awful gray wig. An interesting grandmother indeed, hitting people with purses. There were clips of her in all black wearing a goatee, her curls tucked under a ski hat. She played the dumb angle in that one. Another, the most recent one, depicted her as a little girl in pigtails and a dress. Frankly, it was kinda adorable.

"She's an excellent actor," Natasha Romanoff spoke up. I smiled her way; she returned it.

"Those voices are very realistic," I agreed, nodding. "What's her name, again?"

"Kristy Monet, age fifteen." Nick Fury came strolling into the room, bringing his air of "I rule you" and "don't cross me" through the door with him. He stopped at the side of the paused image showing Kristy about to get her hand smacked. "We've watched her long enough that you should remember that, Agent Barton."

I must have blushed, but I didn't care. I apologized to Fury, not really meaning it, and continued to stare at the screen. Why was she getting hit? That was an inquisition to be answered at a different time.

"Have you all seen enough?" Fury continued, glancing around at each of us. At our nods, he said, "Good. Captain, assemble your team. You're leaving tonight." With those words, he turned on his heel and left the way he came.

We exchanged a few looks between us, most of them confusion and shock. Then we all looked to Rogers. "Well," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Avengers, suit up!"

oOoOo

I slid a dark T-shirt over my head. Rogers had suggested we wear normal clothes, and not our hero getups. Propping my foot up on a chair, I tied the sneakers I rummaged from my closet at home. "Ready," I called out to the hallway, where Natasha was waiting.

I met her a few seconds later, closing the door quietly behind me. Not sure why I did it in that manner; just habit, I suppose. Regardless, we strode off down to the flight deck. The rest of the team was assembled there next to one of the larger jets.

I shook my head slowly at the sight before me. Everyone was wearing average clothes, like Rogers said to, but it was just…bizarre…to see everyone. Rogers, Natasha, Banner, and I looked relatively the same. We wore these types of clothes more often, and found them the most comfortable. Stark, however, was used to wearing expensive suits and silk shirts when he wasn't dressed up in his armor. He must have had to go out and buy new clothes, or borrow some from Rogers, because he looked shabbier than usual. He really didn't look like billionaire Tony Stark.

Thor, on the other hand, still looked somewhat like Thor. Even without his cape and armor, you could tell that he was, er, different. He wore jeans and a tightly stretched T-shirt that showed off the muscles that we were all jealous of. It made him look like either a football player, a bodybuilder, or, well, a god. It was probably killing him to have to leave his hammer behind.

In fact, none of us were taking any weapons whatsoever. "We're just getting in and out," Rogers had said. "No fighting." That last bit had been directed at Stark.

Now we were climbing into the jet, arranging ourselves comfortably, and preparing for takeoff. It was time to fetch Kristy Monet.

oOoOo

Nice to be back in Iowa, I thought to myself, looking at the house before me.

"What in the world are you trying to accomplish?" Stark asked. He was addressing Rogers, who was, at that moment, searching through Kristy Monet's mailbox. "Do you really think they'd keep a key in their mailbox? From what we've seen, her family is a lot smarter than that. Wise up, Cap."

I stifled a laugh at Rogers's expression. He'd really thought he was on to something, apparently. "I was looking at their mail to make sure it's the right address, Stark," he said drily, catching everyone off guard. Except for Natasha, that is.

"That's what I figured," she said, glaring at Stark, who ignored her.

Stark wasn't done. "Yes, because every town has a mail person who delivers at night. What was I thinking?"

"Shut up, Stark," I snapped, walking through the yard to the front door. I stuck my hand under the welcome mat, extracting a key. I stuck it in the lock and turned, opening the door. "Let's just get on with this already."

We entered the house, trying not to make any noise. It was a cute house, I'm sure Natasha was thinking. She didn't voice that opinion, but it was there. I could see it on her face. And it was a nice house. It wasn't huge, like Stark's tower, but it wasn't small either. It looked like the kind of house a middle class person would own.

All the furniture was really old looking. As we walked through the house, we slid our feet to make soft shuffling noises on the wooden floors. They weren't shiny, by all means; someone could probably get a splinter on them.

"Where is she? Up the stairs?" Natasha whispered. Rogers nodded and motioned for us to follow him.

One of the stairs creaked. All heads turned to look at Thor. He mumbled something close to an apology and we continued our ascent.

We passed a few closed doors as we walked down the short hallway to her room. Of course, she was at the end of the way. "Kristy's got a brother, right? What if he wakes up?" Banner inquired from the very back of our little line.

"He's an eighteen year old boy. I bet he sleeps like the dead" was Stark's reply.

Upon close inspection of the end of the hallway, we discovered Kristy's room was on the left, and the room where her parents slept was directly across from it. We slid through the crack the half-opened door made.

A fluffy gray cat, disturbed from its rest, leapt off a beanbag chair and ran out of the room, slipping between our ankles.

I raised my eyebrows. Her room, unlike everywhere else, was entirely modern. White carpet and yellow walls were the background for her décor. A mirror hung from one wall, and corkboard donned several pictures of friends and family, movie ticket stubs, bracelets, and hastily scribbled sticky notes. A black dresser stood nearby; her makeup rested on top. I recognized mascara and lip gloss. The rest only Natasha would be able to identify.

Posters of shirtless men and rock bands were plastered to the wall, looking odd with the sunshine yellow paint behind them. A few other posters were for movies, and some were for plays that I assumed she'd been in.

Her closet was walk-in, and every rack was full off bright colored shirts with a few black ones mixed in with the bunch. She clearly didn't have OCD. Natasha pulled open each of the drawers. The first one held pajamas; the second one had stacks of jeans, some normal denim, some neon skinnies. At the last drawer, Natasha made the rest of us turn away. It was easy enough to guess what that contained.

So we turned our attention to the bed. It was sleek black wood, and queen-sized. The sheets were black with white polka dots, and the comforter was white with multicolored flowers. And underneath the sheets and comforter, nestled among the pile of decorative pillows, slept Kristy Monet.

"Aw, how cute," Stark said sarcastically. He was standing nearest to the bed, right next to where Kristy lay. "So, how do we do this?" he asked Rogers, who was standing next to him. "Do we just wait for her to wake up? That could take hours."

"Maybe if we stare at her, she'll wake up sooner," Banner answered in a joking manner.

Stark took him entirely seriously, crossing his arms across his chest. He leaned over the bed, staring at her with his wide brown eyes. "Well come on," he said, not looking up. "I'm not doing this by myself."

Rogers shrugged and looked at Kristy, in a much subtle manner than Stark was performing. Everyone else did the same.

I shook my head. I couldn't watch her from here. I wasn't used to spying from the ground, even if I was on the second floor. Eyeing her bed, I made my decision. Her headboard looked wide enough, so I went for it.

I put both hands on her mattress and climbed up before grabbing one post on her bed. Then I stepped onto her headboard, spacing my feet evenly. Banner drew in a shark breath, waiting for me to wake her up or fall, but I didn't. And now I towered over everyone and could see everything there was to be seen in that small room.

And that's how we stood for what seemed like hours. In reality, it was only about twenty minutes. Banner was standing next to the mirror, leaning against the wall. Thor stood nearest the door, and Natasha was positioned on the opposite side of the bed of Rogers and Stark. They all had their arms crossed.

Stark maintained his hovering stature for a little longer, finally getting fed up. So what did he do? He took it upon himself to wake her up.

First, he threw the covers off her body. Thankfully, she wasn't wearing anything too revealing: blue plaid pajama bottoms and an orange shirt with a soccer logo. Kristy remained asleep. Next, he poked her in the arm. She didn't move. He poked her in the side, a little harder this time. She squirmed a little and mumbled something unidentifiable. He then poked her in the leg, digging in to get her up. And it worked.

We watched as, with an angry screech, Kristy flung herself off the bed and landed a rough kick to Stark's jaw. "God, Adam, why did you have to ruin it?" she screamed at him.

"Ow," Stark exclaimed, rubbing his jaw with one hand. "Hey, I woke her up!"

I shook my head again because I knew if Stark didn't think of something quick, he was bound to get his ass kicked.