First avengers fanfic! Please be nice! All reviews welcome (good or bad) If you have an idea, please let me know and I may just be able to work it in! Enjoy!

June 1st, 2009

The weather in London was unusually bitter for the time of year. Sharp winds caused close by trees to bounce repeatedly against windows and the frequent 'whipping' sounds made one think of the possibility of being picked up and flung across the street. Rain pounded down like a constant, cold running shower that would soak through coats and clothes within seconds of stepping outside the safety of your home. This was not the place Annabelle Cooper wanted to spend her seventeenth birthday, and even though it wasn't for another four days, the weather report predicted that Englands capital would continue to be hit with the unexpected storm for another week.

The taxi Annabelle and her mother were currently travelling in inched forward ever so slightly in the heavy traffic, taking them closer to their desired destination - the National Portrait Gallery. Her mother, Gabriella, was due to give a talk to a group of students studying art history and had dragged her daughter along with her, wanting her to have the experience as well. An accomplished art historian herself, Gabriella had been specifically picked from her position at Harvard University to give the lecture, and had readily agreed. Luckily, the two of them had left their hotel hours early with the intention of having a full tour of the gallery beforehand, now however, they would be lucky to even be able to remove their coats before being ushered out in front of the elite group of university students.

"We're going to be so late." Annabelles mother muttered, not really talking to anyone but herself. She strained her neck to see past the driver and look out the front window. They were five cars behind the car stopped at the lights, and she groaned at the thought of being stuck at the same lights for a third time.

"Relax, mom. You've already called the professor who arranged the whole thing. They know how bad traffic is and they've said that it'll be fine to be a little late." Annabelle gave her mom a sympathetic smile as she squeezed her hand. "I know you hate being late but it's not your fault. We left in plenty of time, it's just unfortunate that the weather is so bad."

"I know, sweetheart. It's just this means a lot to me. It's the first time I've been to the gallery and I wanted to make a good impression. Today is really important, I wasn't going to say anything," she took a deep breath and looked directly in to her daughters eyes. "But I've been offered a position at the gallery."

Annabelle was shocked. This was the first time her mother had mentioned anything about being offered a new job. She knew that, years ago, her mom had applied for countless jobs all around England, but was never offered one. It was her dream to move to the capital, away from the States, but after being denied so many times she settled for accepting a job as assistant lecturer at Harvard. It wasn't want she wanted but she loved it all the same.

"Wow, mom... that's brilliant! I'm so happy for you." She went to lean over for a hug but was restricted by her seat belt. Seeing this, Gabriella removed her own and scooted up to her daughter and wrapped her in her arms.

"Thank you, sweetheart. I was going to see how things go today and then talk to you about it fully later before making a decision. It would mean moving her and, because you'd only be seventeen, you'd have to come with me. I wouldn't do anything that you weren't happy or comfortable with."

"Are you kidding me?" She pushed her mom away to see her face and grinned at her. "Of course I'd come. It's freaking London! I was on the fence about applying to go to college here instead of back home anyway."

Gabriella beamed at her. "Oh, Anna, I'm so pleased you said that. The head of the gallery, the one that's offered me the job, will be there. I'll tell him that I'm accepting his offer as soon as I'm finished with the talk. We're moving baby, we're finally moving!"

They gripped each other in another fierce hug, both with tear laced eyes. Their taxi had moved forward again and they were now stopped as the first car at the lights. Annabelle held her moms hand as they imagined what their new life in London would be like, how different it would be from living in the States. The light changed from red to amber and the driver moved the car forward as the light finally changed to green. As the passed over the center of the road, Annabelle saw out the corner of her eye something that made her stomach twist and time stop. A double decker bus had braked too late, causing it to swerve uncontrollably in to their path.

The bus hit the drivers side, causing the car to spin violently before flipping over a few times before finally skidding the length of the road on it's hood. The driver had been rendered unconscious seconds after impact, leaving both mother and daughter screaming in the back as the car spun. It wasn't until the car finally flipped, sending Annabelles head crashing in to the side that she too was knocked out, blood pouring from a deep gash over her eye.

"An-Anna-belle..."

Gabriella was barely able to gasp her daughters name before violently coughing up a puddle of blood. The sound, however, seemed to draw Annabelle back in to consciousness. She watched helplessly as her mother gave one final, small smile up at her before seeing the life drain from her eyes. Annabelle tried to scream but she couldn't. No sound came from her open mouth. Blood seeped from her cheek in to her eyes as she hung upside down, still attached to her seat, the seatbelt cutting in to her stomach, chest and shoulder from her weight trying to drag her down. She was forced to stare at her mothers broken body for what felt like hours before she could finally hear the sounds of the emergency services coming to get her out.

It took almost an hour to cut her from the car safely. She was silent the entire time, not making a sound regardless of how much pain she was in. Annabelle had been forced to hang there and watch as her mother died right before her eyes, knowing that there was nothing she or anyone could do to save her. Annabelle couldn't be sure if she stayed fully awake as she was moved from the car and taken to hospital; one minute she having a brace placed around her neck, the next she was laying under the bright lights of and English hospital.

It took hours before she was able to sit up in her bed, the brace having been removed when it was confirmed to be no damage to her neck or spine. Countless doctors came to talk to her, all wanting to express their deepest sympathy for her loss. Annabelle still couldn't bring herself to talk, simple nodding and turning her head away. She was told that she would need to stay in for a few days; she had a concussion and they needed to get in contact with someone to come and get her. She couldn't even open her mouth to tell them that she had no one a part from the woman who died not two feet from her that morning. They worked it out though and social services were called but she still refused to talk. From what they told her though, they were waiting for her mothers attorney to contact them with information on a next of kin. He didn't. Instead he flew in from Boston the day after the accident to speak to them directly.

He spoke to them away from the ward she was on, not wanting her to hear, not that she would of - she was too withdrawn in to her own grief to notice anything. She hadn't been allowed to see her mother, they told her it wouldn't be advisable. Annabelle understood though, she knew that her body would be in too much of a state to even be recognisable.

It was after visiting hours when a man dressed in a crisp black suit entered the ward she was on. She knew who he was, having seen him at their house a few times when her mom wanted to arrange legal papers. He sat himself on the uncomfortable chair next to her bed. She didn't acknowledge him until he placed an envelope on the table on wheels over her bed.

"Miss Cooper, my name is Jonathon Russel, I am your mothers attorney. I'm so very sorry for your loss." He spoke softly to her, wanting her to trust him. She gave him a single nod, letting him know to continue. He gestured to the envelope in front of her. "In the event of your mothers death, I was instructed to give you this and explain to you what will happen next. Do you understand?"

"Yes." He voice came out in a hoarse whisper, having not spoke in over twenty-four hours. The man lent over to the table and poured her a glass of water. "Thanks."

"I'll leave this with you and be back soon, I have a few phone calls to make. Is that okay?" She knew he was trying not to push her, and for that she was grateful. She wasn't entirely sure she was ready to read the letter her mother had wrote to her, it was obviously important, given that it was to be given to her after her mother died. All Annabelle could do was nod and wait for the man to leave before slowly picking up the envelope, pain rebounding through her body as her bruised ribs protested. Carefully, she ripped the seal and pulled out the folded sheets of paper. She recognised her mothers handwriting immediately and for the first time since waking up in the car, she let herself cry while reading.

My darling Annabelle,

There are only two reasons as to why you will have received this letter; either I have died or you have turned eighteen. I hope it's the latter, it will offer me the opportunity to fully explain the circumstances I will divulge in this letter. If I'm still there with you, I will answer any questions you have and express to you how sorry I am for keeping this from you for so long.

I feel it's time to tell you about your father - your biological father. I'm sorry I waited for so long before telling you, but I felt that it was in yours - and everyones - best interests if you didn't know until this point. With the information I'm about to give you, I hope you will be able to understand why I've waited until now, and that you'll be able to forgive me.

Let me start by saying that you remind me so much of him; smart, funny and you have his eyes - I know you've always wondered. Between us, it wasn't a whirlwind romance, we were something like high school sweethearts, just without the high school. We met by chance when we were fourteen, just before he was sent to boarding school. We kept in touch and would see each other when he returned home. He was my first love, and as much as I loved your step-father, your real father has always been the love of my life. I found out I was pregnant with you just over two months in to the pregnancy. It came as a shock and I was excited but also terrified. He was accepted in to MIT during our relationship, going on to graduate at the tender age of seventeen. I was barely eighteen when I gave birth to you. I was scared to tell him, I didn't want to jeopardise his chances of becoming the great person he is today. I had decided to tell him at Christmas that year but just a week before he was hit with the devastation of both his parents being killed in an car accident. It was a truly dreadful time for him and in the aftermath he changed.

He became distant and turned to alcohol to help him get through the day. It became clear to me that he wasn't capable of coping with being a father to you - even with the help of his fathers staff he still couldn't take care of himself. It tore me apart to make the decision to leave him, I couldn't stay with him any longer and I admit that I was selfish with leaving him when he needed me the most but I had to protect you, to put your needs before anyone elses. We moved away and I didn't see him again. It wasn't hard to keep track of him, what with his face plastered all over the media day in day out. He never tried to contact me. I doubt he even realised that I left, though I don't entirely blame him considering what was thrown upon him after his parents deaths. A part of me always hoped that he would find me but he never did, but I never tried to get back in touch with him either.

You were born and I didn't fill in the fathers section of your birth certificate. I didn't want to gather media coverage over your birth - no doubt the hospital would have leaked the information. I also didn't want him to feel as though he had to be a part of your life. Yes, he was your father and he should but he had so much going on and he was under so much stress I thought it was best not to tell him.

I married your step-father when you were five. You know the story - we'd been together two years and he took you on as his own. You knew he wasn't your father yet you looked up to him as one, never questioning the truth. I waited for the day when you would ask about your real father but it never came. You had Alan, you never needed the man who helped create you. To this day I still haven't told either of you about the other. Again selfish of me but it remains to be for the best. His personality, his fame, his work is just not the environment a child needs by choice.

If you are reading this at the age of eighteen, you will be old enough to decide for yourself whether you want to get in touch with him - I won't stop you. I don't want you to feel that I'm keeping you from him, I 'll help you find him - not that he's exactly hard to find. I will support you in any decision you decide to make.

In the event that you are reading this upon my death, a letter will automatically be sent to him informing him that you are his daughter. Please understand that I have done this because you will have no family left to take care of you if I died. His letter will explain everything and I can only hope he will accept you in to his life - even if it is only until you're of age. I hate to think that you're being forced upon each other but I want to ensure you're safe and will be looked after.

Now it's the time for me to tell you your fathers name, no doubt you'll have had a few ideas while reading this. His name is Anthony Edward 'Tony' Stark. It may be a little hard for you to believe but it's true. I may have never outwardly told you the truth, but I would never lie about something so important. Your middle name - Maria - was his mothers name. I chose it to keep a part of him connected to you, and because she was like a second mother to me. The day she died it hurt me to, and I wanted to pay tribute to the woman who would never get to meet her granddaughter.

I hope that I'll be given the opportunity to explain this to you in person, but if not, I hope that I have given you enough of an explanation to understand.

I love you with all my heart, baby girl.

Mom.

Annabelle cried like she would have when she was a baby. She finally had a name for her father and while her mother had been right in saying that she had never asked, it wasn't because she didn't want to know, it was because she feared rejection from him. She always thought that he wasn't in her life because he hadn't wanted to be, but now she knew that that wasn't the case. He didn't know. She cried harder at the thought that her mother wouldn't be able to explain herself but she understood, she just wished that she could talk to her mom about it all.

Jonathon Russel came back on to the ward half an hour later. He noticed her tear stained face but made no comment, instead he sat back in the chair and waited five minutes before speaking.

"I've spoken to my partner, Mr Ferguson and he has hand delivered Mr Starks letter to him. Unfortunately all we can do now is wait until I have confirmation on what will happen next. I know you might feel that it's too early to discuss this but your mother had a plan in place for when she died. I will make all the arrangements for when you're able to return to the States and then we can discuss the matter of her will." Annabelle nodded staring back at the letter she was now rereading. Her mom had gone through with her everything she wanted, so it wasn't new to her, she just didn't know what the hell she was supposed to do now. "I have arranged with the nurses here for it to be okay for me to come back later or tomorrow to discuss what happens next. Goodbye, Miss Cooper."

He walked away leaving Annabelle dreading the thought of what will happen next.