A/N: Hey, guys, it's been a while... I had this gallant plan to finish this story and then post it all at once, but as of now, after about ten months' (not very dedicated) work on it, I only have two full chapters done, and the beginning of a third. Luckily for me, summer is coming, and I should have ample free time to work on it. Sorry about my weird formatting and stuff, and also the bad writing. This was just a plot bunny that literally haunted my dreams. Feel free to tell me what you think or tell me how to improve it. I'm always looking to better my writing :) Now, before my author's note gets longer than the actual story...
xx Kai
The day it happened was a normal Wednesday. I got up early, just like every other day, to finish my math homework, because last night, I was just too busy to do it. I wasn't drinking, or partying. I'm not like that. I was reading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix again, because that book delivers a new, deep message every time one reads it. I love reading. Drowning myself in words, I can experience what I cannot in everyday social interaction, I can escape, temporarily, from the shell that I have, in my shyness, built around myself. But back to that fatal Wednesday. Nothing was out of the ordinary as I adjusted my glasses and entered the school building. I had English first period; we were turning in our poetry analysis notes. As per usual, I was the only person to actually turn in a paper. Linna, the most popular, dimwitted person to ever grace the known universe with her presence, felt the need to make a comment. "How come you always have your homework? Isn't it, like, boring?" I did not grace this utterance of intelligence with a reply. However, the sheer normality of the day ended not too long after that. I got home and everything seemed fine. After finishing my homework, I settled down with the book my father had given me for my birthday, Red Mars. It was the first in a trilogy about the colonization of Mars, and William C. Clarke recommended it as 'required reading for the next generation of colonists', so, obviously, I felt compelled to read it. If you haven't already guessed, I want to be an astronaut. To be perfectly honest, I find humanity utterly boring. School, homework, reading, they are all just ways to pass the limited time that we have on this planet. Work is the next phase of that, and so it goes on without any real purpose. But out in space, there might actually be something worth discovering, worth living for. If only I knew then how absolutely right I was. I had barely gotten ten pages into the book, when I heard a knock on the door. My parents weren't home yet, and I was alone, so I elected not to answer it, as I wasn't really in the mood to be brutally murdered this particular evening. The knock sounded again, more persistent this time. Well, I thought, If they're so adamant about being let into my house, the least I could do is see who they are.
I went to the door, and peered out my window. Standing outside was an African American man wearing an eyepatch, a black trench coat, a black shirt, black boots, and black pants. I didn't need to think twice. I most certainly wasn't answering the door for a stranger who looked as if he might shoot me if I so much as looked at him the wrong way. But the knock sounded again, and I was just a little bit afraid that he would shoot down the door or something if I didn't let him in. So, against the advice of every rational cell in my entire body, I answered the door. I can be crazy like that. "Are you Lillian James?", he greeted me brusquely. I wasn't sure how to answer. On the one hand, I was, in fact Lillian James, but on the other hand, here was this slightly terrifying stranger asking for my name. Since I was already on a wild streak, and was, in all likelihood, going to be kidnapped anyways, I decided to, once again, defy the logical advice being shouted at me by the rational part of me. "Yes." My reply sounded nervous, I think. And I'm fairly sure I was twitching. Or shaking. Or both. I'm sure, looking back, that he was not at all impressed by me during those first five minutes of our knowing each other. "Well?" The stranger's voice drew me back to reality. "Aren't you going to invite me in?" "I hardly know you!" The words slipped out before I could stop them. 'Please don't kill me, please don't kill me' became my silent mantra in those terrifying seconds. "Right. I'll just have to invite myself in, then." Frozen by shock, I simply stepped aside so he could enter. He took a seat in the front room, and motioned for me to sit in the armchair facing his. Shakily, I did so, and tried not to cower too much under his intense, terrifying gaze. "Have you ever heard of the Avengers?", he asked, looking at me as if he expected a certain answer. Of course I had heard of the Avengers. Who hadn't heard of the Avengers, after the Battle of New York? "Yes.", I replied, trying to stop the traitorous shake in my voice. "Then you've heard of the World War II soldier known as Captain America?" "Yes." It was then that, as usual, my brain started asking questions. Where was this going? Why would a creepy man robed in black come to my house, invite himself in, and then ask me if I knew who Captain America was? "Good. Are you aware that you are adopted?", he said just as calmly as he had asked his other questions, as if it didn't bother him that he had literally just turned my world upside down. I didn't know what compelled me to believe him, but I had the feeling that this strange, creepy man was telling me the truth. And then my brain exploded. Questions ripped through my mind like wildfire. I can't be adopted, can I? Someone would have told me. Then I finally, for the first time that afternoon, let the rational part of my brain take over. I thought about how I looked very little like my parents, how whenever I won an award or accomplished something meaningful, I would sometimes hear one or both of my parents would mutter 'They would be so proud'. I had always assumed that they meant my grandparents, but it would seem that they in fact meant my biological parents. Trying not to convey how deeply this had affected me, I replied, "No." He looked as if he felt slightly sorry for me, as if there was more to it than that, and I would be more upset in just a few short minutes, and he was right. "Your situation is difficult, Lillian —" "Lilly.", I interjected, "Call me Lilly." The man looked shocked, as though not many people dared to interrupt him. I wasn't surprised. He was a very intimidating person. Nevertheless, he began again, "Your situation is difficult, Lilly. Your adopted parents are agents of the organization known as S.H.I.E.L.D., and only one of your biological parents knows you exist." I think, after that, I stared at him for a good five minutes. It might have been five years, or five seconds, I'll probably never know. "But how– how can only one of my parents know I exist? Was it a one-night-stand or something?" He stared at me, pensively before delivering a reply that only served to confuse me further. "No. As it happened, your parents loved each other very much, or so I am told. Your mother knows you exist, but she is, unfortunately, no longer with us. She died of old age just a few months ago." I was completely befuddled. How on Earth could my mother have died of old age? I was only fifteen! "Is my father still alive?" The question slipped out. My entire world had fallen apart before my eyes, and I just wanted to know if I had anything at all left. "That's what I'm here for. Your father is alive, and quite well, considering his great age. Unfortunately, in recent months, it was discovered that S.H.I.E.L.D. had been infiltrated by a Neo-Nazi organization called Hydra. He assisted in the purging of Hydra from S.H.I.E.L.D., but Hydra was embedded so deeply that little was left. Your adopted parents are some of the few loyal agents we have left, and we are now at a point in rebuilding where we desperately need their assistance. I'm sorry; they will not be returning." "Where will I go? Are you going to put me in the foster care system or something?" A slight expression of shock flashed across his face before it was replaced by a 'how stupid are you?' expression. "You will go to live with your biological father." My brain was very skeptical about this plan. The biological father who doesn't know I exist? Yeah, that's going to go over so well. "What's his name? Where does he live?" The look on the face of the strange man was unsettling, as if this was the part he had been waiting for, and he could finally have some fun. "His name is Steven Rogers. He lives in New York City. A car will be here to pick you up tomorrow, to take you to the airport. Be ready with the things you consider most essential. The rest will be moved out later." My head spun. "So I just have to take your word that a car will be here tomorrow to pick me up and take me to the airport, so I can go live with my father, who I've never met, who doesn't know I exist, and who I know virtually nothing about?" He looked amused. "Would you like me to tell you about your father?" I nearly screamed, "Yes!" "All right. I am going to tell you the absolute truth now, and you must not interrupt me until I am completely finished. Do you understand?" "I understand."
I was itching with excitement and nervousness. "Your father was born in 1918 in Brooklyn, New York. He was a sickly child, and had asthma and a history of other ailments. He was often bullied for his size, but never backed down from a fight. When he was twenty three, World War II broke out, and both of his parents were killed in the war. He was originally unable to enlist, despite very persistent effort on his part, until a man named Dr. Erskine saw his potential, and allowed him to enlist for a program that would eventually, despite the odds, turn him into a super soldier through a serum developed by Dr. Erskine. During an invasion by a German spy, Dr. Erskine was killed, and the last bottle of serum was destroyed. Instead of becoming a lab rat, your father chose to become a national figure. He sold war bonds, and tried to restore some of America's faith in the war. He also, though not, I think, of his own accord, took on a stage name that you might be familiar with." By this point in the conversation I was unable to be surprised. Still, when I answered, my voice sounded small, "Captain America?" He nodded. It all made sense now. Even if he got out of being a lab rat, he would have undergone a little bit of testing, which probably would have involved harvesting some of his sperm, just in case. And when they realized he was gone, and he wasn't coming back, they would have decided to create a mini-him. Only apparently that didn't work out, as I happened. "Who was my mother?", I asked quietly. "Her name was Peggy Carter. She was British, but worked as an agent for the American army. She was one of the founders of S.H.I.E.L.D. She donated her eggs when she heard about the project that ended up producing you. They were frozen and used when we decided it wasn't worth waiting for him anymore." "So I was a test tube baby?" He looked at me, and there was almost pity in his eyes. Almost, but not quite. "In every sense of the word. I've got to go now. Don't forget; the car will be here at ten tomorrow morning." As I watched his car disappear, I finally allowed my mind to begin to absorb the full extent of the last hour. I was adopted. My parents, the parents who I loved dearly, who I had grown up knowing, were not my parents. My father, my only living parent, didn't know I existed. I was going to live in New York. With the Avengers. I needed to pack. The strange man in the black coat had told me to only pack the essentials. Ever the logical one, I translated 'the essentials' into: enough clothes for five days, enough books for the same amount of time, my iPad, if I wanted to get some writing done, my phone (for obvious reasons), and of course, my NASA beanie. I figured if I was traveling, the logo of the ultimate travel agency would bring me some kind of luck.