Caged.
There had been many situations that she had pictured herself in but caged had never been one of them. Arrested, maybe. Though, how much did it actually differ from the situation she found herself in? Tied. Locked. Deserted even, but never caged. Glass walls surrounded her; she knew that at any moment she could be dropped into the pit of her death, though she knew a way to leave. She had discovered it once she had been left by herself; she hadn't hesitated to analyze all options of freedom. After being thrown inside the compartment, tied to a chair to prevent her moving, it was the only way. After all, anything was better than being caged. She was practically her own prisoner.
Her light gaze was focused on the ceiling of the compartment. It hadn't been made for her. No, it had been made for one creature and one creature alone. One with outstanding power that could never be surpassed. Not even by the greatest superheroes. With her hands wrapped in rope behind the chair, the woman wondered back to what had brought her there back in the first place. A mission: an important quest that had been given to her by the one person that she still believed that she could trust. As for everyone else, her parents, her younger brother and what she had always considered to be an extended family: she hadn't been able to trust; no-one else was to blame but her.
Footsteps could be heard outside the glass wall; she almost wanted to glance down. Almost. Instead, her ocean eyes remained glued to the ceiling. "Miss Rogers," the woman uttered and Elaine could detect the shakyness within her voice. "We can do this the easy way," a deep, shaky breath. Elaine presumed – and probably correctly – that it was just as difficult for Peggy Rogers as it was for her. Possibly more for her mother. "or the hard way."
Home.
It had been three years. Three years since his sixtheenth birthday. There was a chance that it had been a rash decision: leaving as quickly as lightning, though he couldn't necessarily say that he regretted it, because he didn't. There had been no guilt. No shame. Just the hopes for something better. Not that there had been better out there, Nathaniel Stark had always had what he wanted, when he wanted it and now that he had backed away and thought about his childhood, he wondered whether it was because his father didn't know how to be a father. He was a good man, there was no denying that, anyone could see it: a hero. But every hero had their weakness.
It was a surprise, probably, that he hadn't left earlier. However, he had his mother to thank for that. After all, it had been Pepper Stark that had been there for him, wiped his tears away when he cried, shared the happiness when he smiled and always glowed with hope. He didn't blame his father: after all, babies weren't born with a parenting book; admittedly, Tony Stark had tried and maybe, it had been him all along. Maybe it had been Nathaniel: maybe he hadn't tried hard enough to shift things back into place.
"I didn't think you'd return."
Glancing over his shoulder, Nathaniel rose an eyebrow at the man behind him, before returning to the task at hand. Pouring the smallest amount of milk into his coffee cup, Nathaniel rose the cup to his lips, slowly sipping it. He then turned, his dark gaze examining the man for a few moments. "Neither did I," he returned. The man stepped towards him, his gaze lingering over Nathaniel's shoulder; he pointed his finger towards the bottle of milk. "You should probably put that back in the fridge. You know your mother hates it when you leave things out of place."
Nathaniel chuckled at his father's words. Typical. Avoiding the current topic at hand had always been the easier route to take, after all. "Where is she?"
"Why are you back?" Tony Stark questioned, arching an eyebrow at his son as he dropped the keys onto the counter. Nathaniel remained silent, slowly sipping his coffee before he placed the mug besides the bottle of milk. Without another word, the young man moved towards the door, however, his feet froze as his father spoke: "Jarvis, lock the door. If you think it's that easy to walk away, Nathaniel, it's not."
Some things were not just avoidable, after all.
Lost.
Emma had never discovered why, no matter for how long she searched and how deep she dug into the information, she never discovered why and there was nothing more bothersome than having the information, the knowledge but never the results. No conclusion. It had never been her forte, in all honesty, to be the analytical one: all she heard was how she had great expectations to live to and it had been all she ever tried. Yet, she had damaged her name. She practically smeared it with blood. Over one simple mistake. One hit gone wrong and her name was glowing bright red.
Like mother, like daughter, right?
Not that she knew much about that: she had to dig deeper than she ever had to be allowed to access information that she should have known from the beginning. It seemed that the whole 'no secrets' policy only really applied to her. No-one else. "Emma!" Someone snapped. The red-head practically jumped, her gaze wide as it frantically searched the room before landing on the woman at the doorway. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she leaned back against the comfort of her mattress. "You need to stop dreaming and start living in reality," the woman told her and Emma could hear someone chuckle besides her before footsteps echoed in the hallway.
"When you don't like reality," Emma slowly rubbed her eyes, taking her time. "you can only dream." Sitting upright, her attention flickered to her mother. Natasha Barton allowed a smile to slip on her lips as she moved to sit besides her daughter. "There's nothing to be afraid of, Emma." Her mother spoke like she knew what had been on Emma's mind: the fear of being found, the fear that her name was, once again, burned. The fear that it had never been cleared, after all. "I never wanted it to happen," she sighed.
Moving her daughter's hair away from her eyes, Natasha nodded. "No-one did."
Unknown.
It was difficult to have power and not knowing what you are. He was a human, of course: practically a God in his own right, though, that was something he had never been allowed to experience. Not because he hadn't wanted to but because he never had the chance. After all, it was better that way. To be shadowed away from a side that he never knew and that he'd never known. Nothing he wasn't used to, though, he couldn't necessarily complain. Zachary's life had been a gone one: so far. He hadn't run away, he hadn't damaged his own name and he hadn't betrayed his own.
In everyone's eyes he was the one that never stepped wrong: the one that never could do anything wrong. He was kind, passionate, respectful and destined for greatness. One day, maybe. Though, was it really that way? Would it be what he would like? He barely knew what he wanted. At the young age of twenty, Zachary barely knew whether he wanted to live on his own or stay where he belonged. After all, it was difficult to have the power and not knowing what you are. What you want to be. What you want.
"You do know that your belongings won't pack themselves, right? Not even if you stare at them for hours. Even I don't have that magic," the man was chuckling and Zachary rolled his eyes, though a smile reached his lips and he turned to face his uncle. "Don't lie to me. I'm pretty certain you could do my packing with a snap of your fingers." Though Zachary didn't know whether he wanted to pack or not. He simply didn't know what he wanted. "Probably, but the fun is in you doing it by yourself. You know, builds character or whatever."
The man in front of Zachary flinched as a hand made contact with his arm and Zachary's smile only grew wider as his father made his way inside his room. "Be quiet Loki. I thought you said you were going to help?"
"By offering moral support. The best way of helping, I say." The man responded with a shrug; the two remaining men snorted, clearly amused. "I didn't expect any less," Zachary muttered under his breath, his hands moving towards one of the empty boxes on the floor.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" His father spoke, folding his arms over his chest as his eyes lingered on his son. "You know, you don't have to." There was a hint of something to his father's tone that he wasn't able to recognize, however, it made him hopeful. Though, the offer was rejected anyway. "Oh, I know. It's just something I have to do."
A/N: Hello everybody. Erm, okay, well, this is my first fanfiction, something that recently popped into my mind. I've been debating on it for a while and decided to write something down. It may be slightly confusing at the moment but hopefully, it'll clear as it goes along. Just a small note: I know it may be slightly OOC, especially something characters [for example, pretty certain that Peggy isn't meant to be there - not that young, but, hey, I liked her. ._. && Loki isn't meant to be good but many years have passed. ^_^] So, apologies for any OOCness and any confusing bits. ^_^ It will, hopefully, get better. Thanks for reading! 3