"Dad, I'm home!" I called out into our tiny house. We've lived here my whole life, but I've never complained about it. That would be selfish to Dad's feelings—this used to be his and Father's house. I've never actually met Father, but I know Dad misses him a lot.
Dad poked his head out of his room, and, seeing me, he smiled real wide and ran towards me, his huge arms lifting me up in a hug. "Hello, Marisol! How was school?"
"It was fine," I answered, giggling. I loved it when he picked me up like that.
He put me down, still holding my hand. I felt really small compared to him, though I'm one of the biggest in my class. "Wanna see some pictures of your father and I?"
My blue eyes widened. "You mean there's more?"
He laughed as we entered his room."There's more, alright," He pulled me into his lap, taking out another album. He flipped it open to the first page. In it was a picture of Dad and Father holding hands. I examined Father's face, though I already had the features memorized. I had both their blue eyes and their strong, tall structures. The tall height, I guessed, had to come from Father, since I knew Dad's perfect height and muscle came from a science experiment 80 years ago. It was weird, knowing my dad belonged in a different time. Both Dad and Father had blond hair, but mine was a golden brown. I always wondered why that was. I also wondered how I was born, considering they were both male, but I figured I was adopted or something. Not that it mattered to me.
In this picture, Dad was wearing his Captain America suit with his shield strapped on one side of him. Father was wearing his battle gear, too—his dark red cape, armor, and his hammer, Mjolnir, in one hand and Dad's hand in the other. I took in all the detail—Father's short, blond beard covering his chin, his slightly tousled blond hair. He had on a smile I wished desperately to see in person. Were they getting ready for battle or coming back from a triumphant one? I wanted to be an Avenger so badly.
Yes, I'd met the Avengers, the famous Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers. I know Steve best of all—he's my dad. The one used-to-be-Avenger I hadn't met was Thor. He was Dad's husband, my father. I knew he was dead, though.
"Dad, where is Father?"
"Thor? He's...well...not on Earth anymore, sweetie."
"...Oh."
I never asked again where Father was, or how he died (probably in battle). If he was dead, I'd never get to meet him. This fact hurt the most. I trailed my fingers across the silver bracelet on my wrist subconsciously. Dad once told me Father gave it to me when I was a baby, and it grew with me. Because it was from Father, I never even tried to take it off.
"I wish I could meet him, Dad." Our eyes never left the picture in my hands.
"Me, too, sweetie. Me, too."
After a few minutes, I lifted myself off of his lap, mumbling some excuse about homework. Dad stood and planted a loving kiss to my forehead and I left. But I didn't have homework; I finished it in study hall.
I tiptoed to my small backyard and into the shed. Father stopped using it after he moved his shield and equipment into his bedroom where it was safer, so I made it my study.
I looked around. In the shed/study, there was a tiny table with little squares of metal I took from Tony on it, a second table with more squares, dirt and grass, another with a bowl of water, and a final one with a few candles on it. I wonder what people who were to see this would think of me. A freak? A weirdo? I've been called worse. But these were my experiments. Ever since I was little, I found I could make all sorts of metal bend like putty in my hands (which annoyed my billionaire friend very much), make plants grow from anything, cause water to appear wherever I wanted it to, and light fire with my bare hands. So, I decided, why not experiment?
I approached to first table, the one with the metals. I picked up a square and squeezed it. Dents the size and shape of my fingers were formed on the sides. I squeezed harder and the metal molded like wet clay with a crunching noise. I knew I could break things tougher that this. Once, I punched Dad's shield ("Hit it with all your strength, Marisol!"), and a tiny, barely noticeable dent was made beneath my fist. Since then, I lost my privilege to touch Dad's shield. And Fry didn't need to tell me that I was forbidden to even go near any of the Avengers' weapons.
After the used-to-be square of metal was a small ball, I moved to the next table and picked up another square. I concentrated hard, and, before long, a small patch of grass started growing on the metal. I willed it to grow bigger, and after a few minutes, the grass was a foot tall and still growing on the small, metal plate. I smiled to myself and told the grass to stop before moving on to the next table.
I stared at the water in the bowl, concentrating. I was trying to make waves in the bowl. Just on cue, small waves started forming, splashing droplets on the table. I made the waves bigger until there was no water left in the bowl. I gathered the spilled water with my hands still in my pockets, watching it rise in the air and being forced back into the bowl.
I walked to the next small table, the one with the candles. I saw a few matches near them but ignored them. The matches, I don't use. Lighting fire is easier, to me, without them. All I had to do was focus on heat, then it'd appear. A small flame, dancing on my fingertips, then on the candles. One by one, the candles lit up, sending a low, warm light through the shed. I was about to blow out the candles when I realized I was being watched.
I whipped my French braid over my shoulder, ready to fight whoever was standing there. Hey, being the daughter of the Captain of the Avengers, one can't be too careful. I stopped suddenly, sighing with relief, seeing that it was only my friend, Chris. "Oh, hi, Chris. What are you doing here?" I said casually, blowing out the flames.
"Just wanted to hang out. What're you doing?" He asked, picking up the ball of metal I made earlier and examining it.
"Oh, I'm just doing some experiments," I busied myself by writing down some results—which were, by the way, the same results I always got—on a piece of paper.
"Cool. Hey, are you ever gonna tell me what your 'experiments' are?" He smiled playfully and ran his hands through his messy, dirty-blond hair.
"Probably not," I answered, smiling back. "Wanna go punch some bags?"
"Sure, it never gets old, beating up some punching bags." He took my hand and I allowed him to pull me outside.
Maybe I should say a few things about Chris. He can be kind of a nerd sometimes. He loves school and stuff like that while I'm flunking most of my classes, but he likes working out with me, too. He's about a half an inch taller than me, which gets on my nerves a lot, and he's got these amazing coal-black eyes. His hair's shaggy, dirty-blond and always perfectly messy. He loves mind puzzles and is always the first one in class to figure out any kind of mind problem.
And I hate myself for thinking he's one of the best things that's ever happened to me.
We hung up the punching bags and I immediately started hitting one lightly. Well, for me it was light. I knew it wasn't smart to punch one at full-force in front of Chris. I once punched one with all my strength at the training room in he Avengers Tower and it flew away from my fist and into the wall, producing a "watch it!" from Tony and startled yells from Bruce and Clint. Chris was with me then and watched with a shocked expression on his face. From then on, I was careful about using my powers around other people.
As I threw my fists at the punching bag, I felt Chris's eyes on me while he hit his bag distractedly. After a short while it starteed to bug me. "What?" I whirled around to glare at him questioningly.
"Nothing," he said blankly before turning to his bag and hitting it roughly. I rolled my eyes and turned to my own bag.
About an hour of working out, talking, and laughing, when we were soaked in sweat, Chris said he had to finish his science project and left. Once he was gone, I thought, There's a science project we have to work on?
I stayed in the heat outside, thinking over that day's activities. Chris had been staring, did that mean... No, I thought. No way does Chris like you. Don't get your hopes up. Finally I sighed and let my legs carry me to the house.
"Marisol!" I heard Dad call. "I found another!"
A grin broke out across my face as I sprinted towards my dad's room. He found pictures everywhere! I sat on the carpet, smiling up at Dad before taking the picture in my hands. In the picture, Father was smiling slightly, but his eyes looked sad. He was dressed in full armor, minus the helmet, holding Mjolnir. Behind him was a long, bridge-like path, glittering a rainbow. I frowned in confusion. "Where was this taken, Dad?" I asked.
"A place far from here, sweetie." Dad sounded regretful.
It was quiet for a few minutes until I got the courage to ask him a question that had haunted me for years. "...how did he die, Dad?"
Dad looked startled. "Are you talking about Thor?" I nodded in response. "He's not dead, Marisol. What ever gave you that idea? He simply had to go home."
I frowned. "Then why doesn't he ever visit? Did you two get divorced or something?"
"Oh, nothing like that, sweetheart. We were never really married, but, no, we didn't break up. Your father has duties of his own."
"Where does he live?" I demanded.
Dad sighed. "Rose, you take mythology at school, right?"
The question caught me off guard. "Y-yes," I stammered, unsure what he was getting at. "Why do you ask?"
"You've heard of Norse mythology, yes? Norse gods?"
"Umm... Yes," I struggled to remember a few Norse legends. Heimdall, Odin, Frigga, Thor... "Thor... Father... he's a god?" I blurted, widening my eyes. How was this possible? Father... a god? Thor was the thunder god, I remembered. I always thought Thor—the Norse god, Asgardian, thunderer—was a myth, but... My father, a myth?
Dad nodded. "He had too return to Asgard. Odin's orders..."
Suddenly I was on my feet. "How do I get to Asgard?" I exploded. "I need to meet him, I need to bring him back here..."
"I-I don't know if it's p-possible..." My dad stuttered, seeming lost in thought.
"Fury! I can ask Fury," I suggested excitedly. Dad still looked dazed, so I hopped up to my feet. "Bye, Dad! I'll be back before midnight!" And with that, I rushed out of the small, blue house.