AN: I have plans for this, but they're rough, and I just wanted to get the prologue out to see what people thought. If you have any ideas, feel free to let me know.
She sat in her room, glaring at the ajar door, hearing the people behind it discussing her future. She had been in the orphanage for six months, and she was sick of the people coming by her room every few days, trying to make small talk, then leaving again. When potential adoptive parents came by, the way she was told to act was like a dog in an animal shelter. To be on her best behaviour, so that someone would want to adopt her. But nobody wanted to adopt a 15-year-old-girl, not when they could have a baby or a younger child. And the few who did show an interest ran a mile as soon as they heard about her supposed mental problems. She couldn't help but laugh at that line in her case file. She had given up trying to explain the truth to people, because they just didn't listen to her. But she didn't care, she didn't want to be adopted anyway. She was expected to treat these strangers as her parents, when they would never replace them. The last woman who had come to see her was still talking to her case worker outside her bedroom door.
"She seems a very sad girl." Said the voice of the woman who she'd met less than five minutes ago.
"You'd be surprised. She can be very fiery and independent. She's adamant she doesn't want to be adopted, but of course, she can't stay here until she ages out. If you want her, it could be a lot of work."
"I don't mind the hard work, I just feel very sorry for her. Can you tell me anything about her case?"
"Well she's been here for about six months now. Her parents were killed in a car crash, her father lost control of the wheel, you see. She has no other living relatives on file, so she was brought to us. She has had some….problems."
"Problems? Like what?"
"She has illusions of grandeur, and she's very paranoid about the circumstances of her parent's death…She's convinced herself she's part of a world which exists inside a television show…Have you heard of Thunderbirds?"
"Yes. She thinks she's in it?"
"She thinks it's real. She also thinks she can do things that she can't. We've helped her the best we can, but I think once she is in a stable home, she'll start to calm down. I'm sorry if this is all too much to take in."
"No no, it's fine. I would like to think I can really help her. She's the child I want."
"Really? That's great! Thank you, Miss Montez. If you'd like to follow me, and we'll draw up the paperwork."
Inside her room, Tintin glared at the door of her room, and concentrated with all her might, until it slammed all by itself. Her dad had lost control of the car, she knew that. She was in the back, she couldn't have avoided knowing that. But it wasn't his fault he had lost control. It was no accident. The searing pain in her head, and his screaming to leave him alone just before the car had crashed told her it wasn't.
"Sweetie?" She looked up as her case worker came into the room. "This is Miss Montez…she's going to take you home."
"This is my home." She said, dryly.
"Not anymore, honey." Miss Montez walked into the room. "We're gonna get all your things together, and you're gonna come home and live with me."
"No you're not my family! I want Fermat! I want Alan! I want my mom and dad…" She sobbed into her pillow as her case worker and Miss Montez gave each other a look, and continued packing up the few personal possessions she had with her.
A year later, Tintin lay on her back on her new bed, resting a pencil on her stomach, then making it float up and down in front of her. She and Miss Montez had moved four times in the last year because of her job and were now in Albuquerque, New Mexico, following stays in California, Utah, and New York. With each new place they went, Tintin felt a little more of herself slipping away. Miss Montez had even encouraged her to get her name changed so she could put the past behind her. Shaking her head, she touched the gold chain that lay against her neck, running her finger over the 'G' that hung from it. She moved her hand further down, and stroked the crystal that hung around her neck- the only link she had to her old self. Because she wasn't Tintin anymore, at least not by law. Now she was Gabriella Montez.
And she hated it.
