A/N: I don't even like kid!fic, y'all. I have no idea what happened here.

This is a follow up to chapter eight of my prompt collection, but you don't need to read it to understand this (although it's very short, so why not read it?). All you need to know is that Grant's daughter is McKenna, Jemma's daughter is Lydia, Grant and Jemma fell in love when the girls were in kindergarten and eventually got married, and this is ten years later.

Oh, and SHIELD is not a thing. Or, maybe it's a thing, but Grant and Jemma don't work there.

Title is from Daughtry's "Wild Heart."

Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review.

McKenna Ward is, in a word, screwed.

"Wow," her sister Lydia says, resting her chin in her hands. "You're so dead."

"Shut up," McKenna snaps without looking away from the mirror. "It's not that noticeable."

"Compared to say, a gaping chest wound, no," Lydia agrees. "However, since you haven't got one of those, yeah. It really, really is."

McKenna lets go of her hair, allowing it to fall back in place, and slumps forward, crossing her arms on the top of the vanity and burying her face in them.

"I'm so dead," she admits, voice muffled.

"It's been a good life," Lydia says philosophically. "I mean, sure. You never won a Nobel Prize. Never graduated college. Or high school. Never—"

"Thank you, Liddy," McKenna interrupts, sitting up. "You're so helpful."

"What are sisters for?" Lydia asks, smiling angelically.

"Sisters are for helping each other hide hickeys before their overprotective, incredibly deadly fathers see them," she answers pointedly.

Lydia, who has been lying on her stomach on the bed, pushes herself up.

"There's no hiding that, Ken," she says, sliding off the bed and coming to join McKenna at the vanity. She pulls back McKenna's hair and studies her neck. "Who were you snogging, anyway? Dracula?"

"Don't say snogging," McKenna says. "It sounds stupid when an American says it."

"I am not American," Lydia says severely, dropping McKenna's hair.

"Technically, no, but you've sounded like one since we were seven," she points out, spinning on the stool to face Lydia. "So, like, verbally, you're definitely American. Which means British slang sounds stupid coming from you."

Lydia rolls her eyes. "That is so completely not the point."

"What was the point?" McKenna wonders.

"The point," Lydia stresses. "Is that you have a super obvious hickey, and when Dad sees it, he's gonna hunt down and murder whoever gave it to you."

"Oh, right," she sighs.

"Who did give it to you?" Lydia asks, pushing herself up to sit on the vanity. "You never said."

McKenna leans back on the stool to double check that the door is closed (not that it matters, since their parents aren't home), then leans in close to Lydia and drops her voice.

"Zane," she whispers.

"Zane?" Lydia hisses, eyes wide. "Not Zane O'Shea?"

McKenna nods, a little smugly.

"Kenny!" Lydia says, tone somewhere between proud and horrified. "He's a senior!"

"I know," McKenna groans. "But I was helping him with our AP Chem homework, and he said my hair looked nice, and then one thing led to another, and…"

"And here you are with a hickey," Lydia finishes, slumping back against the mirror. "You realize you just broke decades' worth of stereotypes about nerds, right?"

"Mm, spoken like someone who didn't skip two grades," McKenna observes, propping her face against her fist. "Sour grapes?"

She's just teasing, of course. Although the decision to skip McKenna ahead caused some friction between the two of them when it happened in fourth grade, they've long since gotten past it. Ironically, Lydia, who happens to be their genius mother's biological daughter, is the far less academically minded of the two of them.

"Yeah, that's really the issue here," Lydia says, rolling her eyes. She kicks at McKenna's knee. "Seriously, you know you're screwed, right?"

McKenna sighs. "Yeah. I know."

"Dad's gonna murder Zane," Lydia continues mercilessly. "Then Zane will be dead, and Dad will be in prison, and Mom will cry, and our entire family will fall apart. And it'll be all your fault."

"Why do I even talk to you?"

"How do you think he'll do it?" Lydia asks, ignoring her. "He could shoot him, I guess, but that seems like letting him off easy. Maybe if he shoots him somewhere non-fatal, then lets him bleed out? Oooh, or he could—"

"You're so morbid," McKenna complains. "Your bio dad must have been a serial killer."

It's a running joke between them—Lydia's father was, quite literally, a sperm donor, so they have no idea who he was or what he was like, while McKenna's biological mother died when she was only a few weeks old. So they joke around about it: your bio dad was this, your bio mom was that. If anyone else tried to make a crack about it, they'd be in for a world of hurt, but between Lydia and McKenna, it's funny.

"Must have been," Lydia agrees cheerfully. "But back to Zane's supreme deadness."

McKenna groans and buries her face in her arms again. Why does her dad have to be such an overprotective freak? None of her friends' dads sat them down when they turned thirteen and told them all the ways it's possible to kill someone without leaving evidence. None of their dads have extensive military training and huge gun collections. None of their dads have plainly stated that any boys—or girls—who touch them any way other than platonically will be subject to interrogation and slow death.

It's so unfair.

And Lydia's no help at all. She's never so much as looked twice at anyone other than a celebrity. She says she's just selective, but the truth is, she's a total snob. She doesn't really give anyone outside of the family the time of day. Aside from the aforementioned celebrities, but since that's all in her head, she's never had to worry about Dad going crazy on one of them.

"Someday," she says into her arms. "Someday you're gonna get a crush on a classmate, like a normal person. And on that day, I will laugh so hard."

"No, you won't," Lydia says, patting McKenna on the head. "You'll be dead, remember?"

"And why is that?"

McKenna sits up so fast she nearly falls off the stool. "Mom!"

"You're home!" Lydia adds unnecessarily.

Somehow they missed the sound of the door opening, and Mom's standing in the doorway, obviously just home from work. McKenna experiences the usual pang of envy at the sight of her—she has never once, in her entire life, been able to get her hair to look as nice as Mom's always does. If she didn't love her so much, she might hate her out of pure jealousy.

"Indeed I am," Mom says. "Don't sit on the table, Liddy."

"Table?" Lydia slides off the vanity. "What table? I know nothing of this table of which you speak."

"Of course not," Mom says, amused. "Now, what's this about Kenny dying?"

"Nothing!" McKenna says hastily. She tries to casually cover her neck, leaving her jaw pressed against the side of her hand, but it's a pretty awkward attempt, and she sees Mom note it.

She doesn't comment, though. "Dad called. He's going to be late this evening. What do you think of pizza for dinner, since he's not around to make us feel guilty for it?"

"Yes, please," Lydia and McKenna say together.

Dad's kind of a health freak—he's former military (kind of) and likes to stay in shape, so he's really conscious of what he eats. He never actually says anything to the rest of them—actually, he's more than once told them that they're perfect and they should eat whatever they want—but his mere presence is usually enough to make them feel bad about eating junk.

"I thought you'd like that," Mom smiles. "It's on the way. While we wait, why don't you girls assist me with the washing up from breakfast? It appears your father never got around to it this morning."

The girls sigh, but move to obey, because that was not actually a question. They barely make it two steps to the door, however, before Mom stops them.

"Actually," she says. "That can wait a bit. Liddy, do you have any homework?"

Lydia exchanges a glance with McKenna. "Uh, yeah."

"You should go get a start on that, then," Mom suggests. "While McKenna and I have a chat."

Uh oh.

"Mom," Lydia starts to protest, because she is, in the end, a good sister. "Kenny didn't—"

"Now, Lydia," Mom says firmly.

"Good luck," Lydia mutters, patting McKenna on the shoulder. Then she squeezes past Mom and leaves the room.

Mom sits down on the edge of McKenna's bed and pats the space next to her.

"Sit down, love," she says when McKenna doesn't move. "Let's have a talk, shall we?"

Swallowing around the lump in her throat, McKenna sits on the bed. She stays still as Mom pulls back her hair to examine the mark on her neck, squeezing her eyes shut and praying for spontaneous invisibility.

"That looks painful," Mom says eventually, letting McKenna's hair fall back into place.

It's not, really. It kind of aches a little, when she prods at it, but it doesn't hurt. It is pretty dark, though—Zane was really into it. It makes her flush just remembering it, and she takes a guilty glance a Mom.

Amazingly, she's smiling, and McKenna relaxes slightly.

"I presume that this will be the cause of your imminent death?" Mom asks.

"Yeah," she says. "Dad catching sight of it, to be exact."

"Ah, yes," Mom says. "Your father is going to be displeased, there's no doubt about that. However, I don't think you have nearly so much to fear as the person who gave it to you does."

McKenna sighs and leans against Mom, relieved. At least one of her parents isn't crazy and overprotective.

"No kidding," she says. "Dad's gonna murder him."

"It is a him, then?" Mom asks, sounding slightly curious. "Because, you know—"

"Sexuality and gender identity are not definite, and you'll love us no matter what we may or may not be," McKenna completes. She and Lydia both have that particular talk memorized, as well. "I remember, Mom, and I appreciate it. But yeah, it's a him."

"A specific him?" Mom prods. "Or just a convenient one?"

"Um…he might be specific," McKenna admits reluctantly. The whole kissing thing was a total surprise, but she's been crushing on Zane hard since freshman year. Not that he ever would have looked at her then, since she was thirteen and he was sixteen.

Honestly, she still can't believe he's looking at her now.

"Is it anyone I know?" Mom asks.

"Yes," McKenna says. She hesitates, then figures, why not? She didn't have the chance to swear Lydia to secrecy on pain of eternal grudge, so she'll spill the beans if McKenna doesn't. "It's Zane."

"The boy you're tutoring?" Mom checks.

"That's the one."

"McKenna," Mom says sternly. "Did you take advantage of your position of authority over that boy?"

McKenna thinks about it. "…Maybe?"

"Well done," Mom says, patting McKenna's knee. "Your Aunt Skye will be so proud."

McKenna laughs, mostly because it's true, and Mom makes a satisfied sound.

"That's better," she says. "There's no need to be so tense, love. I'm not upset."

"You're not?" McKenna asks. She'd kind of guessed, what with the joking and the gossipy tone and all, but it doesn't hurt to double check.

"Of course not," Mom says. "High school is a time for experimentation and exploration. As long as everything was fully consensual…?"

"It was."

"Then you've nothing to be ashamed of," Mom continues. "I'd say you're a little young yet for intercourse—"

McKenna flushes. "Mom!"

"But there's nothing wrong with a bit of snogging," Mom finishes, ignoring McKenna's mortification.

"I just wish Dad would see it that way," McKenna sighs, resting her head on Mom's shoulder.

"Your father is a very protective man," Mom acknowledges, patting McKenna's knee. "But he means well. It's only because he loves you."

"I know," she says. "But…you love me, too, and you're not freaking out."

"Your gran once said to me," Mom says. "That what we must remember about fathers is that they were once teenage boys themselves, and therefore know exactly how teenage boys think."

"That's not an excuse," McKenna scoffs. "To be protective, maybe, but Dad takes it way too far. Not just with boys, with everything."

McKenna well remembers the multiple occasions on which she's not been allowed to do things because Dad's not sure it's safe. Sleepovers, birthday parties, field trips—McKenna and Lydia have fifty percent attendance rates at those kinds of things, because half the time Dad refuses to let them go.

"He does," Mom agrees. "And I promise to talk to him about it. The thing about your father, though…"

"Yeah?" she prompts when Mom trails off.

"Your father has seen many bad things happen," Mom says finally. "To many good people. And, for the most part, there's been nothing he could do to stop it. His worst fear is that something of that sort will happen to you or Lydia. I know he can be difficult, but please…be patient with him."

What can McKenna even say to that? Luckily, she's saved by the sound of the doorbell, and Mom seems to shake off her suddenly solemn mood.

"That will be our pizza," she says. "Come on, up we get."

She pats McKenna's knee again and stands. She doesn't make a move for the door, though, and when McKenna stands, Mom tugs her forward and hugs her. McKenna returns it tightly, grateful—for the seven billionth time—to have her as a mom. They're not related at all, but Mom has never once made McKenna feel like anything less than her daughter, and McKenna has never doubted that Mom loves her just as much as she loves Lydia.

"Love you, Mom," she says.

"I love you, too," Mom says. She pulls away and tucks some of McKenna's hair behind her ear. "And exploration is all well and good, but don't grow up too fast, all right? I don't think my heart can take it."

McKenna smiles and nods. "I won't."

"Good," Mom says. "Now, let's go have some pizza, shall we?"

x

It's late when Dad gets home. McKenna and Lydia are in the living room, playing Mario Kart, and neither one of them looks away from the screen when he walks in.

"Hi, Dad," Lydia says absently. "Oh no you don't, you little—"

"Missed me!" McKenna taunts cheerfully, taking the lead and dodging the shell Lydia just sent after her. "Hi, Dad! I'd hug you, but I'm winning."

"No she's not," Lydia corrects instantly. "I'm just lulling her into a false sense of security."

"I understand," Dad says, amused. "I wouldn't wanna get in the middle of such a serious battle."

McKenna keeps her eyes on the TV, but she can hear Dad's footsteps as he starts to leave the room. She also hears when he stops in his tracks.

"McKenna," he says, deliberately calm. "What's that on your neck?"

McKenna drives right off the road. Lydia's only a few seconds behind.

"Um," she says.

"Oh," Lydia says.

"You see—" she starts.

Dad ignores their stammering and stalks across the room to his gunsafe. He punches in the code quickly, opens it, and stops. It's empty; Mom cleared it out after dinner, 'just in case.'

"Jemma!" Dad hollers. "Where's my shotgun?"

McKenna and Lydia exchange looks and, in unison, abandon ship. They book it off the couch, out of the room, and then out the back door. They'll go lay low at Aunt Skye's house for a while.

After all, Dad can't ground them if he can't find them, right?

(Actually, yeah, he can, as they discover when they go home the next morning. But that's another story.)