A/N: This is my sequel to "Lucky Enough to Live" (the 3rdbook in the Lost Series). It is by no means necessary to have read this story's predecessor, as it should make sense without it, but you may, nevertheless, enjoy it as it provides additional information on my characters' pasts.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Ultimate Spider-Man or the quotes. I do own my OC's and the idea.
Chapter 1: Homesick
"Family.
Like the branches on a tree
we all grow in different directions,
yet our roots remain as one."
-Unknown
I sighed, weary after traveling for so long. Mom said it was urgent. Apparently we were going to see some of her and Dad's old friends. I missed K'un L'un, and Dad. For a seven year old girl, though, I was unusually mature, and well aware that there was a crisis at home—just not sure what the crisis itself actually was.
The hotel bed was comfortable enough, an expensive feather mattress with silk sheets, but it was nothing like my bed at home, which had always reminded me of being wrapped in clouds. Beautiful clouds. I had always admired the view K'un L'un had provided, but only after leaving the sacred city had I come to truly appreciate the pure, untainted nature of the magical place. Here in New York, the aroma of cars and smog was pungent and overwhelming to my delicate senses. I realized that I had been pampered in K'un L'un, that not everybody was so blessed as I had been.
I had never considered myself to be above others. Despite my father's position of authority, all of the children treated me as their equal, and I to them. It was simply the culture. Sure, we had respected those of power, but greatness in K'un L'un was entirely different from that of the outside world. Jewels and other adornments had beauty, which we valued, but not as much as the sheer wonder of the world around us. To be rich in K'un L'un was to be wise, kind, balanced, experienced; to be skilled at our ancient arts, a faithful friend, a loving member of your family, a believer in our faith, an avid learner, a curious character, a brave warrior; such spiritual, physical, and mental achievements determined your worthiness, and your value to the city.
Here, though, I began to see why the Elders had always called the outside world tainted and without honor. There was truth in those words. You only had to look around you to see the crime and murder that people committed day-to-day as though it were as normal a thing to snatch a passing woman's purse as to breath the polluted air of New York.
Yes, I knew my life in K'un L'un had been blessed and protected. I had everything that I had needed, everything I possibly could had wanted. Not to say that I was spoiled, because I was not—lessons of the spirit were most important, and no one hesitated to enforce such into my young, impressionable heart.
I knew, though, that this was no time to complain. It was a time to be strong for my mother. She was struggling with herself. Mom missed Dad as much as I did, probably even more, for we had not seen him in over two years. It was hard to believe that I still ached for my friends and family in K'un L'un, for the peaceful serenity of the mountains.
Tossing and turning, I could hear Mom in the bathroom, talking on the phone. "Yes, yes... I told you, all I need is their address... No, I am not an assassin, I'm an old friend of theirs... If you want money, I can pay you! No—I am serious, deadly serious..." Her soft, warm voice soothed me, and my eyelids drooped.
...
"Lilly, sweetie, it's time to get up. Rise and shine." Mom gently shook me, and I obediently slipped out from underneath the covers and began dressing myself.
My thick, wavy black hair was unruly, and no matter how much I brushed it, it refused to be tamed, so I did not even bother trying this morning. I still wore clothing from K'un L'un, though it was not the traditional attire; Mom wanted us to 'blend in' while still keeping our beliefs close to our hearts (as she put it), so everything was handmade from our homeland, but in a more 'normal' design. My shirt was a gentle green that matched my eyes, with white flowers dancing across the fabric. The neck was bordered by silver braiding, and the sleeves were long, also trimmed with identical braiding. My pants were a creamy white, and both my top and bottom were loose and billowing. For shoes, I wore silver slippers, that, although not well suited to the rough sidewalks of New York, were my absolute favorites. On many occasions, Mom tried to convince me to wear something more practical, but I was stubborn; anything that reminded my of Dad must stay, and so it did.
"Where are we going today?" I yawned.
Mom's lips pressed into a thin line. I remembered her talking over the phone a few days ago, and saying something about us being 'followed'. She was worried about some shield tracking us. Briefly, I wondered if she meant Captain America's shield, because Dad had told me stories about all of the people he had met. One time, a friend of his lost Captain America's shield. The memory made me want to laugh, but I knew it was not an appropriate time, so I suppressed the giggles.
At last, she said, "I've scheduled a time to meet with an old... acquaintance.He should be able to tell us where my friends are."
"Is Captain America's shield following us, Mom?" I ask, my thick eyebrows furrowed in concern. Being seven, I could not hold back my worries for long, especially not one that had such potential.
Mom laughed. "Where did you get that idea?"
"You said a shield was tracking us." Immediately, I could tell that this was the wrong thing to say. Mom's eyes darted around nervously, and she wrung her hands the way she did whenever she was uncomfortable. She had been doing that a lot lately.
"Do not mention that again," she murmured quietly. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is an extraordinarily dangerous government agency that would love nothing more than to find us and him." By him, I knew she meant my Dad. Nowadays, she didn't dare to say his name aloud even in the so-called privacy of our hotel room.
I shudder; the evil of government organizations was a sore subject for Mom, and she had never ceased to inform me of the dangers involved in anything with such people. Besides, anything to do with the outside world was untrustworthy. The monks themselves had told me so.
"Now, we have to go. I have to meet Mrs. Parker at seven, and if we don't hurry, we'll be late. Please put on a coat."
Since K'un L'un was in the mountains, I was used to running around in a tank top in the midst of a deep freeze, but here in New York, they wore coats nearly all the time. Part of 'blending in' was following such traditions, things so deeply engrained into their everyday lives that it would be a great blow to society if one young girl were to go without a jacket!
At least my coat was from K'un L'un. It was soft and familiar against my skin, and I admired the delicate, hand carved wood buttons up the front of the coat.
"Hurry," Mom said with urgency, and we both slung our bags over our shoulders. Each of us had only one messenger bag of possessions, it being all we could carry. I grasped her hand tightly, and Mom lovingly pulled my hood over my face. She donned a dark blue cape, which glittered in the harsh artificial lighting.
On the front desk, she carelessly deposited a wad of hundreds and told the cashier to keep the change. I knew little of American currency or language. Whenever Mom and I spoke, though, she forced me to use the harsh foreign words of those New Yorkers, to allow us to fade further into the crowd. The crowd was plenty big, too; there were countless people roaming the city, many more "odd" than ourselves.
Despite being able to pronounce the sounds of the English language (somewhat), I still lacked in literary skills. I could write, read, understand, and speak numerous other tongues (Dr. Strange had even taught me one or two magical dialects when he stopped by the monastery for sugar); I had always been quite good with words, and poetry came naturally to me. Truthfully, Dad had said I was gifted in the Arts in general, and I enjoyed all forms of creativity.
Mom jerked me from my thoughts, pushing me into a passing taxi. The driver grinned at us, eying Mom. She was pretty, I suppose; her brown hair fell to her waist, and her sparkling eyes never missed a movement. She was well-muscled from years of training in martial arts beside my dad, and she knew Kung Fu, as well as being a fourth degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do. A year of Uzun Uyku, the Long Sleep, had sharpened her mind.
The driver scared me. His teeth were yellowed from tobacco, and his breath stank of alcohol. Impurities. Mom draped her arm over my shoulders protectively, and firmly told him, "Eighty Ninth Avenue, please."
I detested motorized vehicles of any sort. They were untrustworthy, and, to be frank, made me want to barf. The smoke and fumes emitted from them- disgusting. This man's driving was especially unpleasant, and I struggled to keep the bile from rising in my throat. At the end of the ride, he demanded his money, and after Mom had dropped a few twenties in his open hands, we stepped out and he sped away. I was thankful that I would likely not ever have to face him again.
The street was filled with people, but Mom dragged me off towards one particular shop, head to the ground. A strong, confident woman with short white hair waited. She smiled warmly at me. "Hello. You must be Mrs.-"
"Please," my mom said in an undertone, "we go by the surname 'Pond' for secrecy."
"Of course, Mrs. Pond. This would be your daughter?"
"Yes, Lilly."
"You're quite pretty," she smiled, kneeling down to my height. "Your eyes... they're exactly like your father's, but with your mom's sparkle." Standing back up, she shook Mom's hand.
"Thank you, Mrs. Parker. I know how much of a risk this is, nowadays."
"I owe it to you." Mrs. Parker glanced down at me. "I'm assuming you want Peter's address?"
"Please. Or any of the team's."
Mrs. Parker's smile waned. "I haven't been able to keep in contact with them. They just, you know..." She trailed off, her voice desolate and hopeless.
"Yes, well... I am sorry. If I find them, I could tell you- but the risk of knowing these people is too high," Mom muttered. "We ought to hurry."
"Yes, well, Peter still lives in the Big Apple, thank goodness. Here's the address." She handed Mom a slip of paper, which Mom slipped into her cloak.
"Thank you. I will burn it." Mrs. Parker nodded in approval, and before either of them could say another thing, Mom whisked me down the street, hailing another cab. This time, the driver was a talkative middle aged man. The journey lasted for what seemed like forever to me, but, fortunately, I had learned patience many years ago. Throughout the drive, the cabbie tried to spark conversation, but Mom and I clammed up.
Eventually he pulled up to a house, and after his fee, hurried away, because all these people really cared about was money. We were lucky to have plenty of that.
The walk up the driveway seemed long, and I observed the various cracks spidering up and down the pavement. At the door, Mom knocked a few times, then we waited. I heard footsteps pattering closer, and the door creaked open to reveal a woman. She had bronze skin, with neatly trimmed hair. I could tell from the dark, fitted tank top and skinny jeans that she was well-muscled.
"Hello, Ava Ayala Parker." My mom slipped the hood from her head, and the woman gasped; her eyes widened, and she stumbled into the wall behind her.
"What—what the hell?!" she sputtered, and my mom pulled me closer. "You- you- PETER! GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE!"
"WHAT IS IT?"
"YOU—GET THE EFF DOWN HERE!"
"JEEZ! QUIT IT WITH THE YELLING- ohmygod," a man gasped, appearing behind the woman. "Are you-?"
"Yes. I am. And this is my daughter, Lilly."
...
That first night was mostly swearing, yelling, talking. My mom explained everything to them. They must have conversed throughout the night; I, however, was asleep by ten. That was the last time I saw Mom that I can remember. When I woke in the morning, the woman told me that my mom had left me in their care. It had finally become too dangerous, I suppose.
I learned the couple's names. Ava and Peter. They were my mom's family—the closest friends she had. Truthfully, they had little explanation for anything Mom had done. My mom had always been secretive, and in spite of their long talk, they knew virtually nothing about our situation. I wasn't about to tell them anything, either.
Peter sat down with me at breakfast that morning. He told me that he, too, had grown up with his aunt and uncle when his parents died. It was different for him, though, because his parents wouldn't ever come back. He didn't ever have that same kind of hope, yearning, wondering when they would return—for me, there was no 'if'. This was temporary. It must be. Peter's situation had become a permanent, unchangeable fact of life.
Still, I nodded. I understood what he meant. Peter was trying to say that he knew a bit of what I felt like.
I didn't feel abandoned, like most people would have. I simply felt alone, living with strangers.
...
The next month was the hardest, as I began to get to know these people. I found their ways just as hard to accept as they did mine. What surprised me most, though, was that these people were different, like me. Peter and Ava had certain abilities; they were superheroes. Peter said that they were, anyways, before the laws against mutants and superheroes. Technically, all three of us were breaking the law simply for existing.
Peter, I found, was funny. He was quite smart, with dozens of quips at his fingertips. Ava was firm and disciplined, but kind. She reminded me of some of the warriors back in K'un L'un.
They did force me to attend school, which I hated, though I survived in the end. The other kids were rather cruel and unwelcoming to my unique and unconventional take on things. At least Peter and Ava allowed me to continue taking martial arts classes twice a week, which was comforting for me. The movements were familiar and reminded me of home.
Even now that I'm thirteen, I still stick out like a white cloud on a stormy day. I don't think that any of the other kids have even noticed that I'm a mutant, but that would probably be because I am, like my parents, secretive.
To be honest, the other kids tend to leave me alone now. When I was younger, I would meditate during recess, but now that isn't a problem, because I don't have recess. Ava laughs at me when I practice yoga—I guess my dad was a lot like me when they knew him.
Seriously, though, my main problem right now is the dragon in the backyard.