Hi there! Another update for this story. Wow, a lot is going on this year, some good and (mostly) bad, but it will hopefully get better. FYI, I went dressed as Captain America for Halloween! HAHA! 'Course I got soaked to the bones because we got lost in some neighborhood we never been, the rain pounding on our backs, and the cold that went through. That's what ya get living in the South, people! Anyway, here's a new chapter. Remember to leave a comment for helpful advice or whatever you need to say out loud. Thanks and enjoy!

p.s. There's a Trigger in here regarding Campus Assault, just a heads up people!


xX 2oo7 Xx

Things suddenly became easier.

After school, college wasn't much of an issue as it had been in the beginning. There was plans that I needed to maybe find work (which was going to be difficult since people wouldn't hire a twelve-year-old as a potential employee, never mind her promising credentials). The skepticism with Coulson carried on after graduation, and with expectations low of whatever offers he had, I still wasn't convinced about what I was being brought into.

My doubts were blown away when dad brought the mail in to show most of the envelopes were addressed to me; they were university invitations.

Stanford, Virginia Tech, John Hopkins, MIT... the names went on and on.

Dad and I looked through them, carefully trying to find some sort of trap that would lead to trouble for me and him. There was nothing to be found. I was an accomplishing, promising, and very bright young lady for my age, and my brain would go to waste because of some sort of money trouble.

That's right. Someone went ahead and paid for my tuition fee. Dad and I didn't so much as need a penny being brought up for the cost of going to school. The whole thing smelled fishy to dad, but to me, this was a message from Coulson that he fulfilled an unspoken promise that I would not crumble away to become some sort of diner girl when I could be a engineering scientist!

As for dad's worry, I promised him to attend community college first before thinking about getting into the big ones.

Coulson gave the green light when I called him (from the card he left me with) to let him know what was up. While I was saddened that I wouldn't get to go, I took this community college as a way to prepare myself mentally and emotionally. After all, high school had left me after effects that I wish I could do without.

Several months later and... it's not so bad.

Sure, there are the stares and the unbelievable looks I got when I constantly had to identify myself as a student to the security (the ID was barely enough to convince them). It was awkward and annoying to be around be that questioned me and babbled on and on about how it was strange to see a young girl walk around the campus as a fellow student.

But at least no one was cornering me in bathroom to spit insults. No one was throwing folded paper balls at my head. No one was humiliating me in class. No one did and said nothing to make me extremely uncomfortable. So, I'd take continuous reassurances to security officers and obnoxious people over life wanting to send me into another round of hell.

… But some things didn't last long.

It was dark, and I cursed myself for focusing too much in work to pay attention to the time.

The fact that I was carrying books that looked more like flat bricks, and it had been raining for the past few days, I found my sneaker slipping through a puddle which escalated in me falling on the pavement leading to the nearby dormitory. Acting quickly to save my work from being totally ruined by the wet pavement (work that was due tomorrow morning!), I barely noticed the sound of hurrying footsteps that rushed my direction until it was too late.

I barely let out a shriek when I felt something—someone!— grab me from behind, easily hauled me into the air, and began to carry me away from under the bright street lamp that led to the illuminated college campus. All I could think was the stories and warnings I heard about girls getting assaulted by strangers or fellow students, the fear jumping up my throat when I could feel a large hand slide against my developing chest. I felt tears spring from my eyes, my muffled voice crying out for someone to save me from this—

THWAK!

Another shriek escaped me, and my shriek was heard loud and clear without a dirty hand to block the sound. Next second I knew, I was dropped back on the ground which I quickly made to scramble away whilst I still could. Daring to look back, I froze from what I was looking at.

'Holy shit, that hobo is beating the tar out of that dude!' I gawked.

The hobo, a man dressed in a jacket that looked like it had been diving in way too many trash dumps with shoes that looked like they were peeling off from the bottom, was beating the crap out of a guy who looked to be some douche-bag frat boy. With a last kick to the frat boy's ribs, the larger of the two collapsed like a falling tree and stayed down. Meanwhile, the hobo ducked down to search the guy until producing a shiny and thick wallet. Finally noticing that he wasn't alone, the hobo turned towards me, and to my surprise yet again, flashed a wink and smile before standing up and disappearing behind a dumpster.

Blinking back to my senses, I quickly gathered myself and ran straight for the dorms.

At the early hours of the morning, with the sky still bleak and the rain beginning to patter down once more, I watched from the safety of my dorm room with my roommate as we watched the campus police haul the frat boy into an awaiting cop car. I had thought it would be a little hard trying to identify the man since the hobo had taken my almost attacker's wallet. Somehow, campus got a hold of the guy's identifications (that somehow appeared in the campus' security office) and they acted quickly in arresting him.

The experience had traumatized me, the feeling of helplessness that had me afraid of going anywhere alone. Strangely enough, when I would walk to the libraries or computer labs, I would catch a glimpse of the hobo that saved me that night, and I could feel his eyes watching me.

And the weird thing was... I felt safer for it.


xX 2o12 Xx

The grill exploded in a glorious bomb of orange.

"Whoa!" I grinned from a safe distance as dad slammed the grill shut.

"Youtube gold, man!" one of dad's neighbors laughed from his place on the picnic bench set up in the backyard. Dad replied with a flip of the bird as he walked to our bench.

I offered him a beer, which he gladly took, and moved over for him to sit next to me. We both watched the small party, a couple of kids running around like someone had given them endless supplies of candy, a couple of dad's buddies gathered in a single bench to talk about the upcoming Super Bowl, and the rest of everyone enjoying the food that many of the neighborhood ladies cooked up for everyone to enjoy.

"Ain't this the life?" dad grinned down at me while wrapping an arm around my shoulder. "This party's kickin' it!"

I snorted at his old-time slang. "Nobody says kickin' it anymore, pops."

He just shrugged as he took a swig of his beer. "Owner of this fine property can say whatever the hell he wants, guests can shut their pie-holes!"

"Dad, you're stealing that off of a paranormal show!"

"So what? The rules can apply to whatever!"

We both burst into giggles and snorts. But yeah, dad was right. Life was really good when he was now the owner of a house that was big enough to accommodate a small neighborhood party. With the money he earned as a veteran security officer that manned and organized malls, museums, and the occasional concert/EXPO, his salary had went high enough that he finally ditched the crummy apartment with the horrible landlord and found himself a nice house.

It was nice to know my superiors could pull a few strings here and there to recommend my father to such job opportunities that went into his line of work.

While it was great to live in a new house, I sadly couldn't stick around much longer than I would have liked. Work became a place where I practically lived there. After graduating straight from university, Coulson immediately recruited me into his tight-lipped organization where I was exposed to a whole new world I never knew existed. It was one thing to talk about a spy agency that was more secretive than the Mossad, it was an entirely different matter to experience it first-hand.

Of course, things only got weirder since I joined. Like, Area 51 weird. Possible even more so weirder.

A scientist having an accident that resulted in him being a giant green berserker. A billionaire weapons manufacturer and head of his company creating a metal suit of armor to destroy said weapons. A hammer that fell in New Mexico that belonged to a humanoid alien claiming to be a mythical Norse God. And another case I had personally dealt with when a national icon woke up nearly seventy years after going under the ice.

Life, since joining SHIELD (they finally found a name!), got strange. Sure, the whole thing kind of faded after a couple of years, but every now and then, I would have to sit down and try to remember what was normal again.

"Miles!" I startled, blinking from my thoughts and finding Mrs. Johnson standing in front of me and dad. "Your phone's ringing, honey."

Excusing myself quickly, I got up from the bench and dodged my way through the throngs of people and children gathered outside the backyard grill party. Finding my phone nearly dancing off the top of the kitchen's island, I grabbed it and froze when I saw an unidentified number. Since starting at SHIELD, I was given my personal phone that only very few people had access to, no salesman or add-on callers could reach me through this. Quickly finding an empty room, I closed the doors shut behind me before answering.

"This is Connor."

"Agent Connor, this is a Level 7. I repeat, Level 7. Report to New York."

The line went dead, the number on the ID erased completely, and I was left standing in a room alone while music and chatter went on outside. Level 7 was SHIELD code for imminent global threat. Quickly, I rushed out the room, weaving through the party-goers scattered in the living room, kitchen, and hallways until I finally reached my room where I began to pack up clothes and toiletries. Too busy trying to get my clothes inside the small duffel bag, I nearly jumped from the knocking wood on the door frame of my room.

Dad was standing by the door.

"Something wrong?" he asked, his voice slow and eyes wary as he looked at my rushed efforts to fit all my things in one bag.

"Uh," the hard part of working in a place that held the utmost secrets regarding what really went on in the world was lying to my dad's face. "There's an emergency. My boss's assistant had an accident and they were suppose to help with a presentation with the new model planes..."

My words trailed off when dad waved a single hand and stepped closer to me to pull me into one of his big bear-hugs. I wrapped my own arms around him, inhaling his aftershave scent and absorbing his warmth. I felt his chin rest over my head, lips pressed against the crown of my head, and a brief squeeze around the torso before he finally pulled away.

"Come back soon, alright?" he said.

I couldn't trust myself to say anything. Level 7 was regarded as the big bad (the three higher levels were a league of their own) and I could only picture so many scenarios that many people were going to die. So, I nodded silently and pulled him back to a fierce hug.

Level 7 also meant that this would probably be the last time I hugged my dad.


The flight to New York was quick. The airport was usually a place of large crowds and lots of confusion, but the perks of working for SHIELD was that I was pulled out of the crowd the first step off the plane.

"Hey, bean-sprout." Agent Tim Jackals, a frenemy I made at the beginning of my time in SHIELD, greeted me.

Wearing the standard dark suit and tie, Jackals could have been passed off as some young up-and-coming CEO or a small-time entrepreneur. His youthful appearance and charming disposition made him one of the few perfect guys to implant and exploit shady stuff (the shady stuff that SHIELD had nothing to do with).

"Hey, yourself," I returned as I followed after him without looking for my bag. Chances were that someone already got my duffel bag and popped it into a transport to be dropped off in the new location I, and many others, were being led to. "Did they say anything about what's going on?"

Jackals gave me a brief look. Often times, Jackals was sarcastic and stand-offish to make an interesting impression on people (or, he wanted to look cool for his superiors). So it was a bit worrisome when he had his game-face on, a face many veteran agents wore when something big was going down that rubbed SHIELD the wrong way.

"Not here." he said quietly as he took a hold of my upper arm and pushed me to another direction with less people.

In no time, after getting by a couple security clearances that were familiar with our agency, we arrived to a secluded area of the airport where awaited us was a Quinjet. A small hint of pride and joy bubbled to the surface at the sight of one of my recent creations. After the Hellicarrier, smaller aircrafts were the next thing on the list of taking my projects further. The Quinjet was one of my projects that I had created during middle school before the Helicarrier took up most of my time. SHIELD needed transportation that could match the speed of the current military jets, but it also had to have the dexterity, the maneuverability, and the less likeliness of some short-circuitry malfunction planes and jets usually had.

I did not disappoint them at its first trial.

"Hey!" Jackals called over his shoulders, noticing how I was lagging behind. "Double the pace of those short legs of yours, Miles!"

Trust Jackals to be the sadistic sort who got off of poking fun at my small size.

Biting my lips so that an old spat wouldn't start between us (or garner the looks from the older agents that we already get enough of because of our display of immaturity), I kept up with Jackals as several people started to board the open platform. As we got closer, I spotted someone from within the circle of dark suits that stood out like a sore thumb.

"Connor, Jackals." a new voice came in, startling me from my scrutinizing of the blond wearing a bomber jacket. "Glad you could make it in time."

"Coulson!" Jackals and I only ever see and talk to Coulson via videoconferencing or messages. I hadn't even so much as been in the same room with Coulson since three years ago.

"C'mon," he gestured towards the Quinjet. "We'll talk later."

Stepping inside, most of the seats were already taken, and we had to be quick to find them otherwise we would be stuck standing for hours until landing. Making for a couple of open seats, I claimed a spot and strapped the multiple seat buckles on (annoying as they were to put on, they were simple safety protocols that all moving transportation had). Thinking that Jackals was following my example from the sound of his footsteps coming towards me, I didn't bother looking up as I was still busying myself buckling the right straps together.

"I swear it's like playing musical chairs in here." I joked with him as I finally finished my seat belt to look up at him.

It wasn't Jackals.

"Hello," he said, his voice low and quiet but somehow louder than the chatter and running engine of the Quinjet.

I swallowed thickly as I stared up at Steve Rogers, otherwise known as the recently revived Captain America.

"Hi."