The noise of the gym was loud. Loud might be an understatement: every second there was either a loud groan or the squeaking of sneakers on the concrete floor. People of all shapes and sizes clustered into their little areas: a couple guys sparred as their coach yelled at them, some dudes aggressively jumped rope, a trainer spit insults in her current project's face.

In the midst of this noise, a small looking woman emerged: Emily Hargreeves. She couldn't hear the noise, though; her earbuds were tucked into her ears, as they almost always were when she arrived at the gym. Her scowl of determination was enough to force people out of her way - that or the clear thirst for blood that lingered in her eyes. Either way, she went straight towards one of the many punching bags, and kept her eyes on her apparent target.

Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, but pieces were already falling down to frame her face. That was the least of her worries, it seemed, and the anger that clouded her eyes could be seen from a mile away. As she situated herself in front of the bag, she slid on her mitts easily and set up her stance: dominant foot in front, opposite not far behind. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

Focus.

The emotions around her warped and blurred her senses: anger, stress, pain, excitement. These weren't the emotions she needed to focus on; she needed to focus on her own.

Focus.

Emily took another deep breath, this time letting her eyes rest on the bag in front of her. She squared her shoulders and placed her covered fists just in front of her face. With a third inhale through her nose, she bounced on the balls of her feet. She punched the bag, not waiting for it to stop swinging before she punched again.

Anger. Fear. Anxiety. Grief.

Now those, those were definitely her emotions.

She kicked her foot up, sending the bag flying around in the air. If anyone came near her, they'd be in for a lot of pain. But then again, she didn't need to feel anymore of that.

Emily was an empath. No, she wasn't extremely empathetic or psychically inclined; she was born with the powers of an empath. October 1st, 1989. The date wasn't special, not on its own. But the context made it all the better: she was born on the first hour, along with 43 other children. They were born from seemingly nowhere, with powers of their own. But she was one of the lucky eight that got adopted by Sir Reginald Hargreeves.

Focus.

When she first started coming to this gym, Emily thought she would never be able to clear out the emotions that flooded her veins: being around a bunch of angry middle aged men would do that to you, she guessed. Empath or not. But slowly, she realized she had a lot more emotions in common with them; her ability to focus on her own was easier than it sometimes was, and as soon as she started punching, her brain cleared. It was one of the few places that she was able to feel like she had her shit together.

But really, she didn't have her shit together. In her head, she would say, "Who does?" But in her heart, she was crushed.

It was not too long ago that everything fell apart. Whenever Vanya published her book - Emily didn't want to know the exact date, or she would have to have an anniversary for her mid life crisis - was when Emily's attempt at being normal was lost. The publicity was too much, and it changed everything. Her job was gone, girlfriend put on hold. It was only a matter of time that Emily would have to face the consequences that Vanya's book created for her.

Emily punched the bag in front of her harder. And harder. The sweat was accumulating rather quickly on her skin, but she didn't mind. It made her feel alive, the way her muscles ached and her skin glowed. She didn't even know how long she had been there. That is, until her punching bag started to resist her punches.

"Your punches are getting stronger."

"Or your resistance is getting weaker." Emily huffed at her brother's figure as he emerged from behind her bag. She quirked a brow at his arm, which was still holding onto her target. When he didn't move, she began punching anyway.

Diego was the only sibling she had seen rather consistently since they all went on their own paths. It was almost unintentional, the way they reconnected. Actually, it was fully unintentional: Emily was looking for a good gym to get her anger out in, and he happened to live there. They only saw each other once in a while; a slight nod or even a glance would suffice for a greeting.

The rest of her siblings, though…that was another story.

Emily tried to shake the memories - or, lack of memories - out of her head: being sad and vulnerable wasn't going to fuel her punch. The anger was still coursing through her veins. It was almost always present, especially in the gym. But there was something else in the gym, another emotion that was throwing off her balance. It was concern, wariness.

Emily stopped punching and ran her arm against her forehead, ignoring the way her sweat stuck against her skin. She ripped the earbuds from her ears, immediately missing the low shield of music. "What's wrong?"

Diego shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing."

Emily rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her hips. "You know that doesn't work on me."

Diego didn't bother responding. Instead, he watched Emily with a hesitant concern, one that only made her more impatient. She raised her eyebrows at his relaxed figure that was leaning against the wall next to her. But nothing about him was really relaxed.

"I'm going to go over there soon."

Emily stiffened. She hadn't forgotten about her father's funeral - how could she, with it being all over the news? Still, she had kind of pushed it to the bottom of her priorities. She didn't want to deal with it, not now or ever, but she knew she would have to. Just not yet.

She shrugged and turned back to the punching back, setting up her stance again. "I don't need a ride, if that's what you're implying."

She tried to ignore the waves of hesitance that radiated from him, or the slight regret that lingered in the air when he left. Diego had a hard exterior, always covering up his true emotions with fabricated ones. They were similar in that way, only Emily did it because she had to deal with everyone else's emotions, and would rather bury her own. Diego had different issues, ones that had to do with their childhood. But honestly, didn't they all?

Either way, it was probably the only reason they got along. A shared interest in fighting off emotions and the link to their troubled past. Oh, and their love of chinese food.

Emily shook her head and bounced on her feet with a little more energy. If she had to leave for one of the most dreaded moments of her life, she needed to get a few good punches out first. With a huff, she punched the bag as hard as she could; but somehow, she knew that wouldn't be enough.


Emily stood in front of the towering mansion and shifted on her feet. She didn't want to go in. Not even a little bit. Why couldn't she just stop by for the funeral, flip off the grave, and be done with it?

She knew it wasn't that simple. Hell, if anyone knew that, it was her. Plus, she could already feel the shit pile of emotions that seeped from the mansion's walls: it was probably from Luther. Not only was he one of the most emotional of the Hargreeves, but he was also the one who would bow down to their father in a heartbeat. He was definitely the first one there, even if he did come all the way from the fucking moon.

Emily didn't even mind that her still aching arms were aching even more from her pre-packed duffle bag; she wouldn't mind camping out on the front lawn if she had to, just to avoid the inevitable cringe of a family reunion.

So, she had a tough childhood. Negligent father, competitive siblings, clueless mother. It was a simple equation, one that made up most families on the entirety of the Earth. But adding in the superpowers and constant pressure of "saving the world", well, that's where things got messy.

Emily lifted her wrist slightly, and let her long sleeves drift upwards. The umbrella tattoo was still there, as it had been since she was a kid. She frowned slightly at the mark and let her arm fall back to her side. She didn't know why she kept it, even after everything that had happened to her and her siblings.

Number 8…That's what her father called her. Some might say it was a unique name; she would say it was just a goddamn number. Her father labeled her and her siblings as a number. God, what a bunch of horse shit.

Unless you considered her other labels: The Empath, or, The Detector. To be honest, she didn't know what was worse: being named as a number, or a generic wannabe Marvel superhero. Either way, it made her kind of glad that her mother named her Emily, even if that was cliche in itself. Emily the Empath. It almost made her want to vomit.

And now she was here. Standing outside of her childhood home, where she would have to attend her asshole of a father's funeral and pretend to care that he has "passed on", or whatever other crap people say at funerals. It wasn't like she wanted her father to die, but she didn't care if he was alive either. At least, she didn't think so. She could sense other people's emotions, but that didn't mean she wanted to deal with her own.

With a huff, Emily took the remaining steps forward and swallowed her pride. She was sure her siblings didn't want to be there anymore than she did: actually, she was positive. Along with the wafting of grief and loss, Emily sensed some hatred and disdain, along with discomfort and awkwardness. It was becoming a bit much, honestly, but Emily was used to it. Being an empath meant sensing everyone's feelings, and being around her siblings was no different. In fact, it was probably much worse.

Emily raised one of her hands into a fist and stopped herself midair. Was she really going to knock? This was her childhood home, after all. But for some reason, she felt like a stranger.

"Shit." She said, letting her fist tap against the cold wooden doors. To her relief, no answer came. She reached for the door knob and turned it slowly, letting the door creek loudly in her arrival. Great, they'll know I'm here, she thought, as she dragged her bag through the small entrance she left for herself.

It was only when she officially placed her first foot into the house that she shuddered. It was emptier than she remembered it, but the walls were just as tall and ominous as they were when she was a kid. As quietly as she could, she shut the door behind her, cringing when the sound echoed throughout the whole house.

Another shudder traced up her spine, despite the sweater that covered her shoulders. It was just the atmosphere of the place, the emptiness, that made her shiver. It was haunting, and she didn't really want to think about the idea of the Reginald as a spirit. Imagine him haunting us at the funeral, she thought to herself: It'd be more attention than what we got from him when we were kids.

After a few more moments of hesitance, Emily found herself staring at the view of the main room from her spot. Her eyes lingered on the portrait that hung proudly against the wall: Five. Emily remembered the day he disappeared like it was yesterday: sitting at the table, feeling his anger, his almost unwavering pride. She was on edge when he left the room, his emotions flying with him but not quite disappearing until moments after, when he was gone.

Emily shook her head. She just got back to the academy, and she was already getting way too emotional. For an empath, it was a funny thing to say. But Emily didn't like to talk about her 'feelings' or what she was going through. She would rather focus on other things, or memories that actually mattered to her: like her love of the Spice Girls.

Emily's eyes widened at the vague memory of her room; she wondered if it was just as she left it, and felt a sudden burst of energy at the thought. She quickly made her way up the stairs and towards her old bedroom. It was just between Vanya and Klaus' rooms, which was both a blessing and a curse. As a kid, Emily loved Vanya's violin almost as much as she loved the Spice Girls - she always found the melodies calming, and it sometimes helped her headaches seize. But then, there was Klaus, who would constantly blast his music or bang on her walls just to piss her off. Then again, there were the times when he would sneak into her room to gush over the Spice Girls (though then, he would never admit to it) or try on random clothes. Again, being in between those two was a blessing and a curse.

Emily found herself nearly mimicking the same path that she would take as a kid: it was like a pattern trained into her mind, like a schedule that she would never forget. Soon, she was standing in her door frame, letting her eyes take in the familiar yet vaguely forgotten space.

She let herself take a deep breath and placed her bag in a heap on the floor. Her room had always been her oasis, a place where she could escape from the emotions of the outside world. She would flop on her bed and hide under the covers, ignoring the life outside of her room. If only it were that easy now.

Emily twirled around in the room, taking in all that she left behind. It was exactly as she had left it. She forgot just how much she loved the Spice Girls: there were countless posters lining the walls, along with random cut-outs of famous actresses and other 'role models' that teenage-emily had (Buffy, Charlie's Angels, Madonna, you name it). Emily laughed out loud, the echo making her a bit giddy. She couldn't believe how obvious it was that she was into chicks.

With a snort, she made her way over to her dresser. There were still some clothes inside, like her favorite ripped jeans (more like sliced jeans) that Diego made for her, or the skirt that Grace bought for her just to have Klaus hijack it soon after. She didn't mind, though - skirts weren't her cup of tea, and power to Klaus for having the balls to wear it. Literally.

"I see you're settling in quite well." The voice startled her, pulling her out of her trance of childhood memories. She immediately felt the warmth coming from Pogo, who stood tentatively in the doorway. He leaned into the cane in front of him and looked around her room. "It has been a long time since you all left."

Sadness, remorse. Emily bit her lip. "It's nice to see you, too."

"But not in these circumstances, I suppose." Pogo smiled grimly at Emily; he was never shy of eye contact, and part of Emily hated that. Even though she was an empath, looking into someone's eyes was like a deeper passage into their soul. She flicked her eyes to his features: his hair was much more grey than she remembered, and she felt like his voice had aged as well. If that was even possible.

Pogo was probably the one person that Emily felt guilty leaving. They were close, to say the least, but Emily knew that if she wanted to leave the house, that meant leaving everything. But seeing him now, in his aged state, made her feel that guilt all over again.

Emily's eyes refocused on Pogo's figure as he shifted in his spot. He nodded slightly, and began to turn himself back to the hallway. "I'll leave you to…reminisce."

As soon as he disappeared from the doorframe, Emily released her breath. This was going to be a lot harder than she thought it was.

With a frustrated sigh, she flopped onto her light blue covers. Her bed was just as comfortable as she remembered it: like sleeping on a cloud. It made her seriously regret leaving, just for a second. She closed her eyes and lay on her back, trying to focus on her own emotions.

Sometimes it was hard to figure out if her emotions were hers or from the people around her. It was something that all her training with Reginald had helped her with, though she might not admit it out loud. After quitting the academy, she began to lose herself again. It wasn't nearly as bad as when she was younger, but it still sucked.

Emily let herself relax and tried to push all of her outer senses through her breathing. Breathe in her own emotions, breathe out everyone else's.

Breathe in, breathe out. Anxious.

Breathe in, breathe out. Disoriented.

Breathe in, breathe out. Restless.

Well, that was reassuring. Emily's eyes flew open to the ceiling above her. She groaned inwardly and huffed. She would have to face her family sooner or later. "Let's get this shit over with." She mumbled to herself, and tried to mentally prepare for the mess of a family reunion that was about to ensue.

So, that's the first chapter! Again, this is my first time trying to write a fic, so your comments/suggestion really mean a lot! Thanks so much for reading!