"You see, if you draw the ears like this, it looks more like a real bunny."

My cousin, Portia, slowly erased the ears I had halfheartedly drawn and replaced them with her own set, kinking the ends slightly. She turned to me and grinned, her dimples plainly visible. Her black hair hung around her face, tied in a messy, loose, ponytail. It was easy to see that she and I were extremely different, her in her t-shirt and cut off shorts and me in my teal summer dress. I sat up straight in my chair while she sat slumped over, as if she had to be as close as possible to the table in front of us. Really, the only sign of us being related were our mossy green eyes that we had inherited from our grandmother. "Get it?" she asked, tapping her finger on the paper above the ears she had drawn. "Now you try." She turned the notebook around and slid it across the table towards me, popping her gum once. I took the pencil from her and examined the poorly drawn rabbit, images of real rabbits flashing through my head. This thing was a sorry excuse for a drawing, but I wasn't interested in fixing it.

"I'm not very good at drawing," I mumbled, the excuse I gave every time. She scoffed and reached for the notebook and pencil back, snatching them out of my hands and huffing dramatically. Even at the ripe age of eleven, Portia was already spicy and overly-dramatic. I felt I was more mature than her, even though I was a couple years younger.

"Yes you are! I've seen you draw. You're amazing at it. But, fine. If you don't want to draw a bunny, you don't have to." Portia had always been stubborn and loud, which was always amplified when we spoke in German. I saw the way our cook would stare into the room when Portia went on one of her excited rants, the German words sounding harsh and cold even though what she was saying was nothing of the sort. Of course, the cook had no way of knowing this; she only spoke Japanese. The poor woman looked at Portia like some sort of intimidating dictator, instead of the little girl she was. Then again, Portia wasn't that far off from a dictator. She could go on and on, slamming her fists on the table as she spoke about something she was passionate about, arguing her point. I never butted in, sitting quietly even when the subject she was spouting about had already been disproved. I couldn't speak up, because she was always right. I'd let her accept that.

To a lot of people this would come off as annoying, but I found it comical. Watching Portia's shenanigans was a nice distraction, the few times she did come over.

She brought the pencil to her lips and nibbled at the eraser, pondering what animal to mutilate next. My eyes wandered from the page and around the room, looking for something to keep me entertained. These days, simply sitting around and drawing just wasn't cutting it like it used to. I used to be entertained for hours by a sketchbook and pencil. But now...now there were a lot of other things running through my mind that made me want more. My brain was always working...always chipping away at new ideas.

"Hey, Annie Bell? Do you like horses? I bet you I could draw one of those. They can't be too hard, right? I mean, you just draw the legs first...and then the body..."

"Mhm," I responded, resting my chin in my hands. I soon lost the rest of her conversation, preoccupied by the shadows that moved every so often under the doorway. They flicked in and out with the movement on the other side, where my father and aunt spoke in hushed whispers. I wished I could hear them, somehow, though I didn't need to listen to know that they were talking about me. They were always talking about me.

"Oh, shoot! That doesn't look like a horse at all!" Portia yelled, snapping me out of my dazed thoughts. I tore my eyes from the doorway and looked first at her, then at the sheet of paper in front of her. The creature she had drawn in no way resembled any animal I was familiar with, and I had to put a hand over my mouth to keep myself from laughing out loud. Portia puffed up her cheeks, clearly insulted. "Well, I tried!"

"Here," I said, holding up my hands and sitting a little straighter, "Let me show you what a horse looks like." Portia's face lit up, her dimples even deeper. She knew what I was about to do. I didn't do it very often, but it was one of the things that got Portia really excited. And, honestly, it excited me too. I inhaled and closed my eyes, images of horses with flowing manes and shiny hooves dancing across my vision. I could feel my fingertips heating up, that familiar warm feeling rushing through my blood as sparks danced across my arms. The feeling that ran through me, pure joy and peace, extended out through my hands. I opened my eyes, my corneas burning with light, and watched as the figure of a little electric horse began to form. Portia watched with wonder from across the table, the snapping lights of the growing little horse reflecting in her eyes.

"Oh, Annie Bell, I love it when you do your magic..." she said quietly, half dazed, mesmerized. I smiled widely, looking back at my hands, the little horse almost fully visible now. He was so close to being done, projected like a little life size model that I could bend to my will, but something stopped the process. My father's voice raised on the other side of the door, his anger spiking and spreading even into this room. His aura, tinged with dark, angry color, flooded my mind. A hint of it lodged itself in my brain, and I had to remind myself that it wasn't me that was angry. My little horse vanished, the magic gone. Portia's smile faded and she turned to look at the door across the room from us, where the shadows had stopped moving. In a moment the door flung open, my father storming out, his massive figure darkening the room with its shadow.

"If you're going to degrade my parenting, then get out," he said, his voice still raised. My aunt followed behind him, her face flushed in anger.

"Fine!" she yelled, her back to us. It amazed me how similar my aunt and father looked, despite being born a few years apart. They looked like they could be twins; they had the same looking build, face shape, hair color, and eye color. Even though this was true, I had never met two people so different. Even Portia and I seemed identical compared to those two.

"Get out of my house. You don't understand the seriousness of the situation. I'm doing my best," my father spat. I frowned and looked to Portia, who was busy trying to focus on drawing her horse again, tears brimming in her eyes. I wanted to reach out to her, to try to excuse my father's words and actions and make her feel better, but I knew that wouldn't help at all.

"Come on, Portia. We have to go now, baby," my aunt said, helping Portia to her feet and leading her to the door.

"But I was going to watch Annie Bell do her magic!" she complained, looking at me sadly as she was dragged away. I flinched, feeling my father's instant irritation at the subject. I slowly turned my eyes towards him as my aunt and Portia exited the house, leaving just my father and me in this suddenly cramped room. It felt as if the walls moved closer.

"You were using your abilities?" my father asked, his teeth somewhat clenched. I swallowed hard, standing up and brushing down the fabric of my little teal dress.

"I was just going to show Portia how to draw a horse..." I said quietly, trying not to cower as my father stepped closer.

"I told you never to use that. Especially not when your mother is so sick. Do you want her to die?!"

"No!" I sputtered, my heart pounding harshly in my chest. I met my father's eyes, his filled with hatred and almost...worry. He lifted his hand high and I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath in.

Smack.

My eyes fluttered open and focused on the tiny detailed rivets on the ceiling, a wave of nausea rolling over me.

"Father..." I mumbled, the memory buzzing around in my head and clouding me from reality.

"He is gone. Do not worry."

The soft voice startled me and I jolted up, a splitting pain running through my chest. I let out a strange sound and fell still, my breathing heavy. My eyes flicked to the side of my bed where the voice had come from, and I felt my body relax.

Thor.

He made a pained face and reached out to pat my shoulder a little. "I apologize. I should have made sure you knew I was here. It is currently my watch."

"Your watch?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. I cleared my throat and turned my head towards him, trying to sit up a bit more. He nodded his head, brushing some of his golden hair behind his ear.

"One of us is watching you at all times to insure your safety. It is my turn now."

"I understand. Thank you." I lifted my stiff body and set myself up against the backboard of the bed, trying to ignore the shooting pain up my abdomen. I forced a pained smile. "I'm fine...just some mild pain." Thor gave me a look, and I sighed.

"You were causing all sorts of strange phenomena in your sleep. Some of us thought you were set to explode," he said.

"Well, wouldn't that fit in right with my luck," I muttered, trying to take a deep breath. "What time is it?"

"Seven forty two, A.M."

"So I guess I got a good night's sleep..."

I lifted my arms and examined them, the memory of the tiny horse still plain in my mind. No, not a memory: a dream. I had only just acquired my powers from the explosion. I wouldn't have had them way back then. All of this recent nonsense was messing with my mind, twisting memories with nightmares.

"Actually, a few nights of sleep. You have been out for quite some time," Bruce said, entering the room. He was cleaning his glasses with his shirt, which was un-tucked in a few places and a bit wrinkled. He looked tired. He felt tired. The light at his core, the same energy that had become clearer and clearer as time went on, was duller than I'd seen it before.

"Really..."

I let out a deep sigh and lifted one of my shaky hands, running it through my hair. It was matted with knots, but I didn't even want to bother untangling them with my fingers. Looks didn't really matter anymore. Not now, at least.

Bruce came around to my bedside and set to work monitoring my vitals, taking my pulse, my blood pressure, anything else he could as I laid there quietly. Thor was still staring from his position, and there was something in his look that made me uncomfortable looking back. He seemed perplexed by the entire situation, my survival and the abilities that came with it, and I was starting to get that dreaded feeling I'd had so many times with my father. I felt like I wasn't human. I felt like I was being examined as some kind of anomaly, a test subject, and that made me uncomfortable. Above all, it made me kind of sad. I never wanted to be a test subject. And yet with my rash decision to destroy everything I'd known, I'd made myself my father's biggest guinea pig of all. It wasn't that difficult, really, to just walk away, yet I'd done something I couldn't take back.

His words came back to me as Bruce moved around me, silently. This is bigger than the both of us. Don't disappoint. What was bigger? What had he even been on about, so frightened and flustered, so filled with traits that were uncharacteristic of him? Why had he been so afraid?

"So, you probably think I'm a lot of work, huh?" I said, trying to distract myself from those words that echoed through my mind.

"Not really," Thor responded.

"I seem to get into a lot of trouble. I promise I was a quiet girl before. I don't know what's happened," I said.

"Have you met my brother?"

"Obviously not."

"He's more trouble. Trust me."

"You don't get along with your brother?"
Thor paused a moment at this, looking away from me finally as he focused his eyes across the room deep in thought.

"It is not that. I loved my brother. He and I were quite close, mischievous as he was. But he has caused a lot of trouble as of late. It is more than I can forgive or excuse."

"He teamed up with a group of aliens and destroyed a good part of Manhattan," Bruce added. He had since stopped poking around and was now leaning against the wall nearby, examining a few things on a tablet. It was held close to his face, as if he couldn't see it from farther away.

Destroyed Manhattan. My heart throbbed once, violently, and a nervous chill came over me. Somewhere in the back of my mind something sparked, though I wasn't fast enough to catch it before it was gone again. Why was that familiar? Surely I'd heard about it, but I couldn't recall anything regarding the event. Had my father kept it from me? Had I forgotten it? I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat at the mention and rested my eyes on Thor again.

"...yeah, I see how that could be a lot of work," I said slowly. I adjusted myself on my pillow.

"Can I get you anything?" Thor asked, watching my every movement with his brilliant eyes. I shrugged my shoulders, though the movement made my chest stretch and triggered a fair amount of pain. Twisting my face ever so slightly, I tried to keep from making any distressed noise.

"Is there anything I could read?" I asked. I was hoping that maybe if I had my face buried in a book he would stop staring at me, and maybe I'd be able to forget about the pain and the situation for a little while. Reading could always take me away, no matter the content.

"Ah, yes. A book. Knowledge. Knowledge is good."

His eyes scanned the room, a determined look on his face. He almost looked as if he was trying to summon one from where he sat. I had to wonder if something like that was possible on his home planet, or...wherever he was from.

"Never mind. It's okay." I said after a moment, once it was clear that Thor was not going to rise from his seat.

"Are you sure? If you require some kind of entertainment, I can find it for you."

"It's fine. I don't need anything."

"Tony could maybe get you set up with an e-book," Bruce suggested. I thought about holding one of the fancy Stark tablets and quickly shook my head. I had caused enough damage and enough trouble, and I didn't need to ruin one of those highly expensive devices on top of that.

"Would you like to talk? I know I am not the greatest at communication when it comes to talking to people from Midgard, but I have been told I'm a good listener," Thor offered.

"Who told you that?" Bruce asked, an amused look in his eye as he glanced over the tablet at us.

"Mind your mouth, Banner, I can listen better than anyone in this tower."

"Uh-huh."

"I don't really have much to say, anyway," I said, looking between the two. It was true that I'd never had too many opportunities to talk aside from with my father and his occasional party guests, and my conversation was always carefully crafted in those situations. I seemed to be awkward when talking about anything personal or natural. Everything had to be pre-planned to result in an advantageous interaction.

"Oh, I am sure you have plenty of things to say. You seem very interesting," Thor countered.

"Really, my life is boring. I never did anything,."

I looked him in the eye, hoping that this came across as entirely honest. He raised one big, blonde eyebrow.

"Nothing?"

"Not really. Father always wanted me to stay home. I had a lot of school work to do when I was young, and that kept me busy. Actually, it was keeping me busy right up until..." I stopped there, not wanting to bring up the explosion. That wasn't what I wanted to talk about.

"You studied a lot?"

"Yes. I've always been able to learn pretty quickly, so I studied many different things. My father taught me most of it, though I also had access to instructors that would come to the house. Some even came in from Tokyo, if my father could pay them enough. He wanted me to understand many things. And so I did," I explained. Thor sat back, his brow furrowed.

"That seems very tiresome."

"Not necessarily. I liked learning. I still do."

He sat forward again, closer than before. Strands of his golden hair fell out around his face and pooled onto the comforter.

"Did you ever study Asgard? Norse mythology?" he asked, intrigued. I had almost forgotten about his origins, or, rather, the origins that we gave him. It really was fascinating that something so alien was the basis to an entire religion; it made me wonder if other religions functioned the same way.

"I read a few mythology books," I said, realizing I'd gone too long without speaking. "They were fairly interesting. I'm sure they were mostly silly stories, though, compared to what you and your people have actually done."

"You would be surprised how many odd things my people have done in the past."

He smirked, leaning back again. I let out a quiet breath of relief. I wasn't sure why him being so close made me uncomfortable. Maybe it just felt too much like he was scrutinizing me, examining me like some object.

"What sort of things were you most interested in studying? If you don't mind me asking," Bruce spoke up. It seemed he was finally done with the tablet.

"Biology, biotechnology, biochemistry...basically anything to do with the study of life. I, like many recently, also took up astrobiology," I said. That darkened part of my brain sparked again. That's right: of course I'd known about Loki's invasion. That was why I'd gotten into astrobiology in the first place, wasn't it? That's why other people had done it. Surely I had been no different. When I tried to remember exactly when I'd started studying, however, my mind came up blank. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment before giving up.

"Sounds like you could give Stark a run for his money," a new voice called from the doorway. I glanced up to find Steve, in a t-shirt and dark jeans, a smirk on his face. Just like that, I felt a whole lot sweatier. I tried to fight the butterflies that fluttered in my stomach, that automatic, stupid response that I couldn't turn off.

"No, definitely not," I muttered, bringing a hand up to uselessly try to straighten out my hair.

"Thor, Banner, Stark wants you downstairs. Apparently Fury is on his way, and he needs some back up."

"Fury?" I asked.

"Should you be greeting Fury as well?" Thor asked, ignoring me.

"..Stark told me to stay out of it. Had a bit of an arguement. I'm surprised you couldn't hear that from up here, actually"—he mumbled a few choice words before continuing—"but we decided that I'll swap watches with you. You go down. I'll stay here."

"Very well." Thor stood, his chair tipping and falling backwards onto the floor with the grand motion. He turned and stared at the chair for a moment, as if hoping it would set itself back up. Just like the situation with the book, he seemed to be under the impression that things would move on their own. After it didn't, he threw it back into an upright position, startling me a little. With one over-exaggerated turn he was out of the room, off to do his business. Bruce shot him a look as he left, setting the tablet down on the nearby dresser.

"Let us know if you need anything, Annabelle. We'll just be downstairs. Ask Jarvis for us," he said, following after Thor. "And take it easy, alright?"

I nodded my head as he left, very aware that they were leaving Steve behind with me.

He took his place in the chair, adjusting himself a bit before sitting back and getting comfortable. I tried to avoid looking at him, hoping that would somehow keep him from seeing how awful I surely looked. That, and I hoped it would calm the nerves that were so active within me every time he was near.

"So who's Fury?" I asked, still keeping my face turned away from him.

"He's the director of SHIELD. He's a pretty powerful influence with a big personality to boot," Steve explained, taking a deep breath in. "He's a little much for my taste."

"Why is he here?" I shifted my eyes a little to try to examine Steve's face, finding that he wasn't even looking in my direction. He seemed to be focused on the wall to the side of him, like he was deep in thought. The light within him—energy, aura, or whatever else it truly represented—was twisted in a strange way.

"He visits, sometimes," he answered, and I saw his jaw shift, clenching. It wasn't subtle enough for me to miss. I understood why he was so tense.

"He's here for me," I said, more for myself than for him. His eyes shifted down a bit, confirming my suspicion.

"Tony will get him to go away. Don't worry," he said quietly.

"He isn't a bad man, is he? Why the secrecy?"

I pushed myself up a bit, my pain notably less intense than before. Maybe they'd given me a dose of drugs not long before I woke up, and they were finally setting in. Whatever they were, they had to be strong to work on me. None the less, I was grateful for at least a little comfort.

"He'll want to take you back to SHIELD. Have you tested in a bunch of different things. Figure out what makes you tick. It's just bothersome, really. You don't need to deal with that," Steve mused. I got the sense he was talking more to himself. I could tell there was something he wasn't telling me. And this 'something' was obviously very important, considering he and the others were trying to cover it, and me, up. Why was going to SHIELD such a bad thing? As far as I knew, SHIELD was supposed to be full of the good guys. And didn't the Avengers work out of SHIELD? I had to admit that the mention of 'testing' had me a bit more on edge, but I tried to believe that this testing would be different than what my father had done. They'd be testing to make sure I was safe, just as Bruce had been doing. They wouldn't be testing for their own benefit. Right?

"You'll be better off here," Steve commented after a moment, as if he knew the gears in my head were turning in the silence. I nodded my head in response, running a hand over the comforter.

"Could you get me something?" I asked, looking at him, this time making sure to catch his attention and meet his eyes. I felt like I could melt in that blue color.

"What do you need?"

"Tea. Any kind is good. It calms my nerves."

"I can do that. Anything else?"

"I think I'm going to take a shower. So, maybe take your time with that tea? I'll only be about ten minutes. I don't want to embarrass the both of us and have you walk in on me...when I'm..."

"Yeah, yeah. Yeah. Yes. I'll take my time," he sputtered, looking a bit flustered already. Him and I both. Just the thought of that situation made my heart beat a little bit faster and my face feel flushed.

"Thanks," I started, taking a bit of a calming breath, "I really appreciate it."

"Not a problem. Holler if you need anything." he stood up and made his way towards the door, pausing for a minute. "...do you need help getting to the bathroom?"

"No, no. I'll be okay. Thank you."

I gave him a grateful smile as he set to leaving the room, eventually shutting the door behind him. I waited a moment to make sure he was gone before twisting and lifting myself out of bed, standing and stretching my hands above my head. The drugs were really working now; I felt much better. It wasn't normal, not quite, but the pain had mostly subsided. I walked across the room and into the bathroom, my legs and back momentarily stiff from being in bed for so long. In the mirror I caught sight of my reflection, my hair a huge jumbled mess, like a large bird nest nestled atop my head. I almost laughed aloud at myself, despite my embarrassment at the thought that I had been seen looking so ragged. I couldn't remember ever looking this bad; I usually tried to take care in my appearance, even when I didn't have to. This was a train wreck. Even when I'd come here that first night, charred and covered in blood, I'd managed to look better than this.

I turned the handle on the wall, water spurting from the shower head, almost instantly warm. I stripped off my clothes and feigned a bold, determined look at myself in the mirror before stepping in, the water soothing against my aching chest. Funny, I hadn't even checked my wound. In fact, I hadn't even thought about it, nor did I have any interest in knowing what it looked like. I had a feeling looking at what my father was capable of doing to me was going to bring down my confidence and send me straight back to bed, and I didn't want to chance that. I was going to meet this Fury. And, finally, I was going to be a voice for myself.