Chapter 9: Accept Your New Purpose

-Abby-

I stand alone in the room, listening to the eerie sound of heart monitors.

It hurts to see her like this. She always looked so strong, so determined. But, over the time I'd gotten to know her, I knew that she was also too damn stubborn.

She promised me at the start of the journey that she would protect me.

I never knew how far she was willing to go for me until now.

"Hey, Daisy." I say, taking a seat in the chair beside her makeshift hospital bed. "It's me, Abby." I say, and try not to feel silly at talking to her like she can hear me. She's asleep, and has been for the past few days. But, Dr. Simmons-Jemma-said that even if she can't hear me, she might be able to "sense my presence" or something like that. However, when I look at Daisy, at how pale and vulnerable she is right now, I don't think she'd be able to sense a dump truck crashing into a dynamite factory.

My fists curl in my lap, and I take a deep breath, and continue. "I don't know if you can hear me or not, but I just wanted to let you know that I'm here." I smile softly, remembering how badly Daisy wanted to get here. "We made it to SHIELD." I say softly. "You did it, Daisy.'

I stop talking for a while, and just watch as Daisy's chest rises and falls with her slow breathing. Her heart monitor beeps at a steady pace, and none of her other vital signs are in the red. Dr. Simmons says that she'll live, that she'll be okay...eventually. She'd taken too much damage on her own, and was now paying the price for it.

"I just wanted to make sure you would be okay." I say finally. "I'll come back to visit you soon, but Agent Coulson says that I need to get debriefed about what happened. I'll be back as soon as I can. So...I guess I'll see you later." I get up and walk to the doorway, before I turn and take a final look at my sleeping friend. I don't know if she'll still be here when I get back. Jemma said that she'd be okay, but that these situations can be touch-and-go sometimes. If this was the last time I saw Daisy-God forbid-I wanted to be sure to remember every detail about her, no matter how painful it was.

Daisy's set up in a hospital bed, dressed in a cloth gown. The blood and dirt has been cleaned from her hair and face. Her skin is so pale right now that she looks like a corpse. Her left eye is swollen to the size of a small apple, and bruises mottle her face like a stained-glass window. An oxygen cannula is under her nose, the chords tucked behind her ears. Her right arm is bandaged like a club, and set up in a sling, while her left has gauze wrapped around her bicep. A blanket is tucked around her, covering her stomach and legs, but I know what lies underneath. Her stomach is no doubt wrapped in more bandages, along with her leg.

When I look at her like this, all I can think of is the feeling of her blood seeping through my fingers.

I press down hard on her stomach, trying to stop the steady flow of blood that's coming from the bullet whole. Daisy's lucid from the pain and blood-loss babbling about how sorry she is. She's looking at me, but I know it's not me she's talking to. She keeps saying the name "Lincoln".

Is that the friend she lost on a mission? I thought.

The Asian woman grabs Daisy's hand, and tells her to squeeze it. When Daisy's doesn't, the woman presses something in her ear, and yells to someone about needing medical help. All the while, Daisy is still mumbling about forgiveness, and how sorry she is, and keeps saying "Lincoln". Suddenly her almost incoherent babbling stops, and her breathing slows. She's dying, I know, so I don't dare to lift my hands from her wound. The Asian woman keeps yelling at Daisy, telling her to open her eyes, to say something, to squeeze her hand, anything.

And then an idea forms in my mind.

I remember from watching TV shows that cauterizing wounds would close them up and stop the bleeding long enough to find help. All we needed was a fire source...and I was given the power to control fire.

I knew what I had to do next, in order to give Daisy a fighting chance.

I took one of my hands off of her bleeding stomach, and willed my pointer and index fingers to heat up. They glowed a deep orange, and sizzled in the cool air. Then, doing perhaps the most disgusting thing possible, I forced my fingers into her bullet wounds. I see who more on her leg and her arm, so I burned those shut, too.

The Asian woman's eyes go wide when she sees what I'm doing. Then she presses her ear again and says, "Jemma, we need med-evac NOW!"

"Why do you always do this, Kid?" The woman asks. I can't tell if she's talking to me, or Daisy. Probably Daisy, since she doesn't even know my name.

As Daisy lays there, with me burning the holes in her shut, the Asian presses her ear again and starts yelling at someone to come find us. Another woman runs out to us from the woods. She was on the taller side, with a slight frame. She has long, dark hair ties back into a ponytail, and her skin was was so pale it almost glowed in the dark. She ran towards us, and knelt down next to me. She looked at my burning fingers in Daisy's wounds, before she told me and the other lady to get ready to move her. Then, she pulls out a device, and presses a button. A few seconds later, a giant white box falls from the sky, and lands right beside us. I pull my fingers out of Daisy's wounds after I notice that the bleeding had stopped, and all I was doing was hurting Daisy further.

The British lady grabs Daisy from her underarms, and the Asian woman grabs Daisy's ankles. They lift her up as gently and quickly as they can, and rush her into the flying-box-thingy. I follow them, because what else was I going to do? I wasn't about to leave Daisy alone, after everything she's done for me. The inside of the flying box is so white it almost hurts my eyes to look at. We lay Daisy down on a white loft built into the wall of the box, and I try not to burst into tears when her blood turns the sheets red. The older woman presses a button, and the automatic door of the cube closes shut with a hiss. "We're going up!" She says, and I instinctively grip both hands on the windowsill. My stomach drops as the box rockets into the air at breakneck speed. I make the mistake of looking out the window, and try not to throw up as I watch the world grow smaller and smaller in the blink of an eye. Rollercoasters have never been my favorite thing in the world.

I turn away from the window, and look towards Daisy. The British lady is kneeling beside her, taking her pulse, and administering first aid. She's wrapping strands of the bedsheet around Daisy's arm and leg. Tourniquets, remember they were called. When the British woman examines Daisy's stomach, I feel my face heat up in shame. The burns that I caused have closed the wound itself, but they were ugly and red and blistery. No doubt they hurt, but it was all I could think of in the moment. The woman looks up at me with a quizzical expression. "You did this?" She asks. I don't think she's trying to be harsh, just...surprised.

"Yeah."

She nods. "Good thing you did, too." She says, turning back to Daisy's wound. "It's probably the only reason she's still alive."

Suddenly, a jarring motion racks through the Flying Box. "Get ready to move her." The older woman says, as she opens the door of the Box. I grab Daisy's legs, and the British woman grabs Daisy under her arms. We lift her up together, and bring her out of the Box, into what I can only guess is the cargo hold of a large airplane. There's a medical crew waiting for us with a cot and a bunch of other equipment I've only ever seen on TV shows. We lay her down on the cot, and the medical team takes her away. The British woman follows, and I trail behind her, listening as she says words like, "GSW to the lower abdomen" and "Prep the OR!" and a bunch of other medical terms that I can barely understand.

"What does that mean?" I ask. "Will she be okay?"

They don't hear me, or if they do, they ignore me (like most adults do), and continue on their way down the hall. They bring Daisy into another room, and as I try to follow them, a hand grabs me by the arm. It yanks me, back, stopping my pursuit. I fight to get away, but the hand only turns me around. It's the older woman from the woods. Was she behind me this whole time?

"Let me go!" I say, and try to rip my arm from her grip again. She only holds me tighter, but not in a way that hurts me. I know what she's trying to do, but I don't want to let her stop me. I try to tear away, but she grabs my other arm. "Leave me alone!" I yell, and pound against her, digging my heels to try and get an edge over her. She keeps her hold firm, the harder I fight the more she holds me, until I finally collapse into her. I lean against her, my hands curled into fists against her chest. I grip her shirt in my hands, and am reduced into a sobbing mess.

"You're alright, Kid." The woman says. I feel her body tense up when I collapse into her, but then she wraps both her arms around me. I can't help but tense up as she does so. I haven't been hugged a lot before, but this one felt...nice. It wasn't a familiar sensation for me, and I don't think it was that familiar for her, either, but it wasn't uncomfortable. I relax into it, and I can feel the woman relax, too.

"You're safe, now." The woman says. "You both are."

As she says this, I can't help but think, You're lying.

After that, I was taken away to a small clinic area they had on the plane. The thing was huge! It took the term "Jumbo Jet" to a whole new level. I think there were at least three levels to the entire thing, but I wouldn't put it past them having more. A doctor examined my cuts and bruises, and put a salve on the few burns I still had from when I first got my powers. He bandaged the cut on my head, and gave me some ice for the bruise on my cheek where that Watch Dog hit me. Then they gave me a change of clothes-gray sweats and a t-shirt-and a bag to toiletries, and directed me to a cabin where I could clean up and change. Man, if felt good to take a hot shower. I can't remember the last time I bathed, so there was no doubt I smelled really bad.

After that, a man came to my room. He was middle aged, with a receding brown hairline. But he looked kind, almost like a teacher. "Hello." He says. "My name is Agent Coulson. How are you feeling?" He asks me. He sounds like he actually cares about my answer.

"Better." I say. "How's Daisy's doing?"

A grim look crosses over Agent Coulson's face. "She's...still in surgery." He says. I can tell that there's more to what he's told me, but as usual with adults, they never tell me the whole story. "Why don't you and I get something to eat?" He asks me, turning to the side so the doorway is exposed. "I bet you're hungry."

At the mere mention of food, my stomach growls. What was the last substantial thing I had eaten? Ever since running away, I've been living off of gas station food. If you could call it "food".

"Food sounds good." I say. Agent Coulson walks out the door, and says, "Follow me." Well, duh, I was gonna follow him anyway. I don't know the layout of this giant plane.

Like a lost puppy, I follow Agent Coulson down the hall, into a small kitchen area fit with a fridge, stove, and countertop. I sit at the counter, and watch as Agent Coulson prepares two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and grabs two apples and a carton of milk from the fridge. Then he grabs to packets of something from the cupboard, and starts to heat a saucer of milk on the stove. When it's ready, he pours the hot milk into two mugs, and mixes in the powder. I recognize it as hot chocolate. When he sets the plate of food down in front of me, an I dig in with a vengeance. When I take a break to pick up the mug, I take a long sip of the sweet drink, not caring that I've burned my tongue in the process. I will never take such a simple thing for granted ever again. I'm so focused on my hot chocolate that I barely notice that the man is staring at me as I eat. When I finally look up, he has a look of concern on his face.

"What?" I ask, cause he was really staring to creep me out a little.

"Nothing," Agent Coulson says gently. "You just...remind me of someone, is all." Based on that one sentence alone, I know where this little encounter is going to go.

"Alright," I sigh. "If you've got something to say, just say it, pal." Agent Coulson's eyebrows raise in surprise at my bluntness. "Pardon?" He asks, clearly confused.

"I've seen this show before in the system." I say. "You've buttered me up with free food an hot chocolate-thank you, by the way-so if you've got a bomb to drop, now's a good a time as any. Better do it while I'm still in a semi-decent mood."

Agent Coulson purses his lips. "I only want to know what happened." He says gently.

"I'll answer all your questions if you'll be straight with me." I say. "How is Daisy doing? And I mean how is she really doing. None of that vague 'she's alive' crap. I may be only thirteen years old, but I am not a child. Or stupid, either."

Much to my surprise, Agent Coulson laughs. "I gathered that much." He says. Then a solemn look crosses his face. "To answer your question, Daisy's...well, all I can really say is that she's alive. Whether she'll be okay in the long run, I don't really know. All I know is that Dr. Simmons had to put her in a medically induced coma to allow her body to heal. I don't know for how long she'll be like that."

My mouth goes dry at the news. All I can think is, Daisy's in a coma? I take another bit of my sandwich, and another swallow of my hot chocolate before I finally say, "Thank you, sir, for telling me."

"You had the right to know what was happening." Agent Coulson says. "And your welcome."

"So, please, Abby." He says gently. "Take me through what happened."

"Oh boy," I say, setting the mug to the side. "That's a really long story, sir. Where do I even start?"

"Just take your time." He says in a fatherly voice. "You're safe now, and we have all the time in the world."

I take a deep breath, and take a sip from the hot chocolate. It warms me to the bones, and as crazy as it sounds, it gives me a little courage. I take deep breath, and begin my story.

"It all started back at my foster house."

-Daisy-

An annoying British voice wakes me up.

It's a voice I've heard many times, and one that I've attributed with the closest thing I'll ever have to family. But right now, all I want to do is sleep, but that voice keeps insisting that I wake up.

"Daisy..." It says. "Daisy..."

But when I wake up, only one of my eyes opens. My vision is still a little blurry, but it clears only in a few moments. When it does, I see Jemma, wearing scrubs, her hand on my shoulder. I take a brief look around, an notice that I'm in a makeshift hospital room.

I must be back in the Playground.

"Good." Jemma's gently accented voice says. "I was beginning to fret. You gave us all a rather big scare..." she sighs, "again."

I open my mouth, which is entirely dry, and croak, "What-" before breaking out into a coughing fit.

Jemma holds a cup of water with a straw to my lips. "Drink, slowly." She says. "Take little sips."

I close my lips around the straw, and take small, slow sips. It takes everything I have not to gulp down the entire glass. When I can't drink anymore, I spit out the straw.

"Where's" I had to pause to take a breath, "Abby?" Jemma sets the cup aside, and folds her hands together. "She's alright." Jemma says. "She sustained a few cuts and bruises, but she's fine. She's playing video games with Mack right now. She'll be disappointed that she missed you waking up, but I thought it would be better you not be over-stimulated after coming off the meds."

Jemma gives a long sigh. "Honestly, Daisy..." She starts, "You should be more worried about yourself. I really thought we were going to lose you this time."

I gulp, afraid to hear what she's about to say.

Jemma explains my wounds to me. A shattered right arm, a GSW to my left bicep, right calf, and one to my side, which ruptured my appendix. I also had a fractured left orbital socket, which was why my eye wouldn't open. It was swollen shut. Bruised ribs and jawbone and burns finished my mosaic of injuries. Then Jemma says something that surprises me.

I force me head to turn, and low and behold, my left arm is casted from my fingers to my bicep. I try to move my fingertips, but the slight movement causes pain to soar through my body like a rocket. The feeling nearly causes me to throw up.

"What happened to me?" I croak.

"Daisy-"

"What did I do?"

Jemma looks at me sadly, and sighs, knowing that I wouldn't drop this until I got an answer. "You quaked the ground with all your might," she says, "causing your radius and ulna to break in several places. You didn't stop quaking in order to incapacitate the Watch Dogs that were chasing you and Abby. Not that bad of an idea, but one with major consequences as well. The second blast caused the bones in your upper and lower arm to nearly shatter, and the fragments had lodged themselves in the tendons and ligaments in your arm. We were able to get most of them out, but...the damage has been done. Even with reconstructive surgery, I'm not sure that you'll be able to regain full use of your arm."

Fear begins to form in my heart as what she's just told me begins to sink in. I feel tears start to form in my eyes, and barely hear Jemma say "I'm sorry, Daisy."

"I don't care." I say, but really, the tears in my eyes betray me. I feel as if a part of me has been lost, even though I am still physically whole. But I also know that I would gladly do what I did again in a heartbeat, if it meant saving a life. But when I stare at my casted arm, at the bruised fingers that poke out from the plaster, a part of me wishes that it didn't have to end like this.

Jemma's hand wraps around my injured fingers, and I try to "I can't gurantee that I'll get you back to 100%," she says, "but I'm going to do everything I can to try."

Later that same day, when I was feeling a little more alert, Abby comes in to visit me. She actually runs into my room. I bet she would've jumped onto the bed next to me if I weren't so beat up.

"Hey, Kid." I say, and try to crack a smile for her. All it really does is cause my face to contort in pain. Nevertheless, Abby smiles brightly when she sees me. "How're you feeling?" She asks.

"Like I just got runner by a train." I say, trying to make the mood a little lighter. Abby's smile immediately falls, and I curse myself for trying to joke about my injuries so soon after the fact.

"They told me that I could stay here," Abby starts, staring at her sneakers, "until I learned control...and until they could smooth things over with my foster family." She looks back up at me and shrugs her shoulders. " I don't think that's going to work, though." She says.

"Why not?" I ask, confused, though I have a vague idea of why things might not work out with her former forever-family.

"I just don't think that this-" Abby lights a small flam on the tip of her finger, "is something they could get used to."

I sigh, disappointed at the reality of her statement. The world has changed so much in the past few years, and most of it the world still wasn't ready to accept. Inhumans were real, with real powers and abilities, and many people feared them. "Well..." I start, trying to think of something to say. "Your family would be crazy to not want you back." I finally say. "You're a pretty incredible kid. And hey, you'll probably always have a place here with us if they can't find anyplace else for you."

Abby's eyes light up. "You really mean that?" She asks.

"Trust me." I force a grin, no matter how much it hurts my face. "If I ask them enough, they're bound to give in eventually. If there's anything that I am, it's stubborn."

Abby huffs, crossing her arms. "You got that right!"

The next morning, the new director of SHIELD, Director Mace, visits me in my hospital room. Coulson had dropped by and told me about him last night, after Abby had left. Mace looks like the carbon copy of a boyscout all grown up. He has a muscular build, hidden poorly under his slightly too-tight suite. He sits down in the chair beside my left so that I can see him with my good eye. Before he can get a single word in, I say "Let Abby stay here."

His mouth opens and shuts like a fish out of water. When he regains his bearings, he says "We're currently in the process of contacting her foster family-"

"What do you think's gonna happen?" I huff, frustrated already.

"It's come to our attention that they may have contacted the Watch Dogs about her...transformation." Mace says carefully. "What their motives might have been, if they did in fact do such a thing, is still unknown."

"Regardless, she can't go back into the system." I say. "She dodged a bullet this time, but if another family finds out what she can do, there's no telling what could happen." I'm getting riled up, and I can hear my heart monitor begin to pick up. When I turn my head to look directly at Mace, the pain almost causes me to gasp. "She has to stay where she's safe," I grunt, "and that sure as hell isn't in the system!"

Mace just stares at me, studying me. All I can guess is that he's trying to guess my true motives. "No, of course not." He finally says slowly. "She doensn't even know how to use her powers, let alone control them. So for now, she's staying here, where she's safe, and where the public is safe from her should she ever lose control." He says it like it was a decision that was already made, but I can tell he was being to my iron-will. I guess he didn't want me hurting myself further trying to argue about it.

I force myself to nod. "Good." I say.

Mace gives me a wry smile. "As for you," he continues, "well, Agent Simmons has filled me in on your condition. I'm sure you're well aware that you'll be out of the limelight for quite some time."

"Yeah."

"Well, once you're all recovered, we can talk about your reinstatement into the agency."

It takes all of my self-control not to body up in surprise. "Wait, what?!" I ask. Reinstatement? Was this guy for real? Just what was he trying to do, get his ass kicked out of his Director's position? "With all due respect, Mace, you do not want a known vigilante working for your agency."

Mace crosses his arms. "That's my one condition. Abby can stay here, so long as you stay here, where I can keep an eye on you. You've been running around causing all sorts of trouble, and giving the few Inhumans who are out working for this agency a less that desirable name. If I make you an agent again, we can undo some of that damage if we say it was in the name of SHIELD. Plus, if you're an agent, you can officially take charge of the kid's training, without us having to hide the both of you from other agencies looking for rogue Inhumans. You work for us, we protect the kid. So, Agent Johnson, do we have a deal?"

I consider my options, which aren't that many, and finally nod my head.

"Deal."

To Be Continued...

Author's Note: We're just ONE MORE CHAPTER away from the end! WHOHOO!...for me, at least, since this is my first multi-chapter fanfic. This chapter took a while to complete, as it was my longest my far. I wanted to get all the details just right, to make sure the story flowed well. I never want to put out something if it doesn't sound (or read) right.

See you in two weeks!

-thrillerartist