I do not own Marvel. I only own my OC's

Chapter 3: Surprises are the Worst

Recap

Ghost frowned. "From what I gathered, SHIELD has already been aware that we've been protecting these streets for years, hardly drawing any attention to ourselves. So now, pray tell, after we had risked our lives helping Spider-Man with a notorious menace, something we were probably made to do, why do you and SHIELD have such a problem with it?! Why intervene now?!"

Hazel eyes narrowed. "Because after your little 'play-date' with Venom, SHIELD has finally been made aware of the dangers of the bone-headed occupation you chose for yourselves. And they would love for you to stop while your real identity -or should I say identities- are still not known to the public…" she stood, standing at an average height of 5'7''. Though the way she spoke, one would think she'd be taller. "I'm here, because you two made an 'oopsie' and I need to persuade you to find a more suitable occupation before you make anymore 'oopsies'…" she condescended as she walked over onto the right side of the bed, looming over my prone figure. And while she may not have had violent intent, Ghost wrapped around me protectively, hissing softly as the older woman scowled down at us. "I'm here to reinstate you back into SHIELD's ranks"

"And if we refuse?"

The hazel-eyed harpy scoffed. "What makes you think you have that choice?" and with a parting sneer, she then left. Both me and Ghost sighed in pure relief as the door clicked shut, the symbiote massaging my temples as I twirled a few locks worth of hair between my index and middle fingers, all too happy that I had auburn hair and brown eyes, both of which were not from that horrid woman.

All too happy that absolutely nothing of my genetic make-up was from her.

"Whatever you say, 'Mother'"

We sat there, eyes glued on the paneled ceiling above us, the occasional twitch of the finger or blinking of the eyelids our only movement. It really shouldn't have taken much thought, especially since we usually would ignore any discouragement from unwelcomed sources and go about our daily agenda of keeping innocents safe, of keeping a whole city safe. Sure our efforts were frowned upon, or overlooked, and often taken for granted…but a little 'bad' reputation -that mostly wasn't even ours- would certainly pave the way for a better one as long as we kept at the good deeds. Right?

Okay, maybe not. Society was a fickle and fragile thing, and the government (and by default, SHIELD) was there to nurse it, 'comfort' (brainwash) it, cater to its every whim. And sadly enough, we were aware that our very existence was but a piece, a pawn in a much larger game. Like chess, but more screwy and convoluted. We perhaps knew that SHIELD, after granting us 'freedom' at the tender age of fifteen (to clarify, yes we were home alone, but in exchange for our weekly reports, SHIELD would send a hefty pay check to take care of bills) very much intended for us to reestablish contact with them once we were done with high-school, expecting us to happily come running to them like an eager dog coming back with a stick they had thrown, assuming that their little groomed mutt would want to keep playing fetch…because from what we had recently gathered, they knew what our hours after high-school were like, they knew that we were honing our skills in protecting people and defusing disorder. Hell, they very likely knew that we would help out Spider-Man every chance we got.

Yet they didn't intervene until we got involved with a supposed real threat.

And that's what displeased them.

As we sat there pondering, the answer became clearer and clearer:

They knew what we did in the past, up until the very present, and they damn well condoned it.

Why? Because they approved, that's what. They approved of us mingling with whatever hero we could (i.e. one), making a name for ourselves as both the civilian and criminal population judged us. They were so confident in having us gain a reputation as a well-known vigilante in our youth (er, younger youth), we'd eventually turn to them for a more legitimate step in our anti-crime career once we became an 'adult'.

And what better way to do that, than to become an Avenger?

Our combined minds churned with the pleasure of the notion that we had denied them in such a subtle way all those years ago, our inner rebel broiling with satisfaction as we remembered our first day of college.

"That must have really irked them…"Ghost chuckled, "or should I say 'her'"

I snorted, "Most mothers would be proud that their child went to college..."

"Excluding the simple fact that she's not really our –you're mother…"

"So true"I sighed, my reddish-brown orbs bored into the ceiling with no other purpose but to burn a hole into it, such a shame that my normal human gaze couldn't do such a thing.

I was no Scott Summers.

"Is it weird that I almost feel bad for Nick?"

"How so?"

"He's probably been monitoring our progress from our very birth, so sure that we'd turn out as the next Captain America, or something of the like…" a lock of hair fell into my face, I grimaced as I blew the little bugger off "all these years of training us, of grooming us, and we just throw a monkey wrench into their well-oiled plans…into his well-oiled plans"

The ghostly-white serpentine blob that was my friend coiled back around to face me, his equally white eyes studying me with what can only be best described as irritation. "Even if we didn't join the Avengers all those years ago, as they had so badly wanted, we still have been fulfilling a purpose close to that…" the adorable little Klyntar blob gurgled sharply "We –you shouldn't feel sorry for wanting to live your own life"

He couldn't be more right.

Though with the strong sense of agreement I sent through our bond, I'm sure he also felt my hesitation. "I would really love to bust out of here, beat some ass and flip some birds, and continue living this life as you have so kindly put it, but…"

"But, what?"

"Would running away from SHIELD really be such a wise idea? I don't want to be in the middle of beating some thug's ass or working on a painting before I'm rudely interrupted by a small army of their Agents, or perhaps get a visit from the FBI or CIA"

Flashes of Ghost's thought processes went through my own conscious mind. His bravado shrinking in size, inwardly and outwardly as his little amorphous form seemed to deflate. "That wouldn't be very nice of them…"

"You don't get to be the top-dog of secret national security programs by being nice, sorry honeybunch"

I got a grumble as a response (somewhere along the lines of: 'don't call me honeybunch'), the little white Klyntar retreating to my shoulder to brood some more before snaking back around. "What do you suggest we do then?"

Then, it was my turn to grumble.

We stood before the office door, pride largely dwindled but we made up for it as we waited in a sharp outfit that Ghost had kindly formed to make us look more professional. It consisted of a white 'satin' button-up shirt and pencil skirt. Complete with three-inch heels of matching color. Because six-inch would surely kill us, we were not desperate enough to look that tall. Our (my) auburn tresses (that was just a tad darker than regular auburn) coming down in all their long, wavy glory because we didn't have the slightest clue what the hair standards were amongst Agents. That and we didn't care enough to know. It's not as if we went to see Nick Fury himself, because he was currently not in the building, so we made due with visiting one of the offices of a moderately ranked Agent. Who, like Coulson and a small handful of other people within the confines, we were good friends with. Though they were a little stern, they were not as condescending and oppressive as Bitch-Face McGee (I'm confident you all know who I'm referring to there). In fact, she didn't appear to acknowledge any flaws with our appearance. Instead, she just waved us on in, her face one of practiced neutrality.

"Claire Somers" dark-brown, almost black eyes scanned our little 'name-tag'.

"Yes ma'am" we sat down in the godly-comfort that was the plush green arm-chair, biting back a groan as we adjusted. So…comfy…must…not…

Claire…?

Hmmm...?

Eye contact?

Blushing like a mad fiend, I locked our eyes onto the older woman. She looked to be showing some amusement, but was otherwise stone-faced. "It's been awhile, how have you been?"

Goodbye professional inquiry, hello casual chatter.

"We've been faring well Agent Jones. Have you watched the news lately?"

The faintest trace of a smirk graced the tanned woman's features. "Considering my occupation, not an hour passes when my face isn't glued to a media device"

Ghost manifested himself atop my shoulder, little marshmallow body snuggling comfortably against the crook of my neck. If it were anyone else seated across from us, he would have poised himself as a rigid snake. "So you know we turned out to be much more than mere artists"

"Ass-kicking is an art form, Ms. Somers…" dark eyes were on the verge of laughing "an art-form you're going to have to hone some more if you want to take on the likes of Venom"

I opened my mouth-

"Without help"

-and promptly shut it, flustered, Ghost giggling like a little girl whereas I mentally told him to shove it.

Waiting for the blood in my body to resume normal circulation, I began to speak, carefully picking out the words (or rather word) to avoid further embarrassment. "…Mel…" said woman peered earnestly into my nervous gaze. Knowing that I only addressed her by her nickname when I wanted to have my walls crumble a little. "I –we know why you brought us here, and it's not to have us enlisted as an Agent like Dr. Mitchell has so kindly shared with us…"

"Took you that long huh?"

Both me and Ghost blushed (FWI, Klyntars can blush, little buggers just borrow blood) as we had a vague recollection of Fury's little speech all those years ago. "We were daydreaming of chocolate…"

"I recall you guys receiving your phenylethylamine dose before that"

We both gave her a blank stare. "Those cannot compare to chocolate and you know it" I spoke (a tad too dramatically) on both our behalf. Exhaling, I resumed on a more serious note, "Fury wants us to join the Avengers. And, to be quite frank, we don't feel ready for such a responsibility"

We received no scolding, no roll of the eyes, no condescending leer. Not even a look of pity, we got an honest-to-God look of total empathy. Not sympathy, empathy. "I'm not going to shovel that whole 'you were made for this' crap onto you, because in truth Claire; you weren't made, you were born…" black-coffee eyes warmed exponentially as they landed on Ghost "same goes with you little marshmallow" and then shot up to greet my lighter-shade of browns "And you damn well have a choice, although it may come with its own set of draw-backs, it's still there for you to take"

Although it was what we both wanted to hear, and act on, it still did not sway us from why we were really in her office. Our minds made up before we even walked into the cubicle.

Damn it Mel that was such a good speech…

She should be the Director of SHIELD

Right?!

We both sighed out loud. "Thanks Mel, it was a good speech and all-"

"But you came here because you wanted to be reinstated into SHIELD…" she gave her own little exasperated sigh "…if so, then I am to brief you on your initiation, or re-initiation, and procure to you a suit and tag…". Dark eyes gave us a once over, "…though, I think I'll just do one of those"

We just shrugged as slender fingers deftly typed away on the keyboard whilst handing us a crisp green folder.

It was an escort mission. And not just any ordinary escort mission, because it wouldn't have been interesting if it were ordinary, nope, ordinary would have applied to a human being of political or military significance. And surprise-surprise, we were escorting someone (that could have easily been mistaken as a 'something') that was the latter…just minus the 'human being' bit. Though 'he' was merely but an amorphous black goop, 'he' indubitably had a high military value and it would have made more sense to bring him to the nearest installation, but that was trumped greatly by the aim of scientific study and so it was decided that containment within some nameless facility in the wilderness of the lovely state of New York was the better option. And thus, we were in the wilds with just a single truck that was outfitted to look as least conspicuous as possible, with but four men (one of them the driver) and one woman (guess who) guarding a cylindrical container that preserved and displayed the agitated swirling mass that was Venom through bullet-proof plexi-glass.

And guess who got to hold the container?

Hard to believe this little guy was so close to tearing us a new one nearly twenty-four hours ago

This 'little guy' is formidable, we should take care not to let our guard down, Ghost extended out from my shoulder, careful to still keep my shoulder concealed with the 'blouse', his pale serpentine form thankfully not drawing much of a panicked reaction from the men sitting across from us. If anything, they were more in awe of my little Klyntar.

"So uh…" a young guy that looked to be around our age (maybe even younger) and was clearly a rookie began with an anxious gulp "…you're the White Rabbit?"

"Brilliant deduction" Ghost jeered, so I flicked him.

"Be nice"

"You ask too much of me, woman"

He was in one of those moods. With a huff, I glanced between the three men that shared our space, all of which were reining in their smirks. "Any of you guys have chocolate? Makes him more cooperative"

The rookie was the first to procure a Hershey's bar, and because he was smart, handed over the whole thing, which then only lasted a whole four seconds before the wrapper shot out of Ghost's unmerciful maw and right onto the floor.

"Okay, kid, ask away" I grinned at his pale expression.

"…I uh, just wanted to ask...how long have you been in SHIELD?"

"I-"

"We"

"We been in since birth kiddo, our only reprieve was when we entered high-school"

"So, you became the White Rabbit after you quit?"

The man situated to the left of the rookie, that we have seen only glimpses of over the course of our childhood with his grey-streaked blonde hair and cool grey eyes, kindly added "Not so much quitting, as it is taking a vacation"

"An eight year vacation" another man, who was new to us but was not a rookie, muttered from the right of his younger comrade.

Me and Ghost both grinned at that, likely sending a chill down the spines of at least one of the men. "Hey now, you say that like we just lounged around, when in truth-"

"You were keeping the city safe…" the rookie piped up, but with every following word, his volume lowered, "…same as Spider-Man…" his bashfulness seemingly revealing his true age as his eyes darted to his gun, his hands nervously fidgeting with the weapon, which then elicited anxious glares from his two buddies, whom were clearly not amused with how he handled his firearm. The eldest man, who we remembered as Mason Burns gently prying the 9 mm from the antsy guard with a sigh, his large hands showing more skillful handling than the rookie as he placed it in some secret holster that integrated quite well into his uniform, funnily enough, the rookie did not argue as he just set his focus back on us. "What I was trying to get at was, well, I just didn't expect to meet you…I always thought you were more of a lone wolf" he scratched the back of his head "I never anticipated getting to actually work with the White Rabbit when I enlisted. This all seems like one whacked out dream-". The poor kid jumped perhaps a solid good inch off his seat, yelping with such intensity it made Ghost and Venom squirm. The culprit smirking as he withdrew his hand, the pinching motion of it making it quite evident what he did. 'Marx' from what we read on his name-tag, was fairly satisfied with himself.

"Still think you're dreaming?"

"Damn it Ryan, you didn't need to pinch me man!"

It was there that we realized that the rookie also had 'Marx' on his name-tag.

Awww they're brothers

Is that jealousy I hear?

No…

It clearly was, but I didn't pry, instead clearing my throat to get the rookie's attention. "You sounded like you were about to go on a fan-boy monologue"

"That's why I pinched him"

"Shut up Ryan"

"Love you Wyatt"

Ghost took that as his time to speak up, but not before licking away the remaining chocolate on his lips. "Hmmm, you're not afraid of us…"

"Huh?"

The white Klyntar slowly inched forward, stopping only when the young man seated across from us looked like he was going to pee his pants. Venom stirred within the container, very calm, as if interested in where this was going. "There are but a handful of people we know that have treated us like civil beings…everyone else sees us as monsters"

"I don't think you guys are monsters. And neither do my siblings"

Siblings?

"We actually hold you on the same pedestal as Spider-Man, even if you are just a vigilante" Ryan Marx shrugged, playfully flicking the younger Marx in the ear, something that made Burns scowl as the older man grumbled "boys" under his breath.

"Well, you guys have certainly surprised us…most people try their damndest to get away from us let alone bother to start conversation"

"That they shouldn't even bother do if they don't give us chocolate"

"If they don't give you chocolate, Ghost"

There was some shifting from the front of the vehicle, the little panel that covered the opening in the divider between us and the driver sliding to reveal the right side of a man's face. "How's everybody back there?"

"NEED AIR-" my hand flew to Ghost's toothy maw; effectively shutting it, but not before the little white turd nipped my hand.

"We're all good, thank you"

The driver nodded "And the package?". We looked over the container even though its condition hadn't changed at all within the last four or so hours we've been on the road, Venom wriggling like Jell-O as I examined him for any damage.

"He's just peachy"

With a nod, the burly man closed the panel, leaving us in dim lighting once more. We sat in silence in that dim lighting for ten minutes, the only noise coming from Venom's containment unit as it would spray him with vital gases and the little blob would slosh around, relishing in the misty vapor (or perhaps he was just anxious?). That was until the younger Marx sibling took it upon himself to resume chatter, again. "Why 'White Rabbit'?" baby-blues studied us thoughtfully as I slowly removed my hand from Ghost's mouth, the pale symbiote thankfully behaving himself, "Is it a reference to Alice In Wonderland?". At this, even Burns and the other Marx sibling leaned in, intrigued.

"No, sorry…" I absentmindedly started patting Ghost's little blobby head "Our name instead refers to what an actual white rabbit symbolizes"

"Rebirth" Burns supplied, not missing a beat. These fellas catch on quick…

"It's also in tribute to a childhood friend we had…" Ghost trailed off, unsure whether to continue or not as he shot me a nervous glance. I nodded, seeing as how it was too late to hold back.

"He would often call us -or rather me- 'little bunny' or 'rabbit' because, well, that's what we reminded him of"

Ryan cocked a questioning eyebrow. Same with the other two as they had no doubt caught onto the other slip up.

"You 'had' a childhood friend?" they all asked in unison, two pairs of blue eyes and a single grey one boring into us inquisitively. And we would have been glad to answer them, if it weren't for the squeal of tires interrupting us, our bodies lurching to the front of the vehicle –this all making Ghost retreat back inside, protectively wrapping the container in fear of it becoming a projectile. As the large van finally came to a halt, we all looked at one another in dumb-founded silence as we heard car doors slamming (including the driver's door of our van), shouting, and rushed footfalls come from outside, Mason Burns being the first one out of his seat as he grumbled "what the actual hell", the grizzled man stomping toward the back-doors of the armored van.

In but a short span of time, six things happened almost all at once:

The doors opening before Mason could even reach for them, the bullets ripping through any parts of Mason that weren't protected by his armor (such as the legs, not the head, thank God), knocking the big man backwards, Ghost shielding me and the Marx brothers, Ghost shrieking as high-frequencies entered, and then reverberated off the walls of the van. The panicked shouts of the Marx brothers as they returned fire from behind a damaged Ghost (Wyatt proving that he had more than one gun on him), the two slumping to the ground after they were then nailed by tranquilizers.

With a pained growl, we spun around to defend the only being we still could, our back erupting into a flurry of symbiotic appendages that broke off into vicious claws at each and every end.

Everything hurt, and we really did not want any blood (or any more blood) on our hands, but our self-control was steadily slipping along with our consciousness. So with an enraged snarl, we grasped the container and the incapacitated bodies that were our newfound pals as if they were precious treasures, ripping through the ceiling of the van as our clawed appendages then took on the form of wings. As soon as we were in the air, we released a barrage of wing-javelins at our attackers. There were grunts and groans, but the infuriating noise would not relent. Desperate, we tried to fly away, 'fight' giving into 'flight' (literally). We just barely made it over the tree line, only to crash through the trees and into the ground in a pitiful heap as Ghost gave that final screech and succumbed to the noise, taking me with him.

We awoke with a start, wailing and thrashing, only to go limp when we acknowledged the frequencies pulsing on every side of us. And if that didn't do the trick in restraining us, heat-emitting braces around our ankles, waist, and wrists sure did.

Claire…so…weak…can't…

Don't push yourself…please…

Our…vibes…not…work…

Ghost…please, rest

Okay

I felt Ghost sliver from my cerebral cortex, down my spine, and ultimately situate himself between my stomach and liver. Knowing that he was safe and was going to recover, my thoughts then went to another Klyntar as well as the three men that we had so easily befriended, taking deep breaths as I assured myself that they weren't dead, though one of them was badly injured and dying.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my assuring thoughts quickly morphing into morbid ones.

Stop, just stop…deep breaths…they're alive...they just were captured, Venom too, they're all nearby. I just need to free myself, find them…save…-

I yelped upon feeling the frequencies intensify, same with the heat emitting from the restraints. Whoever was monitoring me seemed to not have a rhyme or reason behind doing so as the pain would fluctuate between bad, to worse, to nothing at all, then back to worse. It was pretty clear that the sicko behind the controls didn't care for my good, submissive whimpering. And they really didn't care for my more aggressive approach (throw obscenities, suggestions on what they could do to themselves, etc.), nope, they just went going about their little 'tests'. Which lasted for close to a minute before the sadistic monkey in a lab coat decided we had endured enough torture. The overhead lights above us flicking out consecutively, plunging us into much needed darkness. The braces and the fierce resonations finally dulled down, but did not go completely away, because apparently, we were just that threatening. Even as we were reduced to a shaking, sobbing, and distraught mess, we were still feared. The thought was both insulting…and flattering.

We may not be killers…but damn it, these guys are really pushing it

Everything hurts, Claire

I frowned, all the more reason why you should try to rest while you can

I tried; I can't…something's preventing me from doing so

Whoever was behind playing Dubstep with the controls is gone now, please, try to rest

I know they are, but they were only half the reason I couldn't relax

I knew Klyntars couldn't 'sleep' per se, but they did need to take some time to heal or perhaps be left to their own thoughts or need to ease emotional strain. All of that being what I'd refer to as 'rest'. And Ghost really loved to 'rest' every chance he got. What's…the other half…?

An unsettled feeling churned in my gut at Ghost's reluctance.

Claire…I'm going to split soon…

Insert dumbass moment here: What?

Claire…I'm going to give birth

Hell of a time to be captured huh? Yes, I may or may not have my evil moments, but it's one of the liberties of being a writer XD

I was almost tempted to NOT have the main character rejoin SHIELD, for obvious reasons, but the little plot bunnies in my head insisted that it would open the opportunity I needed for this story :)

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter, spread the love!