Chapter Two: One Foot Out the Door

Dad came back to the compound five days after Maggie's birthday.

He'd been spotted leaving the hospital in Moscow and by the time he boarded the jet to go home, paparazzi photos had already started circulating on social media. Twitter was abuzz with speculation about his injuries. Tony Stark, Iron Man, and #avengersbreakup all had their turns trending at number one before Hamilton reclaimed the throne.

That was how Maggie found out. Not from Happy or her father himself, from a freaking TMZ article. There were already a few reporters gathering at the front gates down the drive, waiting for his return. They were about seven hours too early, though, and he would take the back entrance anyway, so they were setting up all their equipment and stuff for nothing. Served them right. It was disgusting to Maggie that people found a man being released from the hospital newsworthy.

But the worst part, by far, was watching the clock count down the hours and minutes until he arrived—and with him, her inevitable punishment.

She could still see the anger, the betrayal, in his eyes, hear the rage in every syllable of her name—her full name—as he spoke. She had never seen him as furious as she had then, at the airport in Leipzig. The thought of facing that again made her stomach roll.

She was in her bedroom when he arrived, but she didn't come out to greet him. Maggie was… not avoiding him, necessarily, so much as she was waiting, though for what, she wasn't entirely sure.

The knock on her bedroom door came that night.

"Hey, Mags?"

Maggie's heart crawled into her throat as she slowly closed her laptop.

"I'm, uh, I'm back," he said through the door. There was something in his voice, a hesitation that didn't seem possible from someone like him. "No homecoming for your old man, huh?"

Maggie stayed silent. Even if she'd wanted to respond, she wasn't sure she could. Her tongue was heavy in her mouth, dry as sandpaper.

"Right, sorry, not exactly the best time for jokes, I get it," he said. He let out a sigh. "I know things are… not… great… right now, but I want you to know that I'm—I'm here for you if you want to talk about… any of it. I won't make you if you don't want to, obviously, because this is, you know, hard stuff, but I'm here if you do. Want to. Talk."

Her father was an expert in a lot of fields—science, math, engineering. Emotions had never been on that list. He usually left that up to Pepper when she was around. Not because he couldn't talk about emotions and stuff, because Maggie knew he could, it was just hard for him. But since Pepper left them, he'd had to take on all the touchy-feely heart-to-hearts himself.

"Uncle Rhodey's coming over from Columbia Medical in a couple days to try out some new legs," he told her, trying to sound more upbeat and positive. "I'm sure he'd love to see you." There was a beat of silence on the other side of the door before she heard him sigh again. "Hey, listen…"

Maggie waited, breath caught in her chest, for the other shoe to drop. Her hands found her necklace.

"I know things are… well, you know how they are. But I'm here, okay?" He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft. "I love you, bug. I hope you know that."

Maggie felt all the air leave her as his footsteps retreated down the hall.

Why hadn't he said anything about Germany? What was he waiting for? If he was going to yell at her, or maybe ground her for life, she wanted to get it over with. Why did he want to prolong it? Just to torture her even more?

With shaking hands, Maggie opened up her computer, her last page still open on the screen. Smiling faces stared back at her under a bright blue welcome banner for Midtown School of Science and Technology. She'd talked about it with Dad before the Accords, about enrolling in the fall and staying at the penthouse full time, but never seriously. There were so many what-ifs and circumstances that needed to be considered. It had never been a real possibility before, and Maggie had been fine with that.

But now…

She pulled up her email again, opening the most recent message.

"We look forward to seeing you in September, Miss Stark!"

Was she really going to do this? Could she do it?

Of course, you can, said the voice at the back of her head. There's nothing here for you anymore.

Maggie bit her lip. The voice was right. The compound had been shrinking around her since she got back, the walls drawing closer with every breath she took. Her little bedroom was more like the prison cell than her bedroom and every night she fell asleep terrified she would wake up on that slab of a bed while Ross laughed at her from the other side of the bars.


Even in the heat of summer, upstate New York was still beautiful. The trees beyond the guardrails blurred together in a mess of green and brown as they passed by. A cloudless bright blue sky framed the foliage from above, and the sun shone brightly outside the car.

Maggie pulled her gaze away from the scene beyond her window, turning forward in her seat. Regret bubbled up in her chest at the thought of trading all that greenery for the monochrome skyscrapers of the city. There was Central Park, sure, but it just wouldn't be the same as waking up to the sweet smell of the pine trees in the forest at the edge of the grounds.

Remember, Maggie told herself, you wanted this.

"What's the matter?"

Maggie shook herself out of her thoughts. "What?"

"What's wrong?" Happy repeated, stealing a glance at her. "You're making a face."

"No, I'm not," she said.

Happy gave her a look when the traffic allowed. "Yeah, you are. You're making that 'I'm pissed at myself' expression."

"I don't have an 'I'm pissed at myself' expression!"

"Tell that to your face, kid."

Maggie twisted against her seatbelt and stuck her tongue out at him. Happy just rolled his eyes.

Flopping back in her seat, Maggie let out an annoyed huff and said, "It's nothing, Uncle Happy."

He gave her his patented side-eye. "Doesn't seem like nothing."

"Not something you need to worry about." Maggie sent him a pointed look.

Happy shrugged. "Alright, fine. Be that way, little miss sourpuss."

Maggie scowled and crossed her arms over her chest. He hadn't called her that since she was a little kid, and she'd hated it then, too.

"Does Tony know you're going into the city by yourself?" Happy asked a few minutes later.

"Yes," she answered a little too quickly. Happy looked over at her and quirked an eyebrow in that annoying way he did when he could somehow tell she was lying. She tried to ignore him and his stupid eyebrow, but he wouldn't give in, and she relented, "Fine, he doesn't."

"So, what, you're keeping secrets now?"

"No! It's not a secret!"

"If it wasn't a secret, you would have told him," Happy pointed out.

"I don't have to tell Dad every single thing I do," Maggie shot back. Under her breath, she added, "He's got enough to deal with right now."

Happy's brows furrowed. "Is that what this is about? You know he'd choose you over all the Accords and political crap, no question."

"No, it's not about the Accords, either! It's—" Maggie threw her hands up and groaned. "It's complicated, you wouldn't understand," she said.

"Try me."

Maggie opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Happy gave her another glance, a certain amusement to his smirk. "See, here's what I think. I think something happened with you and Tony—aside from all the Avengers and Accords stuff—and you don't know how to deal, so you're running away to the penthouse so you don't have to deal."

"I am not running away," Maggie snapped, giving him a sharp glare.

"You're going into the city without telling your old man," said Happy. "Sounds like running away to me." The rumble of the engine filled the car in the silence that followed. Happy stole another glance at her as they traveled further down the highway, and his features softened. "I know you, Mags. You never do anything without a good reason."

Maggie bowed her head, looking down at her hands in her lap. She'd stopped wearing the bandages a few days earlier. Compared to her left palm, her right looked ugly in the sunlight—angry red and raw, the cut pulling at the skin around it as it continued to heal.

"I just—need to clear my head, that's all," she said finally, her voice small, quiet. "The last few weeks have been… a lot."

She heard Happy sigh. "I know, kid."

Neither of them spoke again until after they'd stopped for an early dinner in Fort Lee, just before crossing over from New Jersey into New York. Maggie listened to Happy rant about the shitty directions his car's navigation system gave him.

"Why the hell would we go through Jersey just to go back into New York? These directions make no freakin' sense—"

Maggie just laughed at him. For having spent so much time around a tech genius like her father, it was honestly some kind of strange miracle that Happy was still so technologically inept. But then again, he wouldn't really be Happy if he weren't.

As they were driving through the Bronx, Happy said suddenly, "By the way, happy birthday. Again. Check the center console, I forgot I got something for you."

Maggie looked at him in surprise. "You didn't have to get me anything!"

"'Course I did," he said. "Now, come on, open it up."

Heart fluttering in anticipation, Maggie lifted the cover of the center console and plunged her hand into the darkness. She came back up with a small, misshapen box that looked like it had been wrapped by a three-year-old. Laughing a little at the excessive amount of tape keeping it together, she ripped off the bright orange wrapping paper as best she could. Underneath she found a blue velvet jewelry box, and when she opened the lid, she gasped.

"It's beautiful," she breathed.

"You like it?"

Inside the jewelry box was an intricately carved silver charm in the shape of a violin, with a tiny bow resting across its strings. The whole thing couldn't have been much bigger than her thumbnail.

Happy peeked over at her. "Figured you could put it on your necklace?"

Maggie couldn't find the right words. She had so many pieces of expensive jewelry back at the compound and the penthouse—Parisian diamond bracelets, gold hoop earrings from Milan—but that little charm meant more to her than all of them combined. As carefully as she could, she unclasped the chain around her neck and fed the end through the small metal loop at the top of the violin. She let it slide down and helped it over the pieces of shrapnel that made up the middle of the chain until it settled at the bottom, safely nestled inside her Abuela's wedding ring.

Turning in her seat, Maggie smiled widely at him. "Thank you so much, Uncle Happy. I love it."

"No problem, kid," Happy replied, taking a hand off the steering wheel to ruffle her hair.

Maggie played with her necklace while they fought their way through rush-hour traffic on the Whitestone Bridge, watching how the light from outside caught the charm and ring; they made tiny rainbows every so often, when the sun hit the silver at just the right angle.

The sun hung low in the sky by the time they made it to Queens, leaving the high-rises and apartment buildings awash in yellow and orange and pink, but the city that never sleeps did not disappoint. Even with the windows up, Maggie could hear the cacophony of honking cars and distant train whistles. Street performers stood on every other corner, putting on a show for passersby. Art and graffiti in bold, popping colors dotted the sides of building after building.

Everyone was always in some kind of hurry in the city. It seemed like no one ever took a second to slow down and appreciate the things around them. Commuters and tourists alike pushed their way through the people around them on the congested sidewalks, rushing back home or off to see another landmark.

If someone really wanted to, they could probably step on the sidewalk and into the crowd and just—disappear. Vanish among the populace of New York City, never to be seen again.

After the Avengers moved upstate and the Tower was retired from use, the Starks started renting the penthouse of a grossly overpriced and expensive apartment building in Queens. Maggie and her father split their time fairly evenly between the penthouse, the compound, and the other half dozen homes they had scattered around the globe.

The building loomed tall and impressive above them as Happy drove around the block. Eyes climbing up as high as she could see out her window, Maggie watched the little people on the balconies outside of each room until she couldn't anymore, until Happy turned down the tunnel that led to the underground parking lot and the little people on the balconies disappeared from view. Happy flashed his red parking pass to the security guard on duty, pulled into a spot close to the elevators, and killed the engine.

He didn't say anything at first, just stared at the keys in his hand. The levity from before had been replaced by a strange tension that Maggie could feel in every nerve of her body, one that threatened to choke her from the inside out. She knew exactly what was coming. She couldn't ignore its inevitability now that they were at the penthouse, but she'd never wished she could more than that moment.

Happy sighed and turned in his seat.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" he told her.

Maggie nodded, but she couldn't meet his eyes. "Yeah, I know."

They lapsed into silence once more. Happy opened and closed his mouth a few times, like he'd figured out what he wanted to say before thinking better of it. For the longest time, they sat together in the car, waiting for the other to make the first move but neither willing to do it themselves.

It was Happy, in the end, who let out something that sounded like a mixture between a grunt and a sigh before pushing open his door and stepping out of the car. Maggie was a second behind him. She found him at the trunk, her suitcase in one hand and violin case in the other. They walked to the elevator bank together, and Happy jabbed his thumb at the button.

Bouncing on her tiptoes, Maggie watched the lights above the door frame blink on and off as the elevator descended to meet them. Her heart sped up in her chest, hammering against her ribs like a bass drum in a rock concert.

She spun abruptly. "Uncle Happy?"

He looked at her expectantly.

Anything she'd thought of saying faded into white noise in her head and she stood there like an idiot, mouth hanging open wide enough to catch flies.

Before she could stop herself, Maggie flung her arms around his middle and hugged him so fiercely Happy stumbled back a step. As he regained his balance, he let go of her suitcase and violin case and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close. Her eyes fluttered shut in his secure embrace.

"You're gonna be okay, kid," he told her with a confidence she wished she could have.

"How do you know that?" Maggie asked softly. Fear strangled her voice, muffled by his suit jacket, but she didn't hide it; she never needed to with Happy.

"I told you already—I know you," he said. When he pulled away, Maggie opened her eyes and looked at him, confusion playing across her face. "I know that you're Maggie Stark, and Maggie Stark is passionate and brave, and she's got a good head on her shoulders and the biggest heart of anyone I've ever met."

"But what if she's not?" Maggie asked. Her eyes searched his desperately. "What if everyone thinks she's brave, but really she's scared? She's scared a-and she doesn't know what to do, and she's worried that whatever she does do, it'll only make things worse?"

Happy considered this. "Well, I guess I'd tell her not to worry. Things have a funny way of working out the way they're supposed to, you know? But it's okay to be scared. You wouldn't be human if you weren't scared of stuff. And I know for a fact that Maggie Stark is as human as they come, in the best way possible."

Maggie just buried her face in his chest and hugged him even tighter.

"Thank you," she whispered, trying to put into those words everything she couldn't say.

"Anything for you, Mags," Happy replied.

She let go of him just as the elevator doors opened. With trembling hands, she grabbed her things and walked onto the lift, but she stuck her foot out before the doors could close.

"Hey, um—"

"Yeah?"

Maggie bit her lip.

"Can you just… make sure Dad doesn't do anything stupid while I'm gone?" she asked. "I'm—I'm worried about him."

Happy's expression softened. "Sure, I got him. You just clear your head, alright?"

Maggie shot him a small smile and nodded.

As the silver doors sealed shut and the elevator began to rise, she swore she saw Happy wipe at his eyes. She dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred. Happy didn't cry. That was a fact. He was a stone wall, unmoved, emotionless. He just… didn't cry.

The doors opened and Maggie stepped out into the extravagantly decorated lobby. A crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling, showering the expansive room in light and hundreds of tiny rainbows. Ornate marble columns lined the middle of the room, creating a path from the elevator to the front desk, past the sitting area full of lavish cushioned chairs, and out the revolving door.

That's where Maggie was headed. Tightening her grip on her bags, she power-walked through the lobby, gaze fixed on the floor in front of her until she had pushed through the doors and out onto the sidewalk.

After being cooped up in a quiet hospital room and the empty compound, the sheer volume of noise down on the streets of New York hit Maggie like a brick wall. Those low horns she'd heard during the drive blared in her ears as the cars sped through the intersection. The train whistles three blocks away were loud and shrill.

And the people. They kept their heads down, eyes glued to the screens of their smartphones until the moment they were crossing the street. Then as soon as they'd made it to the other side, they were back to watching cat videos or scrolling through social media.

Standing on the street corner, Maggie fished her phone out of her pocket and checked the address she'd been given. According to the map, she was only twenty minutes away—by car.

Her heart sank as she looked down at the suitcase and violin case in her hands; they felt a lot heavier than they had a moment before.

Starks sure as hell weren't quitters, though, especially not because of a little walking. With a choked breath of cigarette smoke and something sweet and salty, Maggie raised her head, gritted her teeth, and readjusted her grip on her things as she set off down Bowman Avenue.

Even as evening fell and brought along the promise of night, Queens was still thriving and full of life. Maggie passed families eating dinner at tables outside neighborhood restaurants, couples strolling hand in hand, friends giggling up a storm about the latest gossip and drama.

Wisteria Towers was the tallest building on the block, made of earthy red bricks and dark grey concrete. Inside, the lobby had a few scattered chairs and couches, a counter full of computers from the dinosaur age, and a water cooler stationed in the corner of the room. It was nice—not too fancy, not too plain.

It didn't take long to find the elevator. Maggie bit back a groan at the Out of Order sign taped onto the door. Of course it was out of order, why on earth would it actually be working?

Her eyes landed on the entrance to the stairs across the small hallway. Pulling out her hair one strand at a time sounded more fun than climbing up to the fifth floor, but Maggie shoved open the door to the stairwell anyway. She craned her neck to see the ceiling high above her, her eyes following the sharp swirl of the stairs.

Five flights.

Better start climbing, Mags.

Carrying a suitcase with wheels up the stairs was hard enough, but an unwieldy violin case made it damn near torture. It smacked the back of her leg every time she made it up to the next step, and Maggie was sure it would leave a nice bruise as a gift for her in the morning. It seemed like an eternity had passed by the time she reached the fifth floor, panting like a dog in the early summer heat.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, Maggie reached into the back pocket of her jean shorts for her phone to double check the apartment number; she would have been absolutely mortified if she knocked on the wrong door. She read it once, twice, three times, and looked up.

The hallway was like the rest of the building Maggie had seen so far—nice enough, but nothing special. The dark brown doors popped against the cream walls. From the entrance to the stairwell, the corridor continued in either direction, ending in a plain wall about thirty feet to the left and a sharp turn to the right. Maggie put one foot in front of the other and strode down the hall, eyes following the brass numbers on each door as they steadily increased.

Apartment 521 appeared in front of her before she'd even realized.

Before she could change her mind, Maggie knocked on the wood three times.

A second passed, and then another. Worry crept into Maggie's mind that she'd read the numbers wrong.

Just as she'd opened her phone to check again, the lock turned, the door swung open, and Maggie found herself face to face with an older woman. Mid-forties, maybe. She wore big, thick glasses, a blue tank top, shorts, and a pretty necklace. Her dark hair had been thrown up in a messy bun, but a few strands had fallen out, framing her thin face.

"Maggie?" she asked hopefully.

Maggie nodded.

The woman grinned widely as she opened the door all the way and ushered Maggie through. "I knew it. Come in, come in! We've been waiting for you!"

The apartment itself was rather small. A cramped kitchen waited just past the doorway. Black countertops rested on a set of light teal cabinets. A few dishes in the sink waited to be cleaned, various odds and ends like a coffee machine and a knife block lined the tiled wall. By the window, a small table set for four was nestled against a high-backed bench that jutted out from the wall and separated the kitchen from the rest of the apartment.

Beyond the bench was the den. Mountains of cardboard boxes stacked on top of one another made the room seem much more like a maze than a living room, though Maggie could just barely see a bookshelf if she stood on her tiptoes.

"Oh, yeah, sorry about the mess," the woman said, her eyes following Maggie's. "We're still unpacking a few things."

A few things seemed like an understatement, but Maggie wasn't going to be the one to point that out. "Did you guys just move?"

"Earlier this week," she answered. "My goodness, where are my manners?" She extended her hand. Maggie relinquished her death grip on the handle of her suitcase and shook it. "May Parker, so great to finally meet you! And these are my niece and nephew, Daisy and Peter."

Maggie finally noticed the other two bodies hidden among the mess of boxes and packing peanuts. A boy and a girl, strikingly similar, both taller than her. The boy had messy brown curls and wore an overly large sweatshirt, despite the weather. The girl's hair was slightly darker, pulled into a high ponytail that came to rest just below her shoulders. She wore a plain t-shirt and running shorts, both of which were covered in flecks of paint.

The boy, Peter, waved. Daisy just glared. Hand reaching to play with her necklace, Maggie gave them both a small smile.

"How was the trip?" Mrs. Parker asked. "Everything go okay?"

"Fine," Maggie said. She looked away from Peter and Daisy, but she could still feel the weight of their gazes. "It was fine."

"Do you want to call your parents and tell them you made it here safe?" she asked. "I'm sure they're probably worried—"

"I already called them," Maggie cut her off. She tried to ignore the twinge of guilt at lying when Mrs. Parker had been so nice to her already. "On the way here."

Mrs. Parker nodded. "Well, I'm sure you must be exhausted. Peter, why don't you show Maggie to the guest room so she can drop off her bags and get settled?"

"Sure, May."

Peter led Maggie to the narrow hallway just inside the entrance. There were two doors on either side.

"This is me and Daisy's room," he told her, pointing to the door closest to the front door. He pointed to the other doors, going counterclockwise. "That's May's room, then the bathroom, and then the guest room. Which I guess is your room now, huh?"

Maggie followed him further down the hall. Peter pushed open the door to the guest room and stepped back for her to look inside.

The room was small—smaller than any room Maggie had ever had—and sparse. The walls held nothing except for a single open window, no pictures or decorations or even a mirror. A queen-size bed with light blue sheets took up most of the floor space. On the right side, at the head of the bed, was a small wooden nightstand with three drawers and a black digital clock. Against the other wall stood a sizable wardrobe, made from the same wood as the nightstand and bed frame.

Maggie left her things by the door to investigate further. The wardrobe and nightstand were empty. The clock showed the wrong time, but that was a simple fix. Maggie turned in a slow circle in the middle of the room.

"It's not much right now," Peter said as he leaned against the doorframe. "We still have some stuff to unpack from our old apartment, haven't quite gotten around to anything from the other guest room yet. And you'll be here for the school year, right? So you'll probably be able to decorate it if you want, but don't quote me on that." He was quiet for a moment, watching her take everything in. A bit hesitant, he asked, "So… what do you think?"

Maggie looked at him and nodded once. "It'll do."

Peter raised an eyebrow.

It took Maggie a second before the realization hit. "Oh, no, I-I just mean—it's fine, really. I appreciate even having the room."

Maggie tried not to cringe at herself. God, she probably seemed like such a bitch. Hell of a great first impression. If Peter didn't hate her already for invading their home, he probably did now.

To her surprise, he just chuckled.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I know it's probably not as big as you're used to."

Maggie felt her eyes go wide, her heart stuttering in her chest. "W-What do you mean?"

Did he know? No, he couldn't. Could he? Maggie ran through everything she'd said so far that night, trying to figure out if she'd given herself away without realizing. That would be some Stark luck if she'd accidentally revealed her "secret identity" on the first freaking night she was supposed to be undercover. Not to mention Natasha would be so disappointed in her. All those lessons on espionage wasted by her big mouth.

Maybe he'd seen photographs of her and was able to connect the dots? But she ruled that out as well. She hadn't been around any paparazzi in a long time, and she and Dad hadn't done any photoshoots as of late. The most recent pictures of her that the public had seen had to be from a few years ago at least.

"Just that New York's not exactly California," Peter responded. His voice was steady, calm, but a strange pink dusted his cheeks. Was he… embarrassed? "Why? What did you think I meant?"

Maggie opened her mouth, scrambling to find an answer, but she was saved when they heard voices coming from the den.

"—why she has to stay with us! Why couldn't someone else from Midtown take her?"

"Because they asked us, Daisy, I thought you said you were okay with this!"

"No, I didn't! I told you I didn't want some stranger coming in and taking what should be my room, but you wouldn't listen to me! You never listen to me!"

Maggie and Peter exchanged a glance. Peter looked torn between being mortified and apologetic.

"Daisy, honey, keep your voice down," Mrs. Parker pleaded.

"Why, so the stranger won't hear?" Daisy shot back. Maggie swore she got even louder just so she could hear. "I hope she does. I hope she knows she's not welcome here!"

Mrs. Parker's tone became sharp, stern like a mother. "Juliette Parker, that is enough. Room, now. I don't want to hear another word from you tonight."

"Ben would listen to me!" Daisy yelled even as her voice wavered.

A pause. The apartment fell into a harsh quiet, punctuated by angry footsteps retreating from the den into the kitchen.

Down the hall, a door slammed shut.

Deafening silence followed, the air thick with tension Maggie could feel from the other room. She looked at Peter, who had gone very still. Jaw set, eyes hard, Maggie couldn't tell if he was angry at his sister or what she'd said.

He seemed to realize she was watching him. He shot her a tight-lipped smile, but she didn't miss the way his hand curled into a fist at his side.

Obviously, something had happened to the Ben Daisy mentioned. Something… not good. But who was he? A brother, maybe? A cousin? She'd noticed Mrs. Parker wearing a wedding ring earlier. Maybe Ben was her son. It was none of Maggie's business, though, and she kept her mouth firmly shut.

When Mrs. Parker came into the room a few moments later, Maggie could tell she was trying (and not entirely succeeding) really hard not to cry. Her eyes weren't red, but her voice was strained. "How's the room?"

"It's—It's great, Mrs. Parker," Maggie assured her.

"Oh, call me May, please. Mrs. Parker makes me feel old," she said with a wet laugh. "Uh, bathroom's next door if you want to get ready for bed. I know it's early but I think we could all use some sleep. That means you, too, young man." She shot Peter a pointed look, her hands resting on her hips. Jokingly rolling his eyes, he wished the two of them goodnight before traipsing out of the room. May watched him go, worrying her lip between her teeth as she turned back to Maggie.

"I'm sure you heard everything," she said.

Humming in agreement, Maggie ducked her head. It would be hard to pretend she hadn't heard.

"I'm sorry about Daisy, she's—we've all been through… a lot," May explained. "I just want you to know, Maggie—" She took a deep breath. "We really are so happy to have you. And I don't ever want you thinking that you're not welcome here because you are, I promise."

Maggie's throat tightened as she looked up at her, and all she could do was nod mutely. May had known her hardly a day and already she'd shown her more kindness than most people were capable of possessing.

She didn't have to let Maggie stay with them, especially if Daisy didn't want her there. She could have easily called Mr. Morita, the principal at Midtown Science and Technology, let Maggie stay the night, and then kicked her out the next morning to be someone else's problem. Hell, Maggie wouldn't have blamed her. She knew she wouldn't have taken too kindly to someone invading her life if things were the other way around.

It was what anyone else would have done. But May didn't seem to be like everyone else.

She gave Maggie a small, but infinitely warm, smile. "I'm right down the hall if you need anything."

The door closed behind her with a soft click.

Maggie looked around her new room again. The sounds of late evening Queens traffic floated through the open window with a sticky summer breeze.

So, this was home now.

However long now turned out to be.