It had started out a normal day. The sun had just peaked out over the horizon, slowly lighting up the world. It was a beautiful morning to sit outside with a cup of coffee, drinking slowly as you take in the quiet of the world for a little while. After all, New York wasn't quiet for long.

But alas, enjoying the time outside was not something the four young men were doing. No, they were training thoroughly, listening to the scenarios that the leader threw at them and responding as necessary, going over drills and usual stances. In the mind of a paranoid, anything could happen — ninjas attacking the city, someone infiltrating their base, etc. Anything could happen, and it was better to be overtrained and over-prepared than under.

The leader, Skipper, stood with his arms crossed over his chest. His striking blue eyes were focused on his teammates, a silence passing over the four of them. Silence was never the reaction to a drill being played out in front of him. There was always criticism, sometimes harsh, other times used as a way to compliment them. The three were used to that. But it was clear that, although Skipper's eyes were focused on them, his mind was in another place. It made John Kowalski nervous.

They all had been roommates for years, and friends for even longer. He knew this silence was not good — Skipper being stuck in his head for too long usually didn't lead to good things in the end. Too many bad memories to get stuck on and fall back to, and the last thing he wanted was for Skipper to have an episode.

"... Skipper?"

That seemed to bring the leader back to reality, his head shaking as a sigh pushed past his lips. "Okay, take it from the top. Three, two, one, and —"

A knock on the door made the word "go" die on his lips. The soldier rolled his eyes and growled softly. Who shows up here at eight in the morning? No one should be at their door unless it was possibly Marlene telling them to keep it down. But they hadn't been that loud this morning, so it couldn't be her…

Skipper grabbed the doorknob and ripped the door open violently, an ice-cold glare in his eyes as he stared at the man behind the door.

A man in a business suit stood on the other side, a clipboard in his hands. He wasn't fazed at all by Skipper's glare, instead, he was looking rather bored. "Hi. Is there a…" he looked down at the little board in his hands, humming softly to fill the silence before he found what he was looking for. "Ah. Thomas McCullock that lives here?"

Skipper raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms once more as he intensely stared at the man. "He might be, he might not be. Who's asking?"

The businessman ran his fingers through his hair, sighing as his hand landed on his breast pocket for a pen. "Child Protective Services."

The three men in the background gave each other a look, confusion etched into all of their faces. Skipper mirrored the reaction, eyebrows furrowed and nose slightly scrunched. "I'm Thomas McCullock. What does CPS want?"

"I'm here to inform you that your daughter —"

"I'm stopping you there." Skipper raised a hand to stop the businessman from continuing. "I think you have the wrong person. I do not have a child, but I do need you to leave. Immediately."

A blink was all he got in return, and then confusion worked its way onto the worker's face as well. "Are you sure? This is the address that I was given." He looked down at his clipboard, scanning for anything worthwhile. "It says here you're listed under a young woman named Kitka Peregrine as her emergency contact. This is the address she gave."

"Kitka?" This whole situation was getting more confusing by the second. "Why would CPS get involved with Kitka?"

The man pursed his lips together. "I'm… afraid Kitka has been involved in a terrible accident. She unfortunately did not make it. She stated in a document that she wished for the daughter to be with you."

"Wait wait wait." Skipper needed a moment to think. Kitka was… gone? There's no way. He'd just seen her about a month ago. They went out to get coffee, had a light lunch and talked about everything under the sun. Except, apparently, this — daughter? There had been no mention of this in the past five or so years they had been back in contact with one another. "Why? How old is this kid?"

"Seventeen."

Skipper's feet went cold as his heart dropped to his stomach. Seventeen years old. It was almost eighteen years ago that Kitka and he broke up after high school, right before he joined the military. "... Why with me?"

"It says here she claims you're the father." When Skipper's eyes closed, the businessman took the hint. "Her name is Liberty."

Swallowing suddenly felt like nails were scraping down Skipper's throat. A hand came to rub the back of his neck, eyes being torn away from the worker. Back in high school, Kitka always talked about their future together, how if they had kids the boy's name would be Johnathan, and the girl's name would be…

"Liberty has been in the hospital for the past week," the worker continued, pushing his glasses up from the end of his nose. "She's been healing from her injuries, and she's being treated for trauma. Once she is released, she will be placed in your care, if you sign the papers to agree to become her legal guardian."

Skipper slowly nodded, his head spinning from all the new information that was just fed into his brain. This day had started off so normal.

That all went down the drain.