Author's Note: This chapter title comes from Little Women by Louisa May Alcott.

Chapter Three - I am not afraid (for I am learning)

"I'm sorry for threatening to shoot you."

Clint snorted and then buried his face in the magazine to avoid the look she shot at him. Selvig just blinked, looking up from the MRI results he was studying. "What? Oh, yes, well." He waved a hand. "Can you feel it? Constantly?"

She looked down at her hands and turned them palms up. "Yes. Could I have a look at the results?"

"Everything will be sent to you at the Tower. We'd all appreciate input from a mind like yours. We're going to need it, to figure out what happened." He managed a fluttering smile at her and shuffled towards some of the others that were gathered around a table, studying samples of her blood.

Clint shut the magazine and tossed it aside. "Welp, sounds like that's all they need from you today. You want some ice cream, kid?"

Danielle hopped down from the exam table and gratefully took the hand he offered her for support. "I dunno. I— It's a little dangerous for me to be in public still, isn't it?"

He shrugged, guiding her to the elevator. "Probably. I've never been great at making smart decisions, though. So, ice cream?"

"I really should just go straight back to the Tower. I don't . . . want to be in public if I have trouble again."

"Got it. I'm pretty sure there's some on the main floor back at the Tower." He hit the button for the garage. "What's your favorite?"

"Double dark chocolate chunk. There's usually some around somewhere. We can raid my dad's freezer if we have to." She sniffled and rubbed her scarred shoulder. "Um, thanks for coming with me."

"Meh. Anything to get me out of that stupid press conference the others are at." He slung an arm around her. "You like Tom and Jerry?"

She blinked up at him. "Tom and Jerry?"

Clint dropped his arm and stared at her, horrified. "You mean you've never seen Tom and Jerry? What has your father been doing if not introducing you to mind numbing television?"

"We watch a lot of Spanish soap operas," she said mildly, following him into the parking garage. "That's pretty mind numbing."

"Yeah, I guess, but still. You have to see Tom and Jerry." He guided her to the car. "Ice cream and Tom and Jerry are the plans for the afternoon. You're not going anywhere, are you?"

"I'm basically on voluntary house arrest. So no, I'm not going anywhere." She ducked into the passenger seat.

During the entire ride back to the Tower, Clint rambled on and on about all the different cartoons he was going to introduce her to. He drove slower than normal, since he'd discovered that morning it was a bad idea to be reckless while she was with him after he'd run a red light and she'd panicked and shattered the screen on the mini-TV in the dash.

That was how, three hours later, the Avengers returned from their press conference to find Clint passed out on the couch in the common area, fingers stained with ice cream, while Tom and Jerry played aimlessly on the TV and Danielle lounged upside-down on an armchair as she wrote in her songwriting notebook. She twisted a bit to get a look at them as the walked in. "Shh," she urged. "He's been out about half an hour now."

"Sugar coma," Natasha said knowingly. "He does this."

"How was your appointment, baby girl?" Tony asked, crouching down next to her and craning his neck so he could get a look at the music notes she was writing out.

"They're clueless about everything. Selvig said they'll send the results and notes over so I can take a look and give my input. But mostly, they have no idea what's going on."

"Rest easy, Daughter of Iron," Thor said, nodding. "All will be well. You seem to be a brave and strong specimen."

She squinted at him. "Right. Thanks. That's a compliment, right?" Danielle shut her book and swung around so she was sitting up. Her gaze hesitantly searched out Bruce.

Bruce smiled softly. "Are you ready?"

"Um, yeah." She set her book on the end table and climbed to her feet. She followed him to the elevator. "Thank you for helping," she murmured.

"Of course." As the doors closed, he said, "JARIVS, meditation room, please."

"Right away, Doctor Banner."

Just a touch later, the doors opened onto a small hallway and Bruce led her to one of the door. "Have you seen the meditation room yet?"

"No, not yet."

"Ah. Well, Tony had it reinforced that that it could withstand it if I Hulked out in there. So don't worry too much about messing up, okay?" He opened the door and pushed his way inside. "Grab a cushion and let's get started."

"Is there any possible way?"

"Way for what, sir?"

Tony frowned and crossed his arms, as if it was obvious. "To get the Tesseract out of her. Is there a way?"

Selvig hesitated. "Probably."

"But?"

"She would die."

Tony looked at where Daniella was strapped to the table. She looked at him and tried to beg him not to, straining against the bonds holding her down. He looked away.

"Do it."

Danielle woke up screaming in flashes of blue. She was vaguely aware of JARVIS saying something, but she couldn't focus on that. Instead, was blearily scrambling away from the red in her vision and hit the floor hard. Something above her fizzled and then there was water spraying across her skin and hissing on contact. She pressed down against the floor to try to get away from it and crawled towards the safety under her bed. Heats beat against her back and she curled into the ground, sobs clawing their way up her throat. Something shrill started ringing in her ears.

"Please," she begged. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just please stop. Please."

"Baby, look at me. Danielle, focus on my voice. Breathe and— Thank god. Steve, move the bed!"

Something groaned loudly and the heat at her back disappeared. A hand pressed against her shoulder. "Dani, I need you—"

Panic pressed up into her throat and she scrambled backwards, head slamming into something hard. "No, no, no," she mumbled. Something angry roared in her veins.

"Danielle," a new voice said. "Look at me."

She snapped her head around to find the source of the sound. She could blearily make out a pale face, blond hair, blue eyes. "I'm sorry," she rasped.

"I know. And you're doing a good job right now. A great job. I just need you to try a little harder. Take a deep breath."

She managed a shaky breath and the air burnt against her lungs. "I'm sorry," she said again.

"Let's try standing up. You need to get away from the fire."

She stared at the blurry hand and reached for it. He gripped her hand tightly and pulled her to her feet. She stumbled forward a step before stopping with a cry of pain. She heard someone say something about an ankle, and then she was swept up into someone's arms. She shuddered as the heat under her skin hissed at the contact, boiling against the water drenching her.

"She's burning up," the voice over her said. She felt herself being lowered and she curled gratefully into the couch cushions.

"Fever?"

"Or the cube."

"We need Bruce. Um . . . ."

"I'll get him," the voice said softly. "You stay here with her."

"Thank you." The cushions shifted a bit and a hand smoothed against her forehead. "Can you hear me, baby girl?"

She twitched and tried to respond, but it was so difficult. She only managed a whimper instead.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "Just take a deep breath. Just like that. JARVIS, some Beethoven, please."

As the music began, she let the notes wind familiarly between her muscle and bone and she slowly unfurled on the couch. By the time Steve returned with Bruce, she'd managed to sit up, though she did have to lean heavily into her father's side. She mumbled tired answers to Bruce's questions—yes, she'd eaten all her dinner; no, she didn't remember her dream; no, she wasn't seeing spots; yes, she was going to hit him if he put that thermometer in her ear one more time. Eventually he pulled back.

"There's nothing physically wrong with her. I'm guessing it's just the Tesseract reacting to a bad dream."

"I'm sorry," she managed.

"Oh, it's not your fault, sweetheart," Tony said quickly, pressing kisses against the top of her head. "You're doing amazing. You really are."

"He's right," Steve agreed easily. "A week ago, you were shattering windows on the entire floor. This time, you just set your bed on fire."

She straightened in alarm. "I set the bed on fire?" she squeaked out. "I—"

"Don't apologize again," Steve warned her. "We said you're doing better and it's true. Now, why don't you get more sleep and—"

"No." She shook her head. "I can't go back to sleep.

Steve hesitated and glanced at the clock: five AM. Tony shrugged. "Fine. Go get showered and dressed. You can join Steve later when he coms out of his retirement from acting."

Steve looked about ready to protest, but then Danielle managed a tired smile. "Sounds like fun," she slurred. "Okay, then. Steve?"

He tilted his head to the side. Then he nodded. "I'd love the company."

"You don't sound quite stuck up enough," she said, upside down in the chair that had Captain America blazoned across the back.

"I'm not supposed to sound stuck up."

"You're the result of an experiment where foreign materials were pumped into your body to bulk you up, but you're standing there and telling kids not to do drugs? Sounding stuck up is the only way you're gonna get through this." She swung herself around so she was sitting up properly. "You've gotta put some oomphf in it." She exaggerated how deep she dropped her voice. "'So, you've got detention—'"

"I am not doing that."

"It would make it better."

"Absolutely not."

"Try to look more disappointed. You really want the kids in detention to feel the shame of Captain America having expected better of them."

He squinted at her for a long moment. "I can't tell if you're being serious or not. You're just as bad as Tony."

The grin she offered up was heavily lopsided. "Well, I do get my personality from him." She clapped him on the shoulder. "So go out there and traumatize some grade-school students!"

He just snorted and jogged off again as the director called his name. Danielle grinned as she watched he take his spot in front of the camera.

"Nachos?"

She blinked and glanced to the side to find what looked like an intern—definitely not old enough to be out of high school—standing there with a tray of food. "Oh, yeah, cool. Thanks." She picked up two bowls and set one in her lap while she cradled the other.

"Of co— Oh my god. You're Danielle Stark."

She blinked at him, mouth full of chips and cheese. "Uh, yeah."

"Oh. My. God. Um, hold on." He shifted the tray so he could hold out a hand. She stared at him and shook his hand with her own cheese-stained on. "You're amazing."

"Oh, uh." She hurriedly swallowed so she could speak. "Do you follow my inventions or something or—"

"You're like the world's hottest teenager. Though what the hell happened to your arms? Have they always been like that? I thought—"

"Go away," she ground out, feeling anxiety bubbling in her chest.

"Wha— Sorry, I just— You've always looked so pretty in your pictures in the magazines and stuff. Did they photoshop your arms so they didn't look like," —he waved a hand— "that."

"Shut up," she growled, feeling heat in her throat. Somewhere overhead, a lightbulb burst loudly and Danielle jerked back at that, forcing herself to breathe. Despite that, though, two more lightbulbs burst, followed by a loud cry from a cameraman as his camera jerked to the side and started sparking blue.

"Is there a problem here?"

Danielle's gaze cut sharply towards Steve as he approached, watching the intern warily, and she measured her breathes. "Somewhat," she forced out between gritted teeth.

Steve watched her for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Alright, we're done for today." He took the two bowls of nachos and put them on the tray the intern was still holding. "Let them know I'll be back tomorrow," he said to the boy. Then he gently gripped Danielle's elbow and helped her down from the chair. He steered her out of the building.

"You should let them know that they'll get reimbursed for the camera," she mumbled. "And the lights. I'm sorry."

"I don't care about the lights," he said easily. "Or the camera. How do you feel?"

"More sensitive. I don't think I got that angry that fast before."

"I know what that's like," he said, hand falling from her elbow as they finally left the building and turned in unison towards where the Tower was. "The serum makes . . . well, it makes everything more intense. I twas so easy to get angry faster and it took me a long time to figure out how to control it. I still don't think I have it figured out. If I'm being honest, Bruce has a way better handle on it than I do."

She nodded and shoved her hands in her pockets. "I'm still sorry."

"That's okay. As long as you know that you don't have to be."

She sniffled and rubbed her face "Uh, what were you like? Before the serum? The history books don't talk too much about that part."

He shrugged unhelpfully. "I think I'm pretty much the same, but you know what they say about not being a good judge of your own character. Bucky would be able to give a better comparison. He was the only that really knew me before and after."

"Okay, then. Tell me about him. Maybe that'll give me an idea."

He glanced at her, something anxious and broken in his gaze. He hesitated visibly and she glanced down at the way he clenched his fists.

"Bruce says talking is the best way to work through things. It's how I'm learning to manage."

He chuckled. "Right, then." With that, he launched into a story. "When I was seven, some kids were picking on me. Threw me in a dumpster. Buck jumped in after me 'cause he didn't want me to hang out in there alone."

When they got back to the Tower, Clint was alone in the living room, playing through a Legend of Zelda. He twisted to look at them as they entered and waved. "You two are back early."

"I freaked out and blew up a camera," she said simply. She crouched next to the basket of controllers, selected one, and then slumped onto the couch beside him. "JARVIS, Lusus Override. Smash Brothers."

The screen changed, loading up the other game, and Clint cried out in protest. Danielle just grinned and glanced back. "Grab a controller, Steve. We'll teach ya."

"Did you just fucking blue shell me?" Steve yelled, surging to his feet. "I was winning!"

Clint grinned up at him. "That's kinda the point."

"Oh, something's got Rogers upset," Natasha said from where she'd suddenly appeared behind them. Danielle jumped, but only a little, while the other two remained un-phased. The redhead smiled. "Mind if I join."

"Grab a controller! Hey, JARVIS, let the others know?"

"Of course," the AI responded. And then a moment later, "Thor is one his way to the common floor. Dr. Banner is finishing a meditation session and then he'll join."

She hesitated. "And Dad?"

"Sir has not left his workshop in thirteen hours."

"Oh." Danielle gnawed on her lip for a moment. Then she turned and shoved the controller into Natasha's arms. "I'm going down to his workshop. Don't wait for me." She shoved herself up and paced into the kitchen. "Last time he ate, J?"

"Thirty-two hours ago, if you don't count the occasional bag of chips."

"Got it." She filled a plate with chicken nuggets and put it in the microwave then got busy making a couple peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. She squirted ketchup on the heated plate, grabbed up both dishes, and headed to the elevator. "Dad's workshop, please."

"Of course, Danielle."

She tapped her foot in time to the music she was humming as she waited. The doors slid open and she stepped out, opening the door with her foot. "I brought food, Daddy!"

Tony straightened so quickly that he hit his head. "What?" he rasped, rubbing his head and climbing to his feet. "Oh."

She stopped short, squinting at him. "What were you doing under the table?"

He waved the screwdriver in his hand. "Dropped it. Whatcha got for me?"

"Chicken nuggets and PB and J." She sat the plates next to him. "What are you working on?"

"That's not something you need to—"

"JARVIS?" she interrupted, staring her father down.

"We're currently working on MARK XXXVI."

"Traitor," Tony muttered at the ceiling.

Danielle frowned, pursing her lips. "Dad—"

"I've gotta do this."

"We were supposed to get lunch yesterday," she interrupted yet again, tilting her head to the side. "It's okay that we didn't, but you didn't even talk to me about it."

He stared at her for a long moment. Then his eyes widened. "Oh. I didn't even— I'm sorry, baby, I—"

"You're working too hard."

"I've got to get this done."

She wrinkled her nose, staring him down. Then she nodded. "Right. Okay. I'm going to my workshop." She strode to the door.

"Dani, I—"

"Talk to you later!" she said, waving over her shoulder. JARVIS immediately started the elevator the moment she was inside. It opened on to the floor that had her workshop. "Alright." She clapped her hands and rubbed them together as she stepped inside. The lights came on. "Let's get started. JARVIS, bring up Project NB."

"Of course, Danielle."

Danielle woke up on the ceiling.

Maybe not quite on the ceiling, but when she opened her eyes it was to her nose bumping against smooth drywall. She stared for a long moment, hot air rasping against her throat. And then she turned her head to the side to try to see what was going on.

Oh, that was her ceiling. And that was her room far below her.

It took several seconds for that to sink in properly. Then she jerked in alarm and shrieked. Blue sparked in her vision and and felt the air yanked out of her as she fell. She slammed into something—soft at first, and then hard—and it gave beneath her. Danielle hit something else after that and she felt pain raging across her back. She turned shakily on her side, gasping for air.

"Danielle," JARVIS's voice cut in. "It is June 8th, 2012. It is three twenty-three in the morning."

She whimpered and curled into herself.

"Would you like me to contact someone?"

"No," she managed hoarsely. "No. Please don't."