Author's Note: What's up guys? Anything new? (I suck at starting author's notes. Oh well.) Anyways, here's a new chapter to replace the dreaded Note for the Readers! You guys are awesome, thank you so much for giving me the kick I needed to continue work on this story, it's so fun to write and I hope that you guys have just as much fun reading it. Especially to the anonymous Guest reviewer who requested an update, I was pretty much ready to just delete the story or put it up for adoption because I know how much it sucks to start a story and then never be able to read the ending. So thank you guys so much, thank you to everyone who's following the story and favoriting it, even just that much feedback is so important to me and it helps me so much.
Have fun, and enjoy the show...
7720 N. Carson St., Washington D.C.
Sunlight streams through the open window as James sits at his desk, sitting stiffly over a notebook, head propped up in his left hand. A small blue ink blot slowly forms on an empty page as the tip of a fountain pen rests on the paper in a loose grip.
Suddenly, James jerks himself out of his trance, lifts the pen from the page, and readjusts his grip. For a moment, the entire room is still except for his hand. Slowly, ever so slowly, the pen descends. As soon as the pen touches the page, he leans forward, hunching over the notebook, and his hand speeds, up, words forming on the page and the sounds of a nib scratching across paper filling the room.
I sat huddled next to a boy in a small, cold, windowless room. He was pale, blond, and scrawny, and his elbow dig into my side as we leaned on each other, talking about what we'd done that day. We shared a pile of worn blankets on a bed, so we felt warm and toasty despite the chill . I pulled a small grin. "What?" he asked, shooting me a questioning look. Shifting to reach into my coat pocket, I revealed a folded napkin, and opened it to reveal a few warm pieces of buttery shortbread and pound cake.
"Mary works at a bakery, and she brought these back for me today. Obviously, I can't finish this feast by myself, so I decided I just had to share it with the scrawny guy I happen to share a room with." We grinned at each other, and each took a piece of the shortbread. The boy shook his head at me and took a small bite, trying to make it last longer, and moaned at the buttery taste.
"Oh, this is good." We both paused a moment, savoring the taste. "So, Mary's the name of your newest gal?"
I nudged his arm, but chuckled a little. "Yeah, she's a sweetheart, and big on the type of romance you see in the movies. We went out to dinner, and she suggested this place that does candles, a band playing in the background, the whole shebang. But she's a real cutie, blond hair and green eyes," I smirked. "And a real good kisser too. Maybe I'll ask her to introduce you to a friend of hers." The boy smiled but groaned too, nudging my arm back.
"Aw, shut up Bucky."
James set his pen down and cradled his head in both hands. The boy had seemed so familiar.
James and Hela sit together on the couch, an empty pizza box in front of them, watching a movie. Hela shifts, and James takes note. She'd been looking more and more uncomfortable over the past few minutes. Suddenly, she reaches forward and pauses the movie.
"James? Do you remember when I told you that when I first woke up, I'd been floating?" James nods silently, curious. He'd been avoiding asking questions about it out of respect, but something tells him that he's about to get answers.
"It's not the only time I've done that." She pauses, a guilty look crossing her face. "I've been training. You won't have seen it though because I don't train here. Well not here here. It- I'll show you." She stands up and strides out of the room, James following her a moment later. He almost crashes into her when she suddenly stops by the nook under the stairs.
It's lit by a light in it's ceiling, gently lighting the cushioned bench, pillows, and the bookshelf that covers the entire back wall of the nook.
"Here." Hela reaches out for the tiled mosaic framed on the wall directly to the left of the nook, and pulls the upper rightmost tile up while pressing on the upper leftmost tile. Immediately, she steps in front of the nook and lifts the cushioned bench, revealing not the usual space full of books, but a small platform and a ladder leading into a brightly lit room, and starts down the ladder. As soon as she reaches the bottom, James follows. Once he steps off the ladder, Hela presses a button that closes the trapdoor above them.
"This," Hela says while gesturing to the room, "is where I train."
The floor is covered in mats, and a punching bag and an exercise room set up are tucked into the corner. Tthe wall across from the ladder opens to another room with more mats, while the wall on the left leads into a room lined with bookshelves and the door on the right is firmly shut.
Hela fidgets, not bothering to hide her nervousness. James stands at the bottom of the ladder, surveying his surroundings. Moments later, he walks around the room, first inspecting the punching bags, then the weightlifting sets and the treadmill. Entering the room on the left, he observes the bookshelves, desk, and computer monitors covering the back wall, his face a blank mask.
Finished with that room, he enters the bigger room across from the ladder and immediately notices the targets at the far end, then walks along the walls, cataloging the arsenal stored in glass cases that ranged from staffs to blades to pistols to bows and arrows. He crosses his arms and turns around, standing next to the blades, finally showing his distrust and anger to Hela, who had followed him around.
"Why."
"I told you that I'd been teaching myself things. Originally, I was just studying psychology and neurology to try to figure out possible causes for my amnesia, but then I woke up floating above my bed again. I freaked out, fell, and realized I could control it. That's when I remodeled the first time and turned the basement into a training room. After that, I bought a laptop, and went to the library ever yday to teach myself hacking. When I started to get better, I continued to go to the library every day, but I didn't work on hacking everyday so that it'd be harder to find me if they traced my work." For a moment, James looks slightly approving before he frowns again.
"Why did you add this room?"
Hela sits on a bench next to the door. "Once I was confident in my skill, I started joining chats that talked about people of special abilities, particularly the Avengers, and came across mentions of an organization named SHIELD. I eventually found the data that had been leaked in the accident on the Potomac River when the airships were destroyed." Her eyebrows furrow, the corners of her lips turning down almost unnoticably. "The Avengers are people who have powers and use them to keep the world safe. But I didn't even know how to throw a punch, let alone fire a gun or use my powers. So I added this."
For a small eternity, there is silence.
"Tomorrow you will wake up at six in the morning. We will run as long as you can, return for breakfast and a quick break, and then I'll test you on how much you've taught yourself. We'll go from there."
Hela peeks up from the bench, and sees James's face soften for a moment.
"JAMES!"
James starts, knocking his book from his lap as he stands up and silently rushes out of the library. He stops in his room, grabs the pistol taped to the bottom of his desk, cocks it, and starts down the stairs, careful to step on the edges by the wall and railing to avoid making any sounds. He turns down the hallway, keeping the gun pointing in front of him, and then enters the living room.
"James!" Hela shrieks, diving behind a couch after seeing the gun. "Put the gun down! No one's here!"
Doing a final sweep of the room, James catches sight of the television. Specifically, the news playing on the television. He sits on the couch and sets the gun on the coffee table within reach, and Hela peeks out from behind the couch. Seeing the lack of gun waving, she climbs over the back of the couch and lands with her feet on James's lap. He doesn't push them off.
"James? Are you okay?" Hela's forehead wrinkles, concern for her friend etched clearly on her face. "James? Do you know where you are?"
On the screen is a video, likely taken on a cell phone judging by the quality, of a familiar blond man with a shield fighting on top of a truck.