Authors Note: Once again, I don't own the avengers. I would also really like to thank IAmLegendNotMyth for reviewing my fan fic! Any input is appreciated, since this is my first fan fic. ANYONE WHO READS THIS, PLEASE TAKE LIKE A QUARTER SECOND TO DISCOVER WHAT THAT LITTLE BOX AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SCREEN DOES! Maybe even write something in it. Also, this is still F not A.
Chapter 4
Carmen's POV
"Hit it again." Romanoff said, arms crossed. I uppercutted the punching bag and followed with a right hook. "Again." She said stubbornly. "You're still not trying."
"I am trying." I gritted my teeth. Everyone else was training with their powers. Adana was flying through hoops, Sam was in a completely fireproof boxing ring on the roof, and Cecily and Agatha were sparring. My power wasn't the sort of thing you can improve on. I can't control my luck. It comes and goes.
"Again. Try to hurt it. Picture your worst enemies face there. You don't want to hit it, so your not trying. Now, strike again." I glared at the punching bag, and tried to picture Ms. Cooper from the orphanage, and the leader of the gang that had mugged me once, and every bully and jerk and self-obsessed popular kid who had ever called me names or shoved me in the hall. I saw officer Shirley, and Jessica Brown, and everyone I had ever hated.
I realized that I could hit the punching bag as hard as I wanted, and I wouldn't get in trouble for it.
I swung my left fist so hard at the bag that it swung hard to the side. I punched it mercilessly, ending with a roundhouse kick so hard that it went flying off its hook and slammed into the wall.
Romanoff smiled, and it was only the second time I had seen her do it.
"Kid," She said. "How on earth did you do that?"
"I picture everyone I hate." I ran a hand through my hair, trying to give a stupid grin at having impressed her. "I hate kind of a lot of people."
"I think thats enough for today." She said, lifting the punching bag back onto its hook. "But there's something I've been meaning to ask you."
"What's that?" I asked, pulling off the boxing gloves and walking with her into the kitchen.
"What's your special power?" She asked. "For the others its obvious, but I just can't figure out yours. Its been driving me crazy. So what is it?"
"I'm lucky." I told her, smirking at the look of confusion on her face. "Games of chance, card games, gambling, betting…. It will always go in my favor. It even works in real life sometimes."
"How does that work?" She asked.
"Its like if I focus on someone, they trip over their own feet or make a stupid bet or just plain don't see me. I take away their luck and keep it for myself. It's really pretty useful."
"I can imagine." She said,but her face remained expressionless. "If you don't mind me asking, where are you from? You have to have lived somewhere before you became vigilantes."
I knew that I must have looked stormy at that because she quickly added, "If you don't want to tell me-"
"No, its okay." I ran a hand up and down the counter, trying to decide what to say. After a moment I said, "I'm an orphan. Or I think so." Before she could ask, I added "My parents abandoned me when I was just a baby." I didn't look up. I didn't want her sympathy. "I was left on the doorstep of… a really awful orphanage. Sam was there too, but her parents were definitely gone. When we were three, Adana came and she took care of us. When I was fifteen, Cecily and Agatha came to the orphanage, and…. Well some stuff went down. We had to go, for our safety, and thats when we started trying to use our powers to help people." We stood in silence.
"Ever try to find them?" Romanoff asked suddenly. "Your parents?"
"Yeah." I scuffed my shoe on the floor. I didn't want to tell her, but I felt I owed her one. "Once. I didn't like what I found."
We wandered out of the kitchen in silence. We watched the others train for a while, but I soon tired of that, and I went back to my room. They had disabled the camera to my room when they had started trusting me. I glanced around to make sure nobody was there. The hallway outside of my room was empty. Opening my closet, I pulled out the jacket I had been wearing the day the Avengers had caught me. Taking my swiss army knife out of my back pocket, I cut open the lining of one of the sleeves of my jacket. Reaching into the inside of the jacket, I pulled out a silver flash drive covered in dust.
Slipping down the hall, I went into Starks lab and plugged it into one of the computers.
Saved on the old flash drive was at least two dozen documents from the government, the orphanage, law firms, hospitals, colleges, the police, and every place in the world I thought my parents might have been.
The evidence was conclusive. My parents did not exist.