laurie-stark

[laurie-stark]

A/N: another month another day closer to finally finishing this fic (except were only at the halfway mark buh). anyways enjoy and thank you for reading!!

Word Count: 3.1k

I have spent an absurd amount of time in my life on planes. We travelled around a lot before Dad stepped into the role of Iron Man. He would have international meetings with clients and buyers all over the world. We could go from being in Tokyo one week and Alaska the next. Sometimes it was multiple trips in the span of a few days. Dad would simply get tired of the Malibu house and fly us out to a different property for a weekend.  

And strangely, I always loved turbulence. The sinking feeling in my stomach, the same one that came from those amusement park rides that drop you from miles up in the air. When I travelled with my dad as a kid, I used to stand in the middle of the jet during spurts of turbulence and try to time my jumps with the rise and fall. At least once a flight, I would manage to float, just for a second. I imagined that this must be how it feels to be on the receiving end of me on a good day.

On the flight to Germany, the turbulence came in bursts and stints, jostling us around like items in a shopping bag. Out of all of us, Scott had the hardest time with it. He nearly lost the caviar he had devoured an hour prior into an air sickness bag. Our flight attendant, Miriam, managed to scrounge up an anti-nausea pill in the first aid kit. Unfortunately, the medicine knocked Scott out so cold that Clint had to carry him out like a fireman when we landed.  

When we touched down in Berlin, I stopped at the top of the airstairs and yawned. My arms extended over my head, stretching out far and wide. Our pilot had informed us it was just after ten in the morning locally, but the stiffness in my shoulders felt like a New York five. Sleeping on planes was never something I could do easily, and I found myself wishing I had joined Scott in some recreational Gravol. 

Waiting for us on the private tarmac was a large white van. It was the kind of vehicle that teachers at Dalton warned us to never go near. The kind that transport shipments of narcotics, illegal weaponry and kidnapped children around the city. I skipped ahead of the group to open the door for Clint. He hoisted Scott into the backseat, letting his body slam against the long seat. Scott didn’t even stir. 

Wanda and I reached for the door handle of the passenger seat at the same time. When my fingers brushed over her own, she turned her hand over and squeezed. I met her eyes, soft streaks of greening flashing in the blue. The ghostly feeling of a hand running down my back stood me up a little taller. It didn’t scare me; all I felt was her. Wanda’s gentle touch sent waves of ease through my body. 

“Laurie, sit in the back,” Clint ordered as he climbed into the driver’s seat. 

Wanda let our hands drop. 

“Why?” I pouted. Clint rolled down the passenger side window.

“Because I told you that if you tagged along, you would do as I say. Capiche?” 

I rolled my eyes and jammed myself into the tight space at the back of the van. Three, maybe four black duffle bags were stacked on top of one another, taking up most of the furthest seat. Scott’s entire body took up the middle row, so I flopped down beside the duffles and prayed the drive wasn’t too far. Between the chaffing from the cheap materials I was wearing and the feeling of the velvet seat cover under my hands that hadn’t been cleaned in who knows how long, I was starting to feel very claustrophobic. 

There were no windows in the back of the van, so I had to rely on the minuscule view through the front windshield to gain my bearings. Throwing a pitiful look at Sleeping Scott, it was now my turn to get a bit motion sick. I swayed from left to right as Clint drove us in what felt like dozens of circles. I shut my eyes tightly and inhaled tense breaths exclusively through my nose. I was nearly going to start praying that the van would stop, then it did. 

Clint pushed the gearshift into park. Wanda was staring to her right, out the window. From what I could see, we were still at the airport. I guessed that we relocated to a higher level of the parking garage. Clint was busying himself with fixing the gear in his belt when he started barking more orders. 

“Wake Scott up and stay in this van. Under no circumstances are you to get out of the van. I don’t care what you see or what you hear, stay put. And stay out of sight.”

He wasn’t looking at me while he spoke, but I had a pretty strong feeling that he wasn’t directing his orders at Wanda. “What if there’s a fire?” I asked cheekily. 

That got him to look over the seats at me. “Then pray for a flood.” 

Though muffled through the walls of the van, I heard the screech of tires coming up behind us.  Without another word, Clint and Wanda opened their doors with a click and got out. I scrambled from my seat in the back to crouch by the door and pressed my ear against the metal.

I could hear voices talking, but the words were indistinguishable. I recognized Clint and Wanda’s voices, but there was at least one other person out there. Their voice was familiar. Male, likely a friend because neither party used tones that indicated hostility. 

“How about our other recruit?” The mystery voice said, raising his voice a bit louder. 

“He’s rearing to go,” Clint responded. I cursed internally because Clint sounded closer to the van. I threw myself towards the back of the van, landing on my forearms with a thud. And just in time too, because Clint slid the van door open with a crash that woke Scott up. He shot upwards. 

“Had to put a little coffee in him, but he should be good.” I hear Clint say. 

I pressed my body as far back as I could so that I couldn’t be seen through the opening. Scott peeled himself off the seat, still groggy from the anti-nausea meds. 

“What time zone is this?” He asked Clint, who pushed him forward. 

“Captain America!” I heard Scott exclaim. “It’s an honour.” I should have figured. I let my body relax some. Now that I knew it was Steve, I was less afraid of accidentally revealing my position. 

Clint leaned against the frame of the van and faced me, raising an eyebrow at my hunched form in the corner. “Why are you on the floor?” He mouthed. I shrugged with a smile. 

“I know you know a lot of super-people, so…thinks for thanking of me!” I covered my mouth with my sleeve to muffle a laugh. Poor Scott, he didn’t know how to handle his nerves. He spoke up again, directing his attention to someone new. “Hey man!”

“What’s up, Tic-Tac?” Sam Wilson’s voice rang out. I wondered who else Steve had looped into this. 

“Uh, good to see you. Look, what happened last time when I-”

“Look, it was a great audition, but it’ll never happen again.” Sam interrupted. I smirked inwardly at the memory of watching Sam get thrown around the Compound property from my balcony last spring. It was quite the show.

Clint motioned for me to sit up, so I shuffled a little closer to the door until he put his hand up for me to stop. 

“They tell you what we’re up against?” Steve asked. 

“Something about some psycho-assassins?” Scott responded. I heard some shifting around. 

“We’re outside the law on this one, so if you come with us, you’re a wanted man.”

I shot a hard look in Clint’s direction. I glanced out the door, then back at Clint, silently asking if what Steve said was the truth. It was so subtle I almost missed it, but Clint nodded. 

“We should get moving!” A new voice called out. Another man, and he must have been standing further away from the rest. His voice was sultry and had the slightest hint of a European accent. 

And as though it were a stage queue, alarms started to blare throughout the parking garage. A man over the intercom was saying something in German. 

“They’re evacuating the airport,” the Maybe European man translated for us. 

“Stark,” Sam stated. 

“Stark?” Scott echoed in a question. 

I was never one to miss a stage direction. Without missing a beat, I stepped out of the van and landed on the hard cement, despite Clint grabbing my arm and trying to pull me back inside. “Yes?” I said, drawing out the vowel. 

I took in the crowd. Everyone turned to face me. Scott smiled brightly at me, but Steve and Sam both carried looks of disbelief on their faces. They were standing in front of a blue Beetle car. I frowned at it. Not the most subtle car, I thought. On the other side of the car was a man in a red shirt. Steve and Sam were standing shoulder to shoulder, so his face was covered. 

“What are you doing here?” Steve asked. It was the closest to yelling he had ever gotten with me. He was frantically looking between Clint and me for answers. 

“Don’t blame Barton, please.” I put on my best puppy-dog eyes for Steve. He was known for falling for the innocent act. “I made him take me. I wanted in on the fun.” 

“This isn’t a fucking game, Laurie,” Steve said flatly. The sly smile on my face dropped instantly. Steve hardly ever swore, and he’d never directed hostility like this at me before. 

“We really need to get going,” the European man said again. Steve continued to hold me under a harsh look. The alarm was getting louder, the sound reverberating off the cement pillars around the garage. Steve closed his eyes for a moment before addressing the whole group.

“Suit up.”

Steve stepped out as he said it and, like a movie, I felt the world slow down. The blaring alarm became muted as my focus honed in on the man standing behind Steve. My vision narrowed until everything beyond him was blurry. The centres of my palms started to build up pressure, and I closed my hands into tight fists. There was a car between him and I, just like last time. He looked different without the mask and military attire. But his eyes were the same, frightening blue. 

The Winter Soldier stared back at me. 

I staggered back, my calves hitting the ledge of the van. I sat down, suddenly very lightheaded. How long had it been since I’d last seen that man? A year? Maybe two? And yet I remembered our first meeting like it happened days ago. 

I was twelve and I had never felt so small. I can still hear the ear-splitting screech that the car made as it slid on its side down the freeway. It was all I could hear every time I closed my eyes for weeks after. The doctors said that my eardrum ruptured and I nearly went deaf in one ear. I remembered hugging myself so tightly, stretching to cover the exposed parts of my body. I remember the feeling of a thousand hands pressing around me. They cushioned the fall when I was thrown from the car.

I remember opening my eyes and being on the ground. I remember pushing my aching chest off the pavement and seeing a machine with a beating heart thundering towards me. He got close enough for me to see the violence in his eyes. He raised a heavy-duty gun and pointed it directly at me. His soldiers flanked around him. I remember feeling so afraid, but not able to look away. I watched the bite in his eye flash with something I could only describe as terror, and he lowered the gun and marched past me. His men followed. 

It had been two years, and I still occasionally got nightmares. They’re infrequent these days, and far less intense than they were that first year, but still omnipresent. 

I stayed put while everyone else got right into motion. Clint popped the back of the van out and passed a set of black duffle bags around. I had guessed they were filled with illegal contraband, and I wasn’t far from it. Gear, combat boots, heavy-duty belts, and from what I could tell, everyone’s suits. I tried to reach a hand forward as Sam walked past with one of the bags, but he dodged me. 

I slumped back into the same position leaning on the edge of the van. I let my head fall against the metal frame. My eyelids closed, and I listened to the sounds of several pairs of feet shuffling off every which way. Adrenaline before the fight must have kicked in already, because I was sweating and realizing that the announcement of my father’s arrival didn’t rattle me. 

A deafening bang vibrated through the van into my skull. 

Bucky’s metal arm was the first thing I saw when my eyes shot open. The reflection of the light hit my eyes directly, and I winced. He stood over me, leaning one hand against the van. His hair was longer than before, and the tousled locks fell over his eyes, casting shadows over his nose and jaw. 

The air in my lungs was caught in my throat. I was trembling. I blinked hard, and then I was back on that bridge in D.C..

Bucky’s voice was low and gravely. “I’m sorry. Sometimes the arm comes down harder than I meant.” 

I said nothing as I continued to stare blankly upwards. I planted my vision on the small scar on his chin. I did my best to control my facial expressions, but I was sure that the fear was shinning through.

He stuck out his metal arm for a handshake, and I jumped back. With a frantic motion, he put his hand back on the van and wiped the palm of his real hand and held it out to me. 

“I’m James.”

“No one calls him that, only Sarah,” Steve said. His face was covered in shadows that bounced as his mouth moved. I pulled the blanket up higher around me, tugging on the bits that were stuck under Steve sitting on the edge of my bed. 

“Who is Sarah?” I asked meekly. In the darker corners of my room, I saw flashes of the dream I had just awoke from. They were taunting me. My screams had drawn Steve into my room for the fifth night in a row that week.

“Sarah was my mom. She passed away when I was pretty young.”

I pushed my nails into the palm of my other hand. Steve reached through the dark and grabbed hold of me, setting both our hands onto the soft duvet.

“Do you miss her?”

“I do. But I wasn’t alone. After she died, Bucky and his family took me in like I was always theirs. He made sure that I stayed out of trouble and saved me when I got myself into it anyway. He was my best friend.” 

“No one calls you that, only Sarah,” I said. I hated how shaky my words came out. The frozen look of fear on my face cracked the faintest bit. I made myself look Bucky in the eye. 

“How do you know that?” The edges around his eyes crinkled. 

“I used to have nightmares about you and that day on the bridge. I think I woke up screaming every night for a year after. I thought you were going to kill me.” The words were tumbling out of me faster than I could stop. “But every night Steve would come into my room, and he’d sit with me, and he told me stories.” 

I paused and gave Bucky a real once-over. He had shifted from leaning on the van to standing upright. His arms were crossed, but the muscles in his biceps and shoulders were becoming less and less tense. 

“He told me stories about you. Not the Winter Soldier, or even Sergeant Barnes. He told me about the real you, the “Bucky” you. He talked about how kind you were as a boy, and the lunches you’d share with him at school. He told me about the couch cushion sleepovers on your living room floor and how you always protected him.”

“It took a while, but eventually those stories helped. I started imagining that you weren’t this scary soldier, and that you lowered that gun to protect me. I realized that it wasn’t your fault, that they took advantage of your body and your mind, and you couldn’t control it. And I knew what that was like. And then the nightmares went away.”

Bucky didn’t reveal what he was thinking on his face. We became shrouded in silence. 

“Steve said that he cares about you,” Bucky said lowly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Steve standing by the blue Beetle. He was eyeing us, trying to sense if he needed to come save me. I shook my head at him. I was alright.

Bucky broke the silence again. “And I’m sorry anyway.” 

I just nodded. I had reached the extent of what I could say to him and resorted to offering half smiles. It felt like he had more than he wanted to say, but his chance was taken away. 

Sam had strolled up to us, trailed by everyone else. They were all holding bits and pieces of their suits. Sam tapped the van twice.

“You guys wanna have a meet n’ greet reunion somewhere else? We need to take turns in the van to change.” 

I stood up and bit my lip to stifle a laugh. For every four cool things about being an Avenger, there was one humiliating part. The thought of these six-foot-tall men trying to crouch inside the van while fighting to get into spandex suits was enough to send me into a fit of giggles as I walked out of the way. 

Bucky didn’t follow me, and I didn’t want him to. But I looked back over my shoulder and felt a certain measure of pride bloom in my chest. 

[laurie-stark]

Chapter X: Commercial Airlines

A/N: wowie its been a hot second. me when I said id finish the fic this summer and I LIED. but thanks for reading anyways!

Word count: 2.8K

Cherry Bomb Masterlist

“Nice pants, kid!” 

I slid into the backseat of Clint’s Toyota Corolla next to a dark-haired stranger in a grey t-shirt and hoodie. He was beaming at me while pointing at the bright blue pyjama pants I was wearing. Images of rainbow moustaches were scattered on the soft fabric. They were a Christmas gift that Happy gave me three years back. The dark-haired stranger was now making a fake moustache out of his finger. Awesome, I thought. Clint is recruiting all the crazy people. 

“Who are you?” I asked as Clint drove straight through the front gates of the compound. I noticed that the security guard was conveniently not at his post. Visions of taser arrows hitting him in the head flashed through my mind. I shook them away.

“That’s Scott Lang.” Clint answered for the moustache man. “He’s from San Francisco.”

“Okay, Scott Lang,” I said, turning towards him, “What’s your deal?”

Scott held a hand out and I shook it. His palms were sweaty. 

“I’m Scott, but I guess you know that now. Thanks Arrow Man. I think you’re awesome, by the way. Totally the most underrated Avenger. And I know you too!” He pointed at Wanda. “You’re awesome too. My daughter asked to dress up as you for Halloween but I told her I don’t think Party City has that copyright yet.”

Scott shifted back in his seat and looked at me. “I don’t know you, though.”

“I’m Laurie,” I said straightly. 

“Hi, Laurie. I’m Scott. But you know that already. Do you know where we’re going?”

I shrugged. “Not a clue.”

Scott soon revealed his role as Ant Man. I realized that I knew him from last year when he tried to break into the compound. He had just about beat Sam’s ass. Sure, he came across friendly enough, but he definitely had some muscle to him. 

Scott continued monologuing about his flight from San Francisco to New York. Apparently his seatmate had a cat, and he was going into extreme detail about the tricks it knew. I wasn’t listening. Instead, my attention was on Clint. He was silent, which was pretty typical for an ex-spy. Try as I might, I was not successful at figuring out what he was thinking in this moment, nor where he was taking us. 

I was ten when I met Clint for the first time. And the rest of the Avengers for that matter. Nick had asked me and my dad to defend the world’s security. He wanted Dad to join the Avengers, obviously, but he needed me to consult on containing the Tesseract. I got to sit at the round table with the rest of the team and offer my two cents on the issue at hand. Which, in hindsight, was not that helpful considering I was in fourth grade and had only just started to study astrophysics. 

But it was cool. Nick seemed to think that I was worth having around. I felt important, where normally I was used to sitting on the sidelines of whatever my dad was doing. 

And it wasn’t all fun and games either. Pepper upped my monthly therapy sessions to twice a week for months following the attack on New York. Loki scared the crap out of me. They asked me to go down and convince him to give himself up while my dad and Steve were busy having a threesome with Thor in the middle of the German woods. Loki surrendered without a fight, but I remember feeling like my life was at stake. I remember the strength of the wind up on that cliff nearly knocked me over. And the look that Loki gave me with piercing eyes as he loomed over me made my blood run cold. 

And then the ship got bombed, Coulson died, my dad almost died. It was a lot to digest at ten. 

Nick saw the potential I’d soon grow to see in myself. He knew that I was a valuable asset and pushed my dad hard to let me be properly trained. Dad refused every time. I worked closely with the Avengers for the three years that followed, playing the role of the guy in the chair. It sucked having to watch them be the heroes, knowing that I’d never get the same kind of official recognition for my help. 

Sometimes Nick would sneak small tasks my way under the table, if he ever needed my father’s brain but didn’t want his arrogance. Sneaking off to D.C. with Steve and Nat was the most fun. Sure, it was dangerous, and I was probably too young, but I didn’t care. I knew I was made for this, and my dad didn't understand. That’s why he pulled the plug after what happened in Sokovia. He framed it as protection, but it felt like imprisonment. I pressed a hand against the cool glass of the car window and watched the compound slowly fade out of view. 

Scott knew how to ramble. He was deep into a rant about his shrinking serum, and something else about the weird bodily effects quantum mechanics has on certain…areas. He managed to make not one but three more comments on my pyjama pants, and by the fourth I knew that there was no way I could step foot into any airport dressed like this. Clint was driving us upstate, as opposed to through the city to J.F.K. Airport. I figured a smaller, lower-profile airport was what he had in mind. Either way, I prided myself on maintaining a certain image. A shopping trip was imminent. 

“Clint, can you pull off here for a second?” I asked. I had spotted a sign on the side of the freeway saying a shopping centre was close to the next exit.

“Are you going to be sick?” Clint answered. He dug around through the pocket behind his seat and pulled out a plastic bag. “Here. Nathaniel has been going through a huge motion sickness thing, so I’m always prepared.”

“Who’s Nathaniel?” Scott perked up. I was pretty sure his smile hadn’t dropped once this entire drive. 

“None of your business, Lang,” Clint said sternly. “Laurie, take the bag.”

I plucked the bag from Clint’s hand but stuck it right back where it came from. “I’m not sick, Clint. I just really need to grab something from the mall.”

“What? I am in the middle of a rescue mission turned kidnapping,” Clint stammered.  “There is no mall in this plan.” 

“You don’t seriously expect me to step foot in public wearing this, right?” I pleaded. 

Clint continued driving down the freeway, making no move to merge right. I peered over my shoulder and noticed that the lane beside us was empty.

“It’s the middle of the night. Nothing will be open. And I’m not sidetracking us just because you decided that PJs aren’t fashionable.” 

I groaned. “It’s only eight, and there was a sign for a Bloomingdale’s off the next exit. Please?” 

Clint said nothing; classic dad silent treatment. 

“Pleeeeaaaaassseeee?” I folded my hands in front of me and pouted into the rearview mirror. Clint looked at me and rolled his eyes, continuing forward. I glanced behind us again. The lane was still empty and the off-ramp was getting closer. With my hands still clasped, I focused on the size of the car. A typical Corolla ran you just under three thousand pounds. A pretty big jump from a plastic water bottle, I thought. I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath. On the exhale, I jerked to my right and the car followed. The wheels skidded across the lane marks and all of us inside were thrown. Clint scrambled to regain control of the wheel. 

“Laurel Maria!” Clint reprimanded. He steadied the car, but by that point, we were already travelling off the freeway. I smiled smugly, proud of myself. “You are lucky you are a child, otherwise I would throw you out my damn car.” 

Despite what he was saying, Clint drove in the direction of the shopping centre. We pulled up outside the Bloomingdale's. As I predicted, it was still open. I thanked Clint profusely and promised to take no longer than ten minutes. 

“Five,” Clint demanded. “And Lang’s going with you.” 

“What? I don’t need a babysitter!”

“I don’t like shopping!” Scott and I complained simultaneously. 

“Get. Out. Of. The. Car.” 

Scott and I were booted out onto the sidewalk, and Clint took off into the parking lot. For a second, I was certain he was going to leave us both stranded here. 

Bloomingdale’s would not have been my first choice for clothes shopping, but I did not have the bandwidth to be picky. I trodded inside and was immediately assaulted by the harsh LED lights of the department store. A dusty draft of air blew gently from the aircon systems. The place smelled like cheaply-made fabric. 

Scott followed me closely, but kept spinning around to look at all the displays and tripping over his own feet. I bee-lined for the women’s section, only to grimace at their disappointing selection. The style of clothing was certainly on par with the season, but I could feel the polyester from a mile away.

I sifted through rows and rows of shirts and pants, hoping to find something that was on the brink of being higher-end quality. 

“It’s been seven minutes already,” Scott told me. He was sitting on a table covered in neatly folded jeggings. Disgusting invention, if you asked me. 

“Do I look like I care?” I chided, not bothering to look up from the racks.

“Are you all like this? Is this what I’m going to have to deal with in ten years?” Scott asked out loud.

“Am I all like who?” I responded.

“Teenage girls. Are you all so…prickly?”

“I’m sure your daughter will grow up to be just as much of a princess as you are, Scott,” I sighed. That seemed to shut him up, because Scott did not reply. Had I actually offended him? 

I turned around to find Scott pointing at me with an open mouth. “What?” I asked. 

“You’re Mr. Stark’s daughter.” 

My eyes went wide and I felt my heart drop into my ass. “What makes you say that?” I swallowed hard. All my life being told to stay hush-hush about Dad, but no one ever told me how to act if I got figured out. 

“Hank mentioned that Mr. Stark had a kid. I thought he was losing it because I figured the media would be all over that. But you’re the kid, aren’t you?”

I shook my head in disbelief. Who the hell was Hank? Why did he know about me? 

“It’s fine, I won’t blab. I might be a princess, but I don’t deal in gossip. Most of the time. But seriously, we have to pick you an outfit soon because I’m afraid the guy with the bow and arrow is getting one ready to go right through my eye.” 

I was still in shock that Scott knew about me, so I let him lead me to another section of shirts. I followed dumbly as he pulled some off the racks and into my arms. In the next three minutes, I had changed into and paid for my new outfit, and we were out the door. 

“What did you do to her?” Clint asked when I got into the car silently.

Scott shrugged. “I’m a dad too. I’ve got those dad superpowers.” Clint just grunted in response. 

“Can we please get going?” Wanda spoke up. 

“Gah!” Scott exclaimed and jumped back in his seat. “Oh my gosh, I totally forgot you were here.” 

…

Within the hour Clint pulled our clown car of misfit superfreaks into a desolate parking lot by the airport. One by one we climbed out into the dark. I was grateful that Scott had forced me to buy a grey hoodie to match his own because the evening breeze was awfully chilly. 

A freeway stood between us and the airport tarmack. I had the sneaking suspicion that Clint was about to have us dodge speeding cars to get across. Wanda tapped my shoulder and I followed the line of her extended pointer finger. I spotted an enclosed bridge going over the road. Thank God. 

Scott started to give himself a patdown.  “Oh, I didn’t bring my passport.” Wanda and I both raised a brow at him. He continued, “San Fran to New York is a domestic, you guys didn’t tell me I needed a passport. I don’t even think I have a valid passport. Do you have a passport?” Scott gestured to me. I shook my head. 

I had never needed to go through airport security before. Actually, I had never even flown commercial. I shuddered at the thought. 

“If you say passport one more time I’m going to put an arrow in your eye.” Clint pinched the space between his brows. 

Scott leaned down to whisper in my ear, “See? I told you!” I stifled a giggle.

“Told her what?”

“Nothing!” Scott and I said together. I bit my bottom lip and elbowed Scott in the ribs.

“I’m not even a citizen of this country,” Wanda sighed. She looked around nervously. “And I don’t think they would offer a free ride to a terrorist.”

“You’re not a terrorist,” I stated, placing a hand on Wanda’s arm. 

Scott added, “You don’t seem like a terrorist. I would trust you with my passport. If I had one.”

“No one needs passport.” Clint stuck a hand out to silence us. “Everybody who is not a responsible adult, shut up.”

Scott immediately raised his hand like a middle school kid. Clint glared so hard I could see little daggers in his eyes. Scott folded his hand back down and reclused. 

I broke the silence. “So how are we getting across the globe, Barton? Or did we not think about that before kidnapping a bunch of science experiments from the compound?” 

A look that could only read “I am questioning every decision I have made up until this point” flashed across Clint’s face. He pointed at me saying, “First of all, you are a fugitive and you were not invited, yet here you are-” 

“Yet here I am indeed,” I interrupted, plastering an insincere smile on my face. I tilted my head to the side. “Always need a Stark to save the day, I got it. Give me your phone.” 

Clint folded his arms over his chest. “No. We are going over that bridge and then we are keeping a low profile while I get us onto the aircraft I cashed a dozen favours in to get.” 

I didn’t wait for him to finish talking before I flicked my middle finger. Clint’s phone slipped out of the pocket of his vest and zipped into my waiting hand. I cracked his password without breaking a sweat.

“I’m not flying a transatlantic on a commercial flight.” I opened his browser and typed in the code to access A.P.R.I.L. remotely. “And neither are any of you.” A few more clicks and I handed Cint his phone back triumphantly. “There. The jet will meet us on the tarmak.” At the look of everyone’s dumbrstruck faces, I added, “Unless you wanted to fly to Vienna in a shipping container?” 

The group shook their heads. “Fine,” Clint said. He handed his phone back to me. “But it’s Germany, actually.” 

I took the phone and stood up a little taller. “Noted. Let’s go.” 

I turned on my heels towards the bridge. Clint, Wanda and Scott followed in suit. There were security guards posted on either ends of the bridge, but Wanda knocked them easily. The Stark family jet was parked and waiting patiently for us. Scott’s jaw remained agape the moment we boarded and he ensured the rest of us heard every impressed thought he had. Meanwhile, Wanda and Clint quietly took the seats closest to the emergency exit. 

I settled into my unofficial seat. It was positioned directly beside the right wing of the plane. As a kid, I loved to stare out the window and watch as we rose higher and higher, defying gravity with the magic of physics. These days though, the views were fantastic for aesthetic Instagram posts. 

Scott, who had clearly never flown private before, sat opposite me, despite the four perfectly spacious seats elsewhere. I didn’t mind though. I wanted to pick his brain about quantum mechanics and he said we could watch a Disney movie.

That pipe dream lasted all of five minutes though, because our flight attendant handed out a round of champagne flutes and Scott was out like a light. I had passed on the drink (obviously) and taken out my airplane laptop to figure out exactly how much schoolwork I could get ahead of on an eight hour flight. 

I didn’t see or hear Clint creep up to my seat and kneel beside me. When he spoke, I jumped. “Look, Laur. I don’t know what you think you’re getting yourself into, but this isn’t going to be fun.” 

I felt a surge in the pit of my stomach as the jet’s wheels lifted off the ground. Up until this point I had been putting on front for the sake of the game. I never stopped to think about what we might face when we touched ground in Germany. 

“What’s really going on, Clint?” My voice came out quieter than I had intended. I felt like a child. But I took comfort in the fact that Clint was one of the few people who actually gave me shit straight. 

Clint’s eyes softened. “I don’t totally know,” he said. I furrowed my brows at him, silently pleading. Clint pressed his lips together and nodded. “Okay. I’m going to talk to you like an adult, all right?” 

I nodded. 

“Someone attacked the International Centre in Vienna the day the U.N. was set to sign the Accords. An explosion killed the Wakandan King, but other than that there were no more fatalities.”

I frowned and gave myself a chance to absorb the intel. “So…we’re going to catch the guy who did it?” 

Clint never averted my gaze, but took a moment to collect his words. “No. We’re going to defend him.”

“What!?” I reeled back. Across from me, Scott stirred momentarily, mumbling something about cheese under his breath before sleeping again. My thoughts raced to the worst case scenario. Had the Accords tension created a break so bad that one of our people bombed a building? “What are you talking about? I don’t understand.” 

Clint reached across my seat and put his hand over both of my own. He spoke calmly. “Steve is the one who called me in. He and Sam were arrested in Romania for trying to help the guy they think did it get away. From what I can tell, I think he’s an old friend of Steve’s who is being framed. But I’m not sure. They were all brought to Berlin to be detained. That’s why we’re meeting them there.”

“It sounds like your dad is working with the Berlin authorities to bring Steve and his boys in, so Steve asked me to fly out to Germany with reinforcements. Sam recommended Lang and I knew that Wanda was being kept inside the compound. I had no idea that you were too, though.”

I held my breath as I listened to Clint and pretend that I didn’t feel the sting of not being chosen to help. I couldn’t imagine what my father was doing working with government authorities, he hated authority. But then again, he was dead set on getting the Accords passed, so maybe I just never knew him that well at all. 

“I don’t know what role Tony has in this, kid.” Clint must have seen the panic on my face. “My best guess is that he took it upon himself to try and resolve this quietly so that Steve and Sam wouldn’t be punished as harshly as would if the government got them first. And I also have no idea what will be waiting for us when we land. I’m honestly glad we’re taking this jet because they won’t be expecting us to arrive so fashionably. It was a very smart idea, Laurie.” 

I smiled weakly at that. Trying to process all that Clint told me had rendered me silent. Clint patted my arm gently. 

“We’re gearing up for a fight. It’s going to be messy and it will be dangerous. I have no clue what your father is bringing to the table, but knowing Tony he’ll pay to impress. And I’ve let you come this far, but honey, once we’re in Germany you have got to keep your head down.” 

“Dad is already going to be gunning for your head,” I joked. “So it doesn’t really matter if you let me put myself into a little bit of danger.” 

“I’m not telling you to stay low for Tony’s sake, Laurie. I’m keeping you out of danger because I care about you.” Clint squeezed my hand. He wasn’t normally one to tug at my heartstrings, but I guess it had been a while since I heard that sentiment from anyone. 

All I could bring myself to do was nod and bite back the sting in my eyes. Clint rose to his feet. He brought his hand to the back of my head as he did, offering a firm but silent gesture of warmth before walking back to sit with Wanda. 

I now understood the gravity of the situation. I felt its pull, I carried its weight. A friendly family feud in a foreign country. What could possibly go wrong?

[laurie-stark]

Chapter IX: Sinkholes

With this chapter, we finally move into phase three of the book! Huzzah!

Word Count: 2.8k

Cherry Bomb Masterlist

Right, left, right, step and jab. Right, left, right, step and jab. 

Beads of sweat were falling from the crown of my head. My hands were beating down heavy on the punching bag that swung from side to side. The muscles in my back and shoulders burned. I had been going at this for at least over an hour straight. The sweat left stains on the mat where my feet danced back and forth. Some of it got into my eyes, but I didn’t care to stop and wipe them. I liked the sting. 

I never did manage to get A.P.R.I.L. to crack any information on the Accords, but it did not take a genius to figure out what was going on. News coverage of the United Nations meeting in Vienna was all over my Twitter feed. Dad said he was going to Vienna with Natasha. Big surprise, I put two and two together and knew that the Accords were being officiated. I didn’t see the need to fight the urge to hit something. 

I knew that my form was sloppy, that my punches were too wild and predictable, but the rush was getting to my head. Despite the insanely decked out in-house movie theatre, lap pool, and fifteen acres of land, there was nothing better to do at the compound than train. What started as an effort to blow off some steam turned into desperate, unweilding blows. And the bag seemed to be doing more damage to me than I was doing to it. I was angry enough that the pain was numbing. 

A couple more reps in and the skin on my knuckles busted open. I only started to hit harder. I imagined that the bag were the walls of the compound, and I was a Hydra operative being held hostage. I pictured myself breaking through the concrete onto the lawn, where a team of S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives were waiting, guns raised. And I would punch through all of them too. 

And that daydream wasn’t that off beat. As far as I was concerned, I was a hostage in my own home. Happy walked me into the building when he dropped me off. The place was buzzing, far more so than on any other weekday afternoon. But no one seemed to pay me any mind as I slipped under and over the dozens of agents in the foyer. I hated that I was nearly the same height as most of them, yet I was being sent to my room like a little kid. 

The first thing I noticed after dumping my overnight bag on the floor of my bedroom was a package sitting on the footboard bench. It was a tiny pink bag with sparkling tissue paper sticking out, and the Cartier logo etched on the front. Beside it, a piece of cardstock folded into a triangle with my name printed in bold letters. I picked that up first. 

Laurel,

Try not to be too upset. You know it’s for the best. 

Love,

Your super incredible and safety-concious father

P.S.

For the show

I reread the note a few times, always pausing on my name. Not Laurie, not Little Miss, or even Miss Stark. Laurel. Dad never called me by my full name, not even when I was in trouble. I found it incredibly disconcerting. 

I opened the gift and sighed as I held out the contents in front of me. A beautiful gold chain with a rose pendant. Each petal had at least two dozen tiny diamonds and yellow sapphires. I saw this exact necklace go up for auction a few weeks ago and joked with Dad that it would be a good easter egg to wear for my school production. I tossed the necklace carelessly beside Dad’s note. I didn’t want his pitiful apology. So I took to letting it all out in the gym.  

Tears were quick to join the stream of sweat down my face. Whether they were from anger, or frustration, or just the irritation from all the salt that was already in my eyes, I wasn’t sure. I made a bad correction of my footing and missed a swing at the bag. Completely off my rhythm now, I tried to find the balance again but my efforts were fruitless. I swung and missed, jabbed again and barely moved the bag at all. I shouted. My nails dug deeply into the skin of my palms and squeezed my eyes shut. 

I felt dust crumbling onto my arms. I looked up and saw the punching bag lodged in the ceiling. I laughed dryly and made a feeble jump to try and reach the chain. It dangled just out of reach. I hung my head and made a move to a bench along the wall, where my water bottle and towel sat. 

“You kept crossing your feet when you stepped, you know.” 

I whipped around. Wanda was standing in the doorway. What was it with these European sleeper agents watching me throw punches like an angry frat boy? 

I pointed at the punching bag above me. 

“Seriously? That’s your constructive criticism right now?” 

Wanda smiled and pushed off the doorframe. She was halfway to meeting me where I stood before she sat down cross-legged on the mat. She patted the floor in front of her, beckoning me to join. 

We took turns passing my water bottle back and forth with our minds. Eventually we tossed in a few other items - an extra towel, a four pound weight, my shoe - and had a two-person juggling act going. 

I caught my water bottle midair, hovering it close to my face. The familiar but faint purple glow outlined it. I flipped it one way and then the other, trying to figure out whether my hands or my mind was controlling the thing. I concluded it was a bit of both. I didn’t notice the dents that were beginning to form, as though invisible fingers were pushing in on the plastic. 

“Don’t use so much strength, you’ll crush it,” Wanda said gently. “It is a delicate thing,”  I liked the way her accent pronounced the word delicate. 

I inhaled and relaxed a bit. I wasn’t sure if I could ever get used to this feeling. To hold something without touching it. To direct its movement from the inside out. I set the bottle down between myself and Wanda.

“What do you see when I do that?” I asked her. The pad of my thumb draws figure eights over my skin. 

Wanda’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“When I’m, you know,” I wiggled my fingers in the air, “doing all of this. What do you see?”

“I just see you.” Wanda shrugged. “I see the bottle moving. I see you concentrating. Why are you asking?” 

I’m not sure what I had expected to hear, but it wasn’t that. I allowed a small surge of energy to pool underneath my palms and the purple returned. 

“No reason,” I replied, shaking my head. I took to looking at the floor like it was giving me a talking-to. 

Wanda cocked her head to the side. “Well what do you see?” 

I opened my mouth but the words fell short. The last time I lost control, when I gave our kitchen an impromptu remodel, I caught a glimpse of myself in the shattered tiles. A smokey violet haze clouded my head, and I could have sworn I saw a similar light behind the crazed look in my eyes. I had to admit, it was a little monstrous. I just assumed anyone else could see it too. 

“It’s sort of hard to explain,” I confessed. 

“Try anyways,” Wanda insisted. She was always a woman of few words.

“Well,” I began, “it’s like a purple glow. Or smoke, like I’m on fire. But it’s not hot, I can’t feel it. And sometimes it seems like a trick of the light, but it’s always there. Surrounding me.” 

I flexed my hands as I spoke, watching the colour dance between my fingers. 

“Sometimes it does what I tell it to, but other times it feels like I can’t control it.”

Wanda remained silent for a while, and I began to worry that she thought I was crazy. I mean, seeing a purple glow that’s not really there does sound a bit crazy. 

“That’s very interesting,” she said, finally. “I’m hungry. I think Vision was attempting a new recipe. I might go see how disastrous that has become.”

She rose to her feet without so much as another word. I almost fell backwards at her capriciousness. 

The way Wanda said “interesting” lacked any hint of judgement, or any hint of anything for that matter. It seemed like she also had no idea what to think about it. Which I thought was weird, because she was supposed to be the knower of all things power-related. 

I drew a deep breath and gave the punching bag in the ceiling one more pitiful look before I abandoned it entirely. The adrenaline was finally beginning to dwindle, leaving a growing ache throughout my body. Nothing a good, long, everything shower wouldn’t fix. 

I stood under scorching hot water until my fingers looked like raisins. It was a mindless routine. Shampoo, soap suds, scub my skin a little too hard, rinse, repeat. I winced when the water hit the welds on my knuckles. Hearing the water hit the white tile floor was almost loud enough to silence my thoughts. 

I didn’t know where my father was at that moment. His voicemail left no indication about when exactly he left for Vienna. Had he sent me out the door for school that day knowing he was going to skip halfway across the world? Or was it another drop-of-the-hat plan? By my calculations he could have just landed or still have another few hours in the sky. I wondered how many whiskey on the rocks in he was. 

I crossed the threshold between my ensuite bathroom into my room. Water from my hair dripped onto the wooden slats as I wrung strands between a towel. I paused in front of the Cartier bag that I had discarded onto the floor. The rose necklace was strewn about beside it. I knelt down, the muscles in my lower back protesting as I did. 

The necklace was laying face down on the floor. I ran my thumb over the back of it. It was supposed to be hollow, a concave reflection of the three-dimensional rose shape. Instead, a tiny mechanism had been slotted into the space underneath my finger. 

It looked awfully similar to the bracelet design I had drawn just that morning. The size of the thing made it hard to be certain. I saw no visible power source, so whatever the sensor did it was useless for now. I wracked my brain trying to remember if I had left older versions of the bracelet blue prints around the house. I considered the possibility that I was wrong, that the likeness in shape was a coincidence and maybe Dad had made a tracker of sorts. I made a mental note to take the necklace into my lab once my compound house-arrest was lifted. 

By the time I got dressed and made my way into the kitchen (the strawberry-free one), Wanda had completely taken over Vision’s recipe. Judging by the taste of the dish, we were all better for it. 

One good thing about having very few friends my age was that I had pretty much avoided having to be a third-wheel. Sitting at the dining room table across from Vision as he tried to spoon feed Wanda Parikash was enough to take my appetite away. I was of the personal opinion that human and cyborg relationships were crossing all kinds of lines. But I also fully supported the “love is love” movement, so who was I to judge? 

I quickly excused myself back into my room and was occupied with a paper for history class. Funnily enough, it was about Steve. I was writing an argument that military emphasis on creating the perfect soldier entirely neglects that physical strength can only take a person so far, and that inner qualities are what distinguishes a soldier and a hero. It wasn’t due for another three weeks, but I figured I may as well take advantage of the canceled school days. 

My phone was blowing up with text messages from the Dalton Theatre groupchat. Dad had failed to consider that prohibiting classes to run for two days meant that I was losing hours of rehearsal time. He’ll make up for it with another donation to the department, I thought. 

I was nearly done with the outline of my paper when my computer screen started to shake. It was over faster than it begun, a steady rumble throughout the compound. An orange glow outside my window grabbed my attention. Something had just exploded in the yard. 

I leapt to my feet and dashed down the hall. I slid to a stop just outside the kitchen where I had left Wanda and Vision and tried to digest what I was witnessing. 

Clint Barton was in my living room. He and Wanda stood with their backs to me, looking down into what should have been concrete floor. But instead there was a gaping hole that spanned from our level all the way down to the underground storage rooms. Bits of rubble clattered against the bent rebar that stuck out every which way. My jaw hung lose. 

“Are you kidding me?” I gawked. Clint and Wanda whipped around. I placed both hands on my hips firmly, trying to chanel my best impression of Pepper. “We just had the gym detailed. Not to mention the pool that’s probably flooding into God knows what.” 

“Laurie!” Clint smiled warmly. Although the longer he held it, the more it turned into a grimace. He clapped his hands together. “So good to see you. My kids miss you.” I gave him an unamused look. 

“You were not supposed to see this, so I am just going to take Miss Maximoff here and we will be on our way.” He gave the hole behind him a pitiful glance. Dust clouds had begun to rise. “I’m sure your father can handle the reapirs for that.” 

Clint took Wanda by the hand and tugged her alongside him. They passed on my left, so I spun over my right. 

“Hold on,” I said. I reached out an invisible hand and glued their feet to the floor. Clint flailed his arms around to regain his balance. “Where do you think you are going?”

“You don’t want to get involved, kid-”

“Without me,” I interrupted. I folded my arms over my chest and spun the two of them around to face me. “I don’t care what you’re doing. But I know it had something to do with the Accords. I want in.”

Clint snorted. “Absolutely not. My mission was to get this one,” he pointed at Wanda, “and this one only.” 

I was about to give my rebuttal when I felt a shock go up my spine. A wave of cold came rushing up the neck and I gasped. It felt like a tiny, icicle hand was snaking through my brain. I involuntarily let go of the grip I had on Wanda and Clint’s feet and then it was over. Wanda had gotten inside my head, and I had let her. 

“That was so not fair,” I said.

“We have to go,” Wanda responded softly. 

“That’s so not fair!” I whined, stamping my heel into the floor like a rabbit or an oversized toddler.

Clint stepped towards me and put a hand on my shoulder. He bent down to meet me at eye level. “Laurie honey,” he started, “you can’t come. As a father, I would never forgive myself for putting Tony’s daughter in harms way.” 

“Then let me put myself in harms way!” I exclaimed. “Tony will get over it.” 

“I can’t do it, sorry kid.” 

“I’ll call him right now.,” I threatened. Clint was good at masking what he was thinking, but I could tell that got his attention. 

“If he wouldn’t want me going with you then he definitely wouldn’t be happy that you’re witchnapping Wanda. I’ll call him,” I said, point-blank. Clint continued to shake his head, so I slowly reached for my back pocket. “A.P.R.I.L., call Dad.”

“Okay, okay!” Clint held out his hands in surrender. “You win, but I am not taking responsibility for this.” I smiled smugly. He had no idea that I left my phone in my room. 

“C’mon,” Clint said, gesturing for me to take his other hand. “We got one more stop.” 

I skipped on the way out like a kid who just got permission to stay up past her bedtime. It wasn’t until I was happily stowed away in the backseat of Clint’s car that I realized I was still in my flannel PJ pants and slippers…

[laurie-stark]

Chapter VIII: Meredith

I love a little side-character action, don't you?

Word Count: 2.8k

Cherry Bomb Masterlist

I scribbled mindlessly on the calculus worksheet in front of me. Sequences of lines and shading covered the page next to my already completed work. My teachers were convinced that I needed to take a summer course so that I could take eleventh-grade math next year, since I was finding this work to be too easy. When my guidance counsellor had floated the idea back in March, I had laughed and said I’d have to thank my father for his brain. My guidance counsellor tilted her head and asked if my father was an engineer. I swallowed my pride and agreed, lying through my teeth. 

I had run out of room on the front side of my worksheet, and flipped the paper over to decorate the blank backside. With short and feathered strokes, I drafted a blueprint onto the paper. My designs were shotty at best, a little bit uneven with fuzzy edges that made the picture unclear. 

It was meant to be a bracelet. Or rather, it was meant to be the first blueprint of an electric impulse sensor that I could wear for measuring the strength of my powers when they are in use. I admitted to myself that the idea was a far stretch, that capturing the degree of supernatural strength would require technology beyond measuring my heartbeat. But I needed to start somewhere to get my abilities in check.

After Dad had left me standing there alone last Sunday, I lost it. Truth be told, I had little memory of what happened. All I remember was feeling a rush come over me. I knew Dad was having another panic attack, and I knew it was because of me. There was an immediate sense of guilt, and I was worried about him. What caught me off guard was the anger. For the first time I understood what people meant when they saw white-hot rage. And then there was nothing until Dad was kneeling at my side, staring at the now-destroyed kitchen.

I must have been screaming throughout the incident, because when I came to, my throat was raw and burning. Shattered glass and fragments of metal covered the kitchen floor. Some of the tiles had been cracked, likely from the bar stools being slammed down onto them. One of the doors of our double fridge had been ripped off its hinges and was lodged into the opposite wall. Even the oven had been dragged away from its slot between countertops, leaving scratches on the floor in its wake. I was on my hands and knees on the floor, shaking. 

In the moments of clarity afterwards, it dawned on me that instances such as these were exactly what the Accords would punish me for. It would also be moments like these that they’d want to study. I had spent most of the last few days in my room running tests on myself. Endurance tests with electrodes on every nook and cranny of my body, trying to figure out where the best point of inference could be drawn from. I wanted to know if I could predict when my powers would become uncontrollable. To know if I could keep myself from becoming dangerous. 

“What are you drawing?” Meredith leaned in from my left and whispered in my ear. I startled and broke out of my focused trance. She was looking at my drawing, turning her head every which way trying to figure it out. I put my pencil down, splaying my fingers flat over the page to cover most of it. I adjusted my posture, leaning into the desk and facing my friend. 

I shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know, I’m just bored. Finished the worksheet.” 

In front of us, a fountain of red hair flipped around. Brianna spun around in her seat, whisper shouting, “You finished already?” I nodded, trying my best to mute the swell of pride from showing on my face. “Even question seven?” 

I leaned forward in my seat to peer over Brianna’s shoulder. Her handwriting was slanted and messy, as opposed to Meredith’s, which was as neat as she kept herself. Still, I was able to make out the same mistake for both of them. 

“You guys forgot to keep the negative on X when you made the derivative of the equation,” I said, matter-of-factly. 

Both girls checked their work before rolling their eyes and calling me different variations of a nerd. I chuckled at them, swearing up and down that if they just paid attention in class they could finish early too. Meredith took the joke better than Brianna, who huffed as she turned back around. 

Meredith slid my paper across our shared desk. She flipped it longways to examine the design from a different angle. “What is this supposed to be, a stadium?” 

I laughed and rotated the paper, pointing out that the scribbles were a blown-up version of a monitor chip. “It’s blueprints for a made up…thing. Seriously, it’s nothing, I’m just bored out of my mind.”

“Blueprints? Okay Iron Man.” Meredith joked. I laughed, but mostly to cover up the way my breath caught in my throat.  

Brianna whipped her head around at that. “Iron man?” She whisper-shouted once more. “What about him? Is he on Twitter again?”

I sighed heavily, shaking my head at Brianna’s aggressive infatuation with Tony Stark. She was obsessed with him and swore up and down he saved her life during the Battle of New York. I never doubted her for a second, but I did fight the urge to vomit every time she drooled over the latest paparazzi photos of my father. She was certainly in for a heart attack if I ever decided to come clean. 

Our math teacher called out to the three of us from her desk across the room, telling us to remember the definition of silent work. We tucked our heads down, still giggling to one another and muttering hushed “shut ups”. I took back to working on my blueprints, although this time I was more conscious of Meredith’s sideways glances. 

Brianna was quick to bolt out of the classroom once the bell had rung. She ran with a blazing trail of red hair flying behind her, calling back to Meredith and I that she was ‘so unbelievably late for her vocal lesson.’ I gave Meredith a sideways glance and we chuckled. Brianna’s vocal lessons weren’t until five-thirty. Tomorrow. 

Meredith nudged my arm with her elbow. “You’re not rushing around,” she said. 

“What?” I asked. We shuffled through the swarm of students towards her locker. 

“You’re always eager to get out of here on Wednesdays,” Meredith said, she opened her locker and began sliding books and folders into their places, “Family time, right?” 

I knocked shoulders with a kid walking opposite me. “Uh, yeah,” I had honestly forgotten what day it was. I forced my feet to keep trudging along while I did mental gymnastics about whether or not I’d be welcome back at the compound.

”You know what?” I stopped walking and nudged Meredith to the side of the hall so we wouldn’t get trampled, “I don’t think I need to go today. Do you want to get a coffee or something?”

The smile Met gave me almost tricked me into thinking that everything was right in the world. We ducked around a corner into the closest stairwell, bookbags still in hand. Giggling as we descended downwards, I almost let a lapse in my judgment take control. I could take Meredith home, I thought. Dad is probably not even home, it’s not like she would know anything. Or I could tell her. 

I was sure that Meredith was more than trustworthy. Between her and Brianna, I knew that Mer would be more understanding if I came clean. She wouldn’t treat me differently, I was convinced. I could show her my room, I could show her A.P.R.I.L.. I could turn left instead of right and waltz right through my front door-

“You coming?” Meredith asked. She was standing a foot ahead of me. I blinked and gave my shoulders a shake, before nodding and following her down the right side of the street. 

A sweet chime rang above us as Mer and I walked into Emery’s coffee shop. A buttery aroma wafted past us and I saw Mer close her eyes and inhale deeply. I gestured for her to find a table while I turned to the counter to place an order of drinks. 

“Bonjour, Emery!” I greeted Emery with a chipper smile. The scowl on his round face did not falter. 

“Qui est votre ami?” He asked gruffly. He was frowning over my head at Meredith, who had settled into a small table in the corner of the room. She sat up a bit straighter and waved with a polite smile. 

“Elle va à Dalton avec moi.” I swung my backpack around and dug through the outside pockets to find my wallet. 

Emery grunted in disapproval. “De quoi voudriez-vous?” He asked as he firmly tapped the iPad screen in front of him. 

“Deux de la même chose que d’habitude,” I said sweetly. Although I was confident with my grammar, my pronunciation was bad enough to make Emery wince. 

Emery grunted and gestured towards the card reader. I inserted Dad’s credit card and made sure to tip generously. Emery was fast and within minutes he was putting two green-filled cups on the counter with a thunk. I stepped forward to take them but paused. I pressed into the counter and lowered my voice.

“Emery,” I started, “Si je te dis un secret en français, vas-tu le garder en anglais?”

Emery’s frown relaxed and he leaned forward. “What ze fuck are you talking about? Take your drinks and go! Dégages!”

I winced and shamefully turned to take the drinks to Meredith. 

“I got us both matcha, I hope that’s okay?” I held out both cups for her to choose from.

”No, this is perfect, thank you.”

Meredith reached out and gingerly took one of the cups. Her shoulder scrunched up as she took the first sip. 

“I didn’t know you speak French,” she said. 

“I speak four languages actually.” I sat up a little taller. “English, obviously, and I’m pretty nearly fluent in Spanish and Italian. French is the newest addition, so it’s not nearly where I’d like it to be. I come here to practice with Emery. Oh, and I know the tiniest amount of Russian too!”

I noticed that Meredith was staring at me from behind her cup, jaw hanging slightly. “I learned when I was homeschooled,” I said, flustered. “My stepmom, she wanted me to be multilingual.” 

“I didn’t know you had a stepmom either,” Meredith said. I held my breath. My tangle of lies crept around my throat. Mer must have sensed my unease, because she “That’s really cool, Laurie. I’m impressed. Remind me to bother you instead of Andrew G. the next time I need help in Spanish class.”

Meredith had always been good like this. Not once since coming to Dalton did she ever make me feel out of place. I was grateful for that. We fell into discussing which classmate Brianna ought to start going out with and other things that did not pass the Bechdel test until Meredith had to go home.

…

It was not the first time I walked through the front door to an empty house. As a child, if Dad had business away from home he would pack a bag and then put me in his carry-on. Starting real school has kept me from being able to travel with him as much. The one downside, I supposed. But better for Dad’s separation anxiety.

The door clicking shut echoed throughout the main floor. I slipped my black uniform shoes off and tucked them into their spot on the shoe rack. In the three days since the Accords had been introduced, I had spoken with my father only when necessary. Which was almost not at all. 

The last conversation we had was on Monday as he dropped me off at school. He said he was going back Upstate to talk with the rest of the team and that was that. We passed like ships in the night since then. 

I stepped around the plastic curtains that blocked our kitchen from view. A construction team was scheduled to come fix the broken glass and fixtures on the weekend. It wasn’t a huge issue - Dad and I were big take out fans to begin with. 

The destructive anger had since subsided in me, leaving dread lying heavy in the pit of my stomach. It clawed at the base of my throat. 

I bee-lined up to my room and flopped onto my bed face first. Coffee with Meredith had been a good distraction, but that was all it was. A distraction. I rolled onto my back and raked my fingers through dark curls, tugging at the ends.

In the far corner of my mind, I knew that I had an English essay, a take-home math assignment, history textbook chapters to read, and lines to memorize for rehearsal. But that all felt so juvenile compared to the Accords. 

“Oh good, Miss Stark, you’re home!” A cheery voice with an Irish accent came on over the intercom. I gave F.R.I.D.A.Y. no indication that I had heard her, I just grunted and curled onto my side. “Mr. Stark has left a voice message for you. Shall I play it now for you?”

That caught my attention. I sat up on the bed, propped up on my elbows. “What message?”

A three-note chime sounded and then I heard my father’s voice. 

“Hey little miss. Hope you had a good day at school. I’m going to be out of the country for a few days. Romanoff and I are going to Vienna.” I opened my mouth to protest, and it was almost as if past Tony had anticipated it. “Don’t ask questions. Happy is going to come take you to the compound tonight at six. Please don’t fight him, he’s just the messenger. Or, the deliverer, I guess. Anyway, don’t fight me on this either. I told Happy that he has free range to stick you in his trunk if you’re difficult. Okay, I’ll see you soon. Love you. Bye.” 

F.R.I.D.A.Y. asked if I wanted to play the message again. I grumbled to myself, “Oh thank you so much, Father,” and pulled out my phone. 

Laurie: What about school?

I didn’t expect to hear back from him right away, so my eyebrows furrowed when the little text bubbles jumped around as he typed. 

Dad: Conveniently, your school agreed that a spontaneous two PA-day break was necessary for the betterment of the staff and students. 

Laurie: You’re insane and have way too much money. 

Dad: I didn’t pay them a cent, you’ll find I am incredibly persuasive. 

I responded with an eye roll emoji. 

Dad: You’re off the hook until next week. 

Dad: Just try to relax, okay? I can feel your stiff shoulders from here.

I chucked my phone across the room and let out a guttural groan. 

Within the hour I was packed and in the backseat of Happy’s car. Dad didn’t let me know exactly how long I was going to be on lockdown for, so I packed three suitcases and an overnight bag. 

Happy spent the drive going on and on about the new security measures he was trying to convince Pepper to implement. I offered occasional nods and nonverbals, but my mind was elsewhere. 

Stepping foot through the compound’s main doors, I immediately knew something was off. There were significantly fewer S.H.I.E.L.D. agents fluttering about. Happy ushered me and all my bags to the residential wings in a hurry. 

The second I was left alone in my room, I hopped into the desk chair in the corner and logged onto the computer. It was almost subconscious how quickly I weaved through the compound’s security measures and got into S.H.I.E.L.D. data files. Usually, I had four or five techniques to code around the walls they put up, but today none of them worked. 

“A.P.R.I.L., get me into anything about the Accords ASAP,” I spoke aloud. Various windows opened and closed on the screen without me touching the keyboard. A.P.R.I.L. was hard at work digging. 

“Sorry Laurie, the security measures have been upgraded. None of your protocols are going to get through.” 

“Why have they been changed?” I asked impatiently. 

“I’m not sure, boss. I’m not sure.”

I stared blankly at the monitor screen. A.P.R.I.L. initiated a program that might be able to get through to the files, but it would take hours if not days. All I knew is that whoever made the changes did not want me meddling. I was in the dark again.  

[laurie-stark]

Chapter VII: Broken Elevator

Not going to lie, completely forgot to update this fic on Tumblr, my bad folks.

Word Count: 2.8k

Cherry Bomb Masterlist

Tears of frustration burned my eyes as Dad pulled me into the side hallway. His grip on my forearm was gentle, but the sentiment was rough nonetheless. The moment we were out of earshot of the team, I staggered away from him, clutching my arm close to my chest.

“What has gotten into you?” Dad asked. He was angry. Seeing the snarl take over his face made me want to drop my own defences and cower. 

“How can you even ask that you're signing my rights away?” I shouted. Dad put a hand out and looked back towards the living room while shushing me. As if he cared what the team thought. 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Dad said. 

I shook my head and laughed stalely. “I read the document, Dad. If that gets signed they will have the right to lock me up.” 

“That won't happen because you aren't an Avenger anymore.” His blatant ignorance was so infuriating. I imagined myself punching a hole in the drywall just beside his head. 

“Theres an entire section with my fucking name on it!” I spat. 

“I am not going to tell you again to watch your mouth around me,” Dad warned. 

I was quick to snap back. “Since when do you care? You've been swearing since they dropped me off with you.” 

“Its about respect you little shit,” Dad said, pointing his finger in my face. 

“Oh very mature.” I rolled my eyes and pinched the space between my eyes brows. I was just itching to be done with all of this. I wanted to go home, go back to school and at least pretend like the most of my worries were end of year exams. 

“You are acting insane,” Dad said flatly. My head shot back up and I gaped at him with wide eyes. I felt the emotional rubber band stretch thinner and thinner. 

My hands covered my face, a mask that hid the welling in my eyes. Never let them see you break, I thought. Although, it wasn’t truly my voice I was hearing. Never let them see you stumble. Fingers rubbed roughly at skin, taking the tears along with them as I feigned composure. 

“I am not crazy,” I said quietly. “Don’t call me crazy.”

“No, I didn’t say crazy, I said you are acting insane.” 

I couldn’t stop the crazed scoff that bubbled up. Surely Dad did not want to see me break, surely he could hear how ridiculous he sounded. I had no idea what he wanted me to do with that, and I gave him a look that said as much. 

“Laurel”, Dad began. I swallowed hard. My eardrums were thundering and I could hear my heart beating. Thump, thump, thump. “Do you trust me?” I nodded. “Then trust me when I say that this is the best option we have.”

“I don’t believe you.” I fought to camouflage the tremor in my voice. “You hate being told what to do, so what is it really?”

I watched my dad shrug his shoulders in defeat. “We have made too many messes that other people have had to clean up. It’s time that we’re held accountable.” 

“When have you ever taken accountability for anything?” A hundred things flashed across Dad’s face. 

“I took accountability for you.”

I risked getting my shit rocked and rolled my eyes. “Right, because you had my identity wiped and I go by Pepper’s name at school. Taking some solid ownership there, Dad.”

“I don’t need you to understand my decisions Laurie, but they are for your own good.” Dad adjusted his shirt collar as he spoke. I had hoped that bringing up Pepper would gain me a leg up in this debate, but Dad didn’t so much as flinch. 

“How am I supposed to trust you when you’re about to sign a piece of paper that literally lets them take me away and experiment on me?” I asked 

Dad frowned and I caught a crack in his mask. “Where does it say that?”

Realization dawned on me in a shaking breath and I slowly backed up until my body hit the wall. “You didn’t even read it?”

Dad began to sputter out excuses. I swallowed hard and began to slip away from myself. A fog crept up under my feet, sweeping me in a wave until I was watching from above. 

“Article 12 Section 3.7. If I put a toe out of line they will take me and they will lock me up,” I said. 

“That’s not going to happen,” Dad replied. He said it lightly, like we were talking about monsters under the bed.  

My lip quivered. “But you’re willing to risk it?”

“I would never let that happen.” Dad placed his hand on his chest. 

“You will if you sign it.”

“Laurie it is not that simple-”

“Do you want me gone? Is that it?” I cut him off. “You never wanted a kid in the first place so this is the easiest way to get rid of me?” If he wanted to play like this then fine, I was game. 

“Jesus, cut it back with the melodramatics!” Dad laughed. He laughed at me. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”

“You can’t guarantee that!” I said pointedly. 

“It’s actually my job to guarantee that, so…” Dad was too relaxed, too enveloped in his element. He played psychological warfare like a drum every day for work, it was jarring to watch him play it on me. I had to cover my mouth as my head shook so that I could sensor the words before they came tumbling out of me. 

“You aren’t the hotshot in charge anymore, Dad. You don’t call the plays, you’re not the boss, and you know as well as I do that they would be looking for the tiniest excuse to lock me away and you would be powerless to stop them-”

“I WOULD HAVE PROTECTED YOU!”

“YOU’D BE THE ONE HANDING ME OVER!” 

I did not back down. “Not the government, not Nick Fury, not anyone else on the team. It would be you doing that to me.” I raised an accusatory finger my father. He ducked away from me. It was barely noticeable, just centimetres. But his arms were crossed high over his chest, a protective shield over his reactor arc. I looked down. My finger was glowing. I closed it into a fist. “If you sign this, Dad, I swear to God I will never forgive you.” 

“And I can live with that because I know that those Accords will keep my daughter safe. They give you a chance at a normal life, Laur.” Dad’s defences lowered in time with my fist. 

“Normal life?” I scoffed. “What normal life? I’ve had two real friends in my whole life and they’ve never been to our house. They’ll never know who my parents are, and they don’t know me truly because I’m not allowed to let them. I’ve never been to a school dance. I have no idea how to talk to people my age. You and I have never even gone to the movie theatre. My whole life has been you and nothing but you.”

Dad’s face became harder than stone. “I didn’t realize I was such a terrible father.”

That was enough to slam me back into my body. The hallway was spinning in an endless spiral around me and I felt sick to my stomach. I stood across from my father like opponents in Jersey after the countdown. Imaginary guns drawn and smoking in the wind. An eerie sense of calm slowed my thoughts and tugged at my breathing. All at once I knew this fight had been lost. 

“We’re going home. Go get your things while I finish talking to everyone else.” I did not move a muscle, staring angrily at the cold tile floor. “Please, Laurie.” 

I rolled my eyes and looked up at my father. When I was younger we would bicker a lot and I liked to punish him with silent treatments. He was always talented at sharpening his words and pointing them just above my major arteries. So in return, I would deliver silent rebuttals. They would last ages. I think the longest I went without talking to him was two and a half weeks. It was after New York, when he had disappeared again and missed Christmas. Pepper made us both try family therapy afterwards. The shrinks all thought it was some disorder, some selective form of mutism. But I knew it wasn’t. I knew what I was doing. Manipulation learned from the very best. 

I could see the pain behind my father’s eyes. I could see a broken man truly trying his best. But I get my stubbornness from somewhere and Tony Stark has never been able to get out of his own way. I learned at a very early age that he was not the kind of parent who handled his emotions well, let alone those of a teenage girl. 

When I stepped back into the living room again, trailing behind my father like a kicked dog, I could tell that my team had heard every word. It was written all over their faces. Each Avenger had taken to separate corners of the room, silently lamenting over the thick booklet that laid on the coffee table. Someone had moved the cold cup of coffee I had abandoned in all my fury. And Steve had taken off, something about a family affair he needed to take care of. Funny, I thought all of his family was dead. 

Shoes dragging to a halt underneath me, I stood motionless a few feet away from everyone else. Dad continued in his stride, marking a clear path to the middle of the room. Bile rose in my throat while I watched him reach a hand inside his vest and pull out a black pen. Carelessly tossing pages of the document to the side, my father bent down and scribbled his signature above the line with his name on it. I could sense Natasha’s watchfull eyes on me, but my gaze was glued to the Accords. My blood on the pages was still fresh. I turned my palms upwards, examining the dents in my skin that were already beginning to clot. Maybe Natasha had a right to be concerned after all. 

…

I couldn’t remember much about the ride home. Dad had driven himself to the compound in Grandpa’s old Cadillac, so we took that car home. I was grateful that I had the back to myself. There were so many times in my life when Dad and I got into a heated fit, and then had to share the backseat of Happy’s car. I imagined that was what it would be like to have siblings. 

The traffic going back into New York City on a Sunday afternoon was just a recipe for disaster. Even with F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s route saving us forty-five minutes, Dad and I were still stuck in a metal cage for the next hour. I was sprawled out along the seat, my head resting on the pink overnight bag. If Happy saw me like this, he would have had a fit followed by a lecture on proper seatbelt safety. 

I spent most of the silent drive with my eyes closed. That way I could keep the waterworks from spilling onto the plush leather seats. Italian leather, priceless and ridiculously hard to replace; something my father reminded me of every time I had the gual to try and eat in this car. There were very few material objects my Dad cared about, and this old piece of junk happened to be one of them. I let a few tears fall and create a damp puddle on the leather just to spite him. 

Every so often I would crack my eyes open a bit, muscles tense in reaction to the daylight. I would catch Dad looking at me and pretend to fall asleep again. He was supposed to be watching the road after all. I swallowed the bitter taste of spit in my mouth and let the sounds of the car rumbling lull me into real sleep. The emotional expenses of the morning were finally catching up to me. 

Dad pulled the car into the unground garage and it sputtered to a halt. The vibrations from the engine that echoed in my chest stopped. With my ear against my duffle bag, I became very aware of the hard thud, thud, thump of my own heartbeat. I supposed that Dad thought I was still asleep. I waited to hear him unlock the door and step out. He was still. 

Anticipation for something I couldn’t name sent a shiver down to my toes. My eyes were still closed and the sound of my heavy breathing was making me rethink my acting abilities. Too shallow, to narrow, too loud to mock a resting child. I focused on controlling it, slowing it down like Wanda had taught me. That only made it harder to take in air. My heart skipped a beat and got caught in my throat. Why could I not catch a breath? 

A click of a lock brought me back down. The car jiggled as dad stepped out. I opened my eyes but remained still. Dad had just recently taken up driving himself places, so there were only a handful of times in my life when he would get the chance to carry me in after a long night’s drive. I was always secretly awake, I just wanted to be held. Doesn’t everyone ache to feel smaller than they are once and a while? 

Once I felt like I had been laying there for too long, I moved to go inside the house. I figured Dad must have gone straight inside. I was too old to be carried now anyways. My hand pushed up on my duffle bag for leverage, but it was sooner swept out from under me. My cheek landed with a smack on the leather. I sat up, disgruntled, to see Dad standing above me with my duffle swaying at his side. He’d come back to get me. 

He looked as shocked as I felt. We stared at one another for a long while. I had to press my lips together when I saw the first glimmer of giggles cross my fathers face. Before I knew it he was having a total fit, giggling like he was several feet shorter and wearing pigtails. I couldn’t help but join him as he beckoned me to get out of the car. An arm around my back guided my up towards the steps into our house like the entire morning before had been forgotten. 

We stepped into the connecting elevator together. The comforting weight of Dad’s arm around my shoulders disappeared as he clicked the button for the main floor. The elevator hummed in response and I felt the ascension begin. Within seconds the doors slid open with a ding. Dad stepped out first. 

“Are you hungry?” He asked, turning as we entered the kitchen. My shoulders sagged and I let an overexaggerated yawn slip out. Food was always the way my father tried to make up for a fight. I mentally placed a bet on when he’d offer to order in cheeseburgers. 

I shook my head and rubbed an eye with my knuckles. When my vision refocused I noticed a sheen of sweat on Dad’s faced. He was paler than usual and his gaze was locked hard on me. 

Or rather, on the hand that was still by my face. The bloody nail marks had completely scabbed over. Seriously, they were not as big of a deal that everyone seemed to want to make them. 

“I’m fine, Dad.” I held my hands in fists behind my back. In the back of my mind I was bothered by the fact that the elevator door wasn’t closing properly. 

At this point in my life, I could see a panic attack starting from a mile away. The shaking breath, the jittering, the heart palpitations. I liked to joke that Dad and I passed them back and forth like a cold beer in the summertime. Nobody found that one to be funny. I could have sworn that he was getting better. Behind my back, I ran a finger over the bumpy scabs on my palms. 

Dad gulped a breath of air and dropped my duffle on the floor. Instinctively, I stepped towards him but he retreated with arms outstretched. 

“I’m fine, I’m gonna…” He stumbled over one of the barstools as he backed up. “You order a pizza or anything, I have some business to take care of downstairs.”

Dad practically ran to the main stairwell, feet stomping on the tile with force that echoed throughout the house. My shoulders tensed and I felt stuck, having not one clue what just happened. After a minute or two of standing in complete silence, I dared to move one foot in front of the other. I bent down and picked up my duffle from the ground. And although they had been completely open the entire time, the moment I reached the elevator, its doors finally closed. 

[laurie-stark]

Chapter VII: Broken Elevator

A/N: Sorry for such a long wait between chapters, love you all!

Word count: 2.8K

Series Masterlist

Tears of frustration burned my eyes as Dad pulled me into the side hallway. His grip on my forearm was gentle, but the sentiment was rough nonetheless. The moment we were out of earshot of the team, I staggered away from him, clutching my arm close to my chest.

“What has gotten into you?” Dad asked. He was angry. Seeing the snarl take over his face made me want to drop my own defences and cower. 

“How can you even ask that you're signing my rights away?” I shouted. Dad put a hand out and looked back towards the living room while shushing me. As if he cared what the team thought. 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Dad said. 

I shook my head and laughed stalely. “I read the document, Dad. If that gets signed they will have the right to lock me up.” 

“That won't happen because you aren't an Avenger anymore.” His blatant ignorance was so infuriating. I imagined myself punching a hole in the drywall just beside his head. 

“Theres an entire section with my fucking name on it!” I spat. 

“I am not going to tell you again to watch your mouth around me,” Dad warned. 

I was quick to snap back. “Since when do you care? You've been swearing since they dropped me off with you.” 

“Its about respect you little shit,” Dad said, pointing his finger in my face. 

“Oh very mature.” I rolled my eyes and pinched the space between my eyes brows. I was just itching to be done with all of this. I wanted to go home, go back to school and at least pretend like the most of my worries were end of year exams. 

“You are acting insane,” Dad said flatly. My head shot back up and I gaped at him with wide eyes. I felt the emotional rubber band stretch thinner and thinner. 

My hands covered my face, a mask that hid the welling in my eyes. Never let them see you break, I thought. Although, it wasn’t truly my voice I was hearing. Never let them see you stumble. Fingers rubbed roughly at skin, taking the tears along with them as I feigned composure. 

“I am not crazy,” I said quietly. “Don’t call me crazy.”

“No, I didn’t say crazy, I said you are acting insane.” 

I couldn’t stop the crazed scoff that bubbled up. Surely Dad did not want to see me break, surely he could hear how ridiculous he sounded. I had no idea what he wanted me to do with that, and I gave him a look that said as much. 

“Laurel”, Dad began. I swallowed hard. My eardrums were thundering and I could hear my heart beating. Thump, thump, thump. “Do you trust me?” I nodded. “Then trust me when I say that this is the best option we have.”

“I don’t believe you.” I fought to camouflage the tremor in my voice. “You hate being told what to do, so what is it really?”

I watched my dad shrug his shoulders in defeat. “We have made too many messes that other people have had to clean up. It’s time that we’re held accountable.” 

“When have you ever taken accountability for anything?” A hundred things flashed across Dad’s face. 

“I took accountability for you.”

I risked getting my shit rocked and rolled my eyes. “Right, because you had my identity wiped and I go by Pepper’s name at school. Taking some solid ownership there, Dad.”

“I don’t need you to understand my decisions Laurie, but they are for your own good.” Dad adjusted his shirt collar as he spoke. I had hoped that bringing up Pepper would gain me a leg up in this debate, but Dad didn’t so much as flinch. 

“How am I supposed to trust you when you’re about to sign a piece of paper that literally lets them take me away and experiment on me?” I asked 

Dad frowned and I caught a crack in his mask. “Where does it say that?”

Realization dawned on me in a shaking breath and I slowly backed up until my body hit the wall. “You didn’t even read it?”

Dad began to sputter out excuses. I swallowed hard and began to slip away from myself. A fog crept up under my feet, sweeping me in a wave until I was watching from above. 

“Article 12 Section 3.7. If I put a toe out of line they will take me and they will lock me up,” I said. 

“That’s not going to happen,” Dad replied. He said it lightly, like we were talking about monsters under the bed.  

My lip quivered. “But you’re willing to risk it?”

“I would never let that happen.” Dad placed his hand on his chest. 

“You will if you sign it.”

“Laurie it is not that simple-”

“Do you want me gone? Is that it?” I cut him off. “You never wanted a kid in the first place so this is the easiest way to get rid of me?” If he wanted to play like this then fine, I was game. 

“Jesus, cut it back with the melodramatics!” Dad laughed. He laughed at me. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”

“You can’t guarantee that!” I said pointedly. 

“It’s actually my job to guarantee that, so…” Dad was too relaxed, too enveloped in his element. He played psychological warfare like a drum every day for work, it was jarring to watch him play it on me. I had to cover my mouth as my head shook so that I could sensor the words before they came tumbling out of me. 

“You aren’t the hotshot in charge anymore, Dad. You don’t call the plays, you’re not the boss, and you know as well as I do that they would be looking for the tiniest excuse to lock me away and you would be powerless to stop them-”

“I WOULD HAVE PROTECTED YOU!”

“YOU’D BE THE ONE HANDING ME OVER!” 

I did not back down. “Not the government, not Nick Fury, not anyone else on the team. It would be you doing that to me.” I raised an accusatory finger my father. He ducked away from me. It was barely noticeable, just centimetres. But his arms were crossed high over his chest, a protective shield over his reactor arc. I looked down. My finger was glowing. I closed it into a fist. “If you sign this, Dad, I swear to God I will never forgive you.” 

“And I can live with that because I know that those Accords will keep my daughter safe. They give you a chance at a normal life, Laur.” Dad’s defences lowered in time with my fist. 

“Normal life?” I scoffed. “What normal life? I’ve had two real friends in my whole life and they’ve never been to our house. They’ll never know who my parents are, and they don’t know me truly because I’m not allowed to let them. I’ve never been to a school dance. I have no idea how to talk to people my age. You and I have never even gone to the movie theatre. My whole life has been you and nothing but you.”

Dad’s face became harder than stone. “I didn’t realize I was such a terrible father.”

That was enough to slam me back into my body. The hallway was spinning in an endless spiral around me and I felt sick to my stomach. I stood across from my father like opponents in Jersey after the countdown. Imaginary guns drawn and smoking in the wind. An eerie sense of calm slowed my thoughts and tugged at my breathing. All at once I knew this fight had been lost. 

“We’re going home. Go get your things while I finish talking to everyone else.” I did not move a muscle, staring angrily at the cold tile floor. “Please, Laurie.” 

I rolled my eyes and looked up at my father. When I was younger we would bicker a lot and I liked to punish him with silent treatments. He was always talented at sharpening his words and pointing them just above my major arteries. So in return, I would deliver silent rebuttals. They would last ages. I think the longest I went without talking to him was two and a half weeks. It was after New York, when he had disappeared again and missed Christmas. Pepper made us both try family therapy afterwards. The shrinks all thought it was some disorder, some selective form of mutism. But I knew it wasn’t. I knew what I was doing. Manipulation learned from the very best. 

I could see the pain behind my father’s eyes. I could see a broken man truly trying his best. But I get my stubbornness from somewhere and Tony Stark has never been able to get out of his own way. I learned at a very early age that he was not the kind of parent who handled his emotions well, let alone those of a teenage girl. 

When I stepped back into the living room again, trailing behind my father like a kicked dog, I could tell that my team had heard every word. It was written all over their faces. Each Avenger had taken to separate corners of the room, silently lamenting over the thick booklet that laid on the coffee table. Someone had moved the cold cup of coffee I had abandoned in all my fury. And Steve had taken off, something about a family affair he needed to take care of. Funny, I thought all of his family was dead. 

Shoes dragging to a halt underneath me, I stood motionless a few feet away from everyone else. Dad continued in his stride, marking a clear path to the middle of the room. Bile rose in my throat while I watched him reach a hand inside his vest and pull out a black pen. Carelessly tossing pages of the document to the side, my father bent down and scribbled his signature above the line with his name on it. I could sense Natasha’s watchfull eyes on me, but my gaze was glued to the Accords. My blood on the pages was still fresh. I turned my palms upwards, examining the dents in my skin that were already beginning to clot. Maybe Natasha had a right to be concerned after all. 

…

I couldn’t remember much about the ride home. Dad had driven himself to the compound in Grandpa’s old Cadillac, so we took that car home. I was grateful that I had the back to myself. There were so many times in my life when Dad and I got into a heated fit, and then had to share the backseat of Happy’s car. I imagined that was what it would be like to have siblings. 

The traffic going back into New York City on a Sunday afternoon was just a recipe for disaster. Even with F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s route saving us forty-five minutes, Dad and I were still stuck in a metal cage for the next hour. I was sprawled out along the seat, my head resting on the pink overnight bag. If Happy saw me like this, he would have had a fit followed by a lecture on proper seatbelt safety. 

I spent most of the silent drive with my eyes closed. That way I could keep the waterworks from spilling onto the plush leather seats. Italian leather, priceless and ridiculously hard to replace; something my father reminded me of every time I had the gual to try and eat in this car. There were very few material objects my Dad cared about, and this old piece of junk happened to be one of them. I let a few tears fall and create a damp puddle on the leather just to spite him. 

Every so often I would crack my eyes open a bit, muscles tense in reaction to the daylight. I would catch Dad looking at me and pretend to fall asleep again. He was supposed to be watching the road after all. I swallowed the bitter taste of spit in my mouth and let the sounds of the car rumbling lull me into real sleep. The emotional expenses of the morning were finally catching up to me. 

Dad pulled the car into the unground garage and it sputtered to a halt. The vibrations from the engine that echoed in my chest stopped. With my ear against my duffle bag, I became very aware of the hard thud, thud, thump of my own heartbeat. I supposed that Dad thought I was still asleep. I waited to hear him unlock the door and step out. He was still. 

Anticipation for something I couldn’t name sent a shiver down to my toes. My eyes were still closed and the sound of my heavy breathing was making me rethink my acting abilities. Too shallow, to narrow, too loud to mock a resting child. I focused on controlling it, slowing it down like Wanda had taught me. That only made it harder to take in air. My heart skipped a beat and got caught in my throat. Why could I not catch a breath? 

A click of a lock brought me back down. The car jiggled as dad stepped out. I opened my eyes but remained still. Dad had just recently taken up driving himself places, so there were only a handful of times in my life when he would get the chance to carry me in after a long night’s drive. I was always secretly awake, I just wanted to be held. Doesn’t everyone ache to feel smaller than they are once and a while? 

Once I felt like I had been laying there for too long, I moved to go inside the house. I figured Dad must have gone straight inside. I was too old to be carried now anyways. My hand pushed up on my duffle bag for leverage, but it was sooner swept out from under me. My cheek landed with a smack on the leather. I sat up, disgruntled, to see Dad standing above me with my duffle swaying at his side. He’d come back to get me. 

He looked as shocked as I felt. We stared at one another for a long while. I had to press my lips together when I saw the first glimmer of giggles cross my fathers face. Before I knew it he was having a total fit, giggling like he was several feet shorter and wearing pigtails. I couldn’t help but join him as he beckoned me to get out of the car. An arm around my back guided my up towards the steps into our house like the entire morning before had been forgotten. 

We stepped into the connecting elevator together. The comforting weight of Dad’s arm around my shoulders disappeared as he clicked the button for the main floor. The elevator hummed in response and I felt the ascension begin. Within seconds the doors slid open with a ding. Dad stepped out first. 

“Are you hungry?” He asked, turning as we entered the kitchen. My shoulders sagged and I let an overexaggerated yawn slip out. Food was always the way my father tried to make up for a fight. I mentally placed a bet on when he’d offer to order in cheeseburgers. 

I shook my head and rubbed an eye with my knuckles. When my vision refocused I noticed a sheen of sweat on Dad’s faced. He was paler than usual and his gaze was locked hard on me. 

Or rather, on the hand that was still by my face. The bloody nail marks had completely scabbed over. Seriously, they were not as big of a deal that everyone seemed to want to make them. 

“I’m fine, Dad.” I held my hands in fists behind my back. In the back of my mind I was bothered by the fact that the elevator door wasn’t closing properly. 

At this point in my life, I could see a panic attack starting from a mile away. The shaking breath, the jittering, the heart palpitations. I liked to joke that Dad and I passed them back and forth like a cold beer in the summertime. Nobody found that one to be funny. I could have sworn that he was getting better. Behind my back, I ran a finger over the bumpy scabs on my palms. 

Dad gulped a breath of air and dropped my duffle on the floor. Instinctively, I stepped towards him but he retreated with arms outstretched. 

“I’m fine, I’m gonna…” He stumbled over one of the barstools as he backed up. “You order a pizza or anything, I have some business to take care of downstairs.”

Dad practically ran to the main stairwell, feet stomping on the tile with force that echoed throughout the house. My shoulders tensed and I felt stuck, having not one clue what just happened. After a minute or two of standing in complete silence, I dared to move one foot in front of the other. I bent down and picked up my duffle from the ground. And although they had been completely open the entire time, the moment I reached the elevator, its doors finally closed. 

[laurie-stark]

Chapter VI: Cold Coffee

A/N: crazy sorry for such a long time between updates my friends. the end-of-term brain fog has finally settled in and i care so little for school that i was able to write a bit in my lectures lol. also i must give credit to chat gpt for writing the accords at the bottom. yes i used AI to write up a fake legal document, i aint coming up with all that jargon. gotta use the tools available to you kids. until next time, take care -mimi

TW: There are subtle mentions of accidental self-harm at the end of this chapter, as well as some mention of blood.

Word Count: 2.9K

Series Masterlist

I should have known that sneaking into the meeting room would be harder than just opening the door. I stalked my team over the security camera footage on my smartwatch, following them as they trudged out of the room and down the halls. I struggled to keep up with every turn of a corner. Dumb tiny controls. Eventually they settled in the living room. It was perfect. They probably left the meeting room door unlocked and everything! All I had to do was sneak down the hall and-

Shit. 

The living room was directly down the hall. They were directly down the hall. There was no way that I could stroll past them, not without anyone knowing what I was on the hunt for. And in the back of my mind I knew that the security cameras were only easy to crack into because my father wanted me to see that footage. He wanted to remind me that I’d only ever watch from behind a wall. 

I tip-toed closer to the living room. Their voices got clearer as I snuck a peak around the corner. Breathing heavily, I scanned for a way to waltz past the group. My eyes darted to the air duct by the ceiling. I could climb through those? I thought. No, there was no way I could even attempt to be as quiet as Clint was when he hung out up there. 

My heart jolted out of my chest when Rhodey turned his head in my direction. I whipped back around the corner, hand over my mouth for good measure. This is why they never sent me in to gather intel anywhere. I was way too jumpy. 

I scampered back down the hall to my room. Pacing along the floor, I wracked my brain for another way I could get to the meeting room. Surely there was a way around the living room. I had never seen the blueprints for the compound, but my dad had to have installed some sort of emergency exit. 

A wicked grin crossed my face. I crossed my bedroom floor and pried open the door to a small balcony that overlooked the compound grounds. It was a sunny Sunday afternoon. The pond was still enough that I could see wiggly reflections of the treeline in it. I stepped towards the railing, hands pressed against the cool metal bars. I heaved my weight to look down at the ground. I was four stories up, which I guessed equated to around fifty feet off the ground. That’s not that terrible, I thought. I was higher up in Sokivia.

I inhaled deeply and swung my left leg over the railing. With incredible incoordination, I carefully pulled the rest of my body over the railing so that I was teetering on the edge. If I looked, I was sure that I’d see white knuckles gripping the bar for dear life on either side of me. This was a great plan. It was a terribly great terrible plan. 

Launching myself down a flight of stairs was easy. It was one step after the other with minimal exertion of my powers. I did it without thinking all the time, this was no different. Instead of three or four feet over a wide span, I just had to make it fifty straight down. I could do this. I can’t do this. I could totally do this. Laurie, just do it! I probably didn’t have much time before they realize they forgot the document in the living room anyways. Quit stalling! Just close your eyes and-

My stomach flew up into my throat. I clenched my fists and tucked my arms in tight to my sides, keeping my eyes closed. Even though I couldn’t see, I knew that my body was beginning to glow. I could feel it, as though an invisible hand was reaching out through my chest, desperate to grab onto anything. Grasping at air, I began to panic. I had no frame of reference. Nothing to pinpoint my gravitational pull to, not with my eyes closed. And for the life of me I couldn’t get them open. I felt myself slip and plummet towards the hard ground. This was it. This was how I die.

When I opened my eyes I was dumbfounded. I let out a disbelieving gasp as I took in the world from forty feet in the air. I was completely suspended, my body stuck between atoms like an airplane in turbulence. I mustered the courage to move my head to look up and see what I was tethered to. To my absolute shock, there was nothing but open sky above me. How the hell was I flying?

I slowed my breathing and remembered all that I had learned with Wanda. I focused on my palms first. They were buzzing with energy, alive with a force I needed to control. You are in control. Wanda’s voice echoed in my mind. I was in control. I let myself feel the pulsing inside my chest. It beat and thumped like a drum. Like a heartbeat. Looking inward, I realized with a gasp that I had redirected my gravitational pull to…myself. Well how about that?

Lowering myself down to the ground was tricky business. It felt like trying to control the muscles in your face that you don’t normally have manual control over. Eventually, I wobbled down until my feet touched the grass. I collapsed onto my hands and knees, head lowered. I mentally cracked up at the image of me looking like a poser. 

Still in shock that I had uncovered a new layer to my abilities, I dusted my hands off and felt the energy cool down. I had time to unpack all of that later. Right now I was on a mission. Cardio had never been my strong suit, but I managed to jog around the perimeter of the compound easily enough. I hoped that the few straggling SHIELD agents who had nothing better to do but be here on a weekend didn’t notice me gasping for breath as I walked through the large double doors. 

As I predicted, the door to the meeting room was unlocked. The document was still sitting in the middle of the oval table. The room felt heavy, and although I knew better than to believe in spirits, I could have sworn that the document was calling my name. Surely it was a normal legal binder, but it felt like it had it’s own gravity, tugging me closer. 

I picked it up using two hands, running my fingers over the glossy title page. My heart was beating loudly in my ears, drowning out any other sounds in the room. The Sokivia Accords: Framework for the Registration and Deployment of Enhanced Individuals…Deployment? I thought. My mind had jumped to jumbled up the words deployment and deportation. The government didn’t have the power to deport us. Surely not. 

I sat down in one of the empty office chairs and propped the Accords open in front of me. It was thick, nearly the same size as my math textbook. Flipping through the pages, I tried to understand what about this thing got my team into such a tizzy. The more I read, the more confused I got. The legal jargon was far beyond my comprehension skills. There was a reason I used to pass out during the HR meetings Dad dragged me to.  

The table of contents was just as hard to understand as the rest of it, but I ran my finger down the pages regardless. I scanned across ink, looking for any semblance of the English language. The pad of my pointer finger came to a screeching halt. I stared at the page with my mouth agape, mind having gone blank. Staring back up at me was my own name printed in bolded letters. 

They called me “The Subject.” I kicked myself for being surprised, I should have known that this would implicate me. You didn’t even know what this was five minutes ago, I thought. Yeah but you should have.

I forced myself to read through every single word. Regulations…oversight protocols…stipulations…My heart was racing. I started to feel sick to my stomach, even though I still wasn’t clear on what this meant at all. And then it hit me.

Article XII, Section 3A: Failure to comply. In the event that the Subject violates any of the statutes or stipulations outlined within Article I-XII, the following measures shall be immediately enacted.

Immediate detainment. Placement in a specialized containment facility.  Behavioural and ability development assessment. I suddenly felt like eyes were already on me. I started breathing faster, and the heart that was once stuck in my throat had dropped to the pits of my stomach. The curtains were completely drawn back now. If I broke any of the rules laid out in front of me, the government would put me in a lab and study me. 

I was seven when my father went missing for the first time. It was rare for him to take work trips without me, but going into an active war zone was no place for a child, so he left me behind. Pepper had moved into our house almost immediately. She made sure I did my schoolwork, that I kept going to my theatre and art classes. She got me into therapy too. It took three months for Dad to come back, and when he did I felt different. 

In therapy, I learned how to ground myself. The night terrors were pretty persistent back then. I’d wake up screaming with no recollection of my dreams. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t see, and it felt like I was dying. My therapist taught me how to come back down to earth. She taught me to breathe deeply, to feel the floor beneath my feet. It was around this time that my powers first manifested. The techniques I used to channel the power under my sternum were the same ones my therapist taught me way back when. I stopped throwing things around in my sleep after a while.

The government thought I was dangerous. They called me a threat to civilians, they wanted me locked up. I knew that if these Accords got signed, these people would look for the smallest of excuses to put me away, to put all of us away. Frantically, I flipped to the last page in the document. I was looking for the page where my team would inevitably sign. Angry tears blurred my vision when I landed on the page. 

Clint Barton, Wanda Maximoff, James Rhodes, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Anthony Stark, Vision, and Sam Wilson. 

Of course, they wouldn’t give me a say in this. Of course they would give that fucking cyborg a say in my future instead of me. My nails dug into the centre of my palms, and I felt the distinct pop of skin breaking. For a fleeting moment, I worried about getting blood on the Accords. 

A desk chair to my right went flying over the table, smashing through the window opposite me. Glass exploded and fell in shards to the ground, the lights started to flicker. They wanted a monster? Fine, I’d let them have it. But first I needed to go find my father.

I barreled into the living room holding the Accords above my head like it was a rifle and I was trying to get attention in a mall. The team was scattered around the room, hovering over the brown leather couches or splayed across them. My father was standing in the kitchen by the coffee maker, in front of a hologram projection of something I couldn’t see. It looked like he was preaching to the choir. Clearly, I was interrupting. 

“What the hell is this?” I slammed the Accords down onto the coffee table so hard that cold liquid spilled out of the mug I had left early that same morning. Surprise clouded the faces of those around me. 

“Laurie,” Steve started. He had another copy of the document in his hands, closing it gingerly like he thought sudden movements might set me off.

“No, don’t ‘Laurie’ me. What is this? What is going on?” It was hitting me all at once that it was the same Sunday and I hadn’t even been awake for half a day. It was just a few hours ago that I was curled up on these very couches with Steve. Finding out about Lagos and discovering the Accords in such quick succession, my head was spinning. 

Natasha took a step forward and picked up the Accords I had tossed around. She flipped it sideways, examining the spine, and my jaw twitched when I noticed the splotches of red seeping into the white pages. I shoved my fist into my pocket. 

“What happened to this?” She held the document out towards me, her eyes piercing daggers into mine. 

“Is that coffee?” Rhodey asked, peering over Nat’s shoulder. 

“Did you hurt yourself?” Natasha asked, ignoring Rhodey's breathing down her neck.

“You spilled coffee on that? Come on, that’s a government document!” 

“I’m sure the guy with the goofy glasses has it on hard drive, Rhodey,” I said flatly. 

“It’s clearly blood man,” Sam said. 

“Blood? What do you mean blood?” Dad chimed in, stepping out of the kitchen and putting a hand on my shoulder. I tensed under his touch. 

“Laurel, did you hurt yourself over this?” Natasha’s eyes were scanning all over me. 

Dad gripped both of my shoulders and turned me to face him, shaking me slightly as he asked. “Why is she saying you’re hurt, are you hurt?” I stuttered over my words and he noticed the hands in my pocket. “Show me your hands.” 

“Dad, stop.” More voices were piling into the conversation and I started to feel like I was drowning. 

“Okay everyone, let’s calm down,” Steve interjected. 

“Show me your hands!” 

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” I screamed. I was holding both arms out in front of me now. My breathing had become erratic. Electricity pulsed underneath my skin. I could feel every object in the room, every person’s gravity pulling me in a thousand directions at once. Dad leaned back at my outburst, everyone else took a step away. 

“I’m going to need you to watch your tone, little miss,” Dad said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“And I’m going to need all of you to quit the horse shit,” I bit back, waving my pointer finger around the room as I spoke. “You have all been keeping me in the dark for a year. I am sick of it. Tell me what’s going on.” 

“You are not an Avenger anymore.” Dad was the only person with the balls to speak up. 

“Oh, don’t I know that,” I laughed bitterly. “You never let me forget it. And you know what’s funny, Tony? You preach about child endangerment, you swear that you’re keeping me safe but the truth is you can’t deal with the idea of your kid becoming stronger than you-”

Dad didn’t give me a chance to finish. He grabbed me by the upper arm and pulled. He dragged me out of the living room as if I was a dog who just tore up all of his designer throw pillows. My anger subsided and was replaced with shame. As Dad walked us to the hallway, he turned around and pointed at the red-stained document in Natasha’s hands. “I’ll be back. Sign it.” 

Article XII - Special Provisions for Minor Enhanced Individuals with Significant PotentialSection 3.7 - Laurie Stark Clause

Subject DesignationLaurie Maria Stark, a minor and known Enhanced Person (hereinafter referred to as "the Subject"), shall be subject to enhanced oversight protocols due to her unique abilities, which include but are not limited to gravitational and elemental manipulation. Given the considerable power inherent in these capabilities, and the potential risk to public safety, the Subject shall be bound by all regulations contained within this Article.

Mandatory ComplianceThe Subject shall adhere to all stipulations outlined within Articles I-X, specifically regarding the registration, tracking, and supervision of superhuman activity. The Subject is expressly prohibited from the unsupervised use of her abilities in public spaces or in any manner that might endanger civilian life or property, unless explicitly sanctioned by the International Enhanced Persons Oversight Committee (IEPOC).

Failure to ComplyIn the event that the Subject violates any of the statutes or stipulations outlined within Articles I-XII, the following measures shall be immediately enacted:

Immediate Detainment: The Subject will be detained by designated authorities without prior notice or warning, in order to mitigate any further threat to public safety.

Placement in a Specialized Containment Facility: The Subject will be transported to an Enhanced Persons Rehabilitation and Containment Facility (EPRCF), where she shall remain under secure supervision until further assessment and clearance by IEPOC.

Revocation of Conditional Freedoms: All conditional rights or privileges previously granted to the Subject, including but not limited to the right to independent movement and association, shall be summarily revoked.

Behavioral and Ability Development Assessments: In order to better understand and responsibly manage the Subject's capabilities, she will undergo periodic assessments with specialists to evaluate her behavioral and cognitive responses in controlled conditions. These assessments shall be conducted with a view toward ensuring public safety and furthering scientific understanding of Enhanced Persons.

[laurie-stark]

elle greenaway and spencer reid:

[laurie-stark]

CAST AND CREW

Cherry Bomb Masterlist

LAUREL "LAURIE" STARK WAS ONLY EIGHTEEN MONTHS OLD WHEN SHE LEARNED WHAT IT MEANT TO BE DISCARDED. And she was also nine months old when she learned what it was to be loved. The product of one of Tony Stark's many one-night-stands, Laurie was raised like any completely normal child. Well, apart from the superpowers. But who doesn't have those these days?

CAST

SCARLETT ESTEVEZ & LUNA BLAISE as Laurel "Laurie" Stark

Navia Robinson & Luca Hollestelle as Meredith Camden & Brianna Sinclair

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

I do not own any part of The MCU. Only my character and their plot I came up with.

DISCLAIMER: This fanfic will cover topics of death, depression, and violence.

[laurie-stark]

Chapter V: The Room Where It Happens

A/N:

apologies for the late update. enjoy and dont expect new chapters anytime soon for we are coming upon the month of november where no university student is safe

Word count: 2.3k

Cherry Bomb Masterlist

I ran faster than my legs could carry me. Lungs burning and palms sweating, I pummeled my way through the living quarters back down to the main floor. It was a Sunday, so most of the full-time employees were off enjoying golf games and mimosas with brunch. Or whatever grown adults did on Sundays. 

As I approached the grand staircase connecting the upper floors to the lobby, my feet went flying over the top steps. A leap that big should have sent me catapulting into a bone-breaking landing. Instead, I landed with grace on the tips of my toes, only to jump and skip another six steps. For a moment I was weightless, drifting down to earth with the speed of a leaf in autumn. With every bound I felt the surge of energy expanding. The compound was the one place on this planet I felt comfortable enough to use my powers unconsciously. 

I came to a screeching hault at the bottom of the staircase. The momentum from my fall sent me run-tripping directly into the chest of a very fragile looking man. He had brown hair and silly glasses, and he dropped the briefcase he was holding when we collided. I mentally reached out to stop it from spinning out too far away on the floor. 

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” I bent down to pick up the briefcase and thrust it into its owner’s very discombobulated arms. The man brushed imaginary dust off his crisp white shirt and took the briefcase from me with a flat smile. 

I took a step back to gather my bearings. The man was clearly an assistant of some sort to the other stranger in the room. He was taller than my father, who stood to his left, with a mop of white hair and a matching moustache. The subtle sheen of his pitch black suit and the golden cufflinks told me that he must be the Secretary of State. 

“Oh kid, I never taught you how to make a grand entrance, did I?”

I grimaced. My father was never one to hide disappointment. But I knew that his words held no depth as he opened his arms and enveloped me in a quick ‘hello’ embrace. He ruffled my hair a bit and positioned me to face his colleagues. 

“Gentlemen, you know my daughter, Laurie.” This wasn’t the first time I had been introduced to government officials, and it would not be the last. The public might be in the dark about Tony Stark’s lineage, but the US government has been in on the bit for years. 

“Secretary Ross,” the greying man held his hand out. I shook it firmly, matching the strength of his grip to mine. That was an old trick Dad taught me so I could “assert my dominance in front of big-headed men.” It felt appropriate. 

“Pleasure to meet you, sir.” I took a step backwards and found my father’s hands on my shoulders. 

“Laur, why don’t you go get your things together. Mr. Ross and I are going to have a short meeting with the rest of the team, and then we can head home,” Dad said, flashing pearly whites my way. I felt my chest tighten at the idea of the team having a private meeting, especially one where a U.S. official was present. 

“Well I am sure the team wouldn’t mind me sitting in.” I spoke with a sickeningly sweet tone and turned my attention to Ross. “Especially if the Secretary of State will be in attendance. I’ve always had a dream to go into politics.”

“Is that so?” Ross raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by the fake glean in my eyes.

“This is the first time I’m hearing about this.” Dad chimed in.

“Ah, but with all your business trips, how would you have known?” I said, knowing I must have been pushing my luck.

“Laurel.”

“Unfortunately, this meeting is strictly Avengers-only.” Ross stepped closer, ruffling a hand over the hair atop my head as if I were a dog. “ Nothing you need to worry that little head of yours about, Miss Stark.”

“Oh, I completely understand, sir. I’ll let you gentlemen be.”

Ross turned his back to me as I grumbled off towards the staircase once more. Putting my pride aside, I spun on my heels to stick my tongue out at Dad when I heard the words, “Teenagers, so much drama,” come out of his mouth. 

The designated meeting room was in my clear trajectory on the way back to my room. It was easy to look through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows and see that Sam, Steve, Natasha, Wanda, and Rhodey were already sitting around the oval table. When had Rhodey gotten here, I wondered. 

There was no doubt that this meeting had something to do with the mission gone wrong in Lagos. Saving people always came with a cost, I had seen that truth unfold time after time. But we had never received special visits from government officials before, not unless we were being awarded medals of honour. Something was not right. I needed to be in that room, I would give anything to be in that room. Unfortunately, I had to settle for the next best thing.

I shut my bedroom door behind me and leaped into my desk chair. The wheels slid with the impact and I almost comedically crashed into the window. The monitors that spread across the width of the desk lit up, and my fingers were frantic as I typed in the password. 

“A.P.R.I.L., pull up the security footage from the meeting room,” I spoke loud and clear. Video picture of a meeting room appeared on the screen directly in front of me. I sighed. “No, ‘bolts-for-brains’, the main meeting room.” 

“Access to those cameras has been restricted.” A.P.R.I.L.’s voice came on over the loudspeakers. 

“Then run ‘Locksmith’ protocol, dude! This is time sensitive!”

“I had already tried to execute both ‘Locksmith’ and ‘Don’t F-ing Worry About It.’ Neither program was able to slip past S.H.I.E.L.D.’s defences.”

“I have to do everything myself, don’t I?” A.P.R.I.L. played a sad violin sound in retaliation. 

I cracked my knuckles and opened the control panel on my computer. Accessing the wall would be easy, getting through it was the challenging bit. Or at least, it was the challenging part if you weren’t me. All it took was a bit of outside the box thinking for me to implement a code that took down the compound’s restrictions. It was never about going through the wall when I could go above, below, or sideways. 

With one last satisfying click of the Enter button, the security footage for the main meeting room took over my screen. I turned the volume button up and watched intently. Man, I wish I had popcorn. 

Everyone at the table watched intently as Ross spoke. He was very charismatic in his arm motions and hand gestures. By the time I got the audio working, he was wrapping up a story about a heart attack. 

“The world owes the Avengers an unpayable debt.” Ross paraded back and forth at the head of the table. His arms were folded neatly behind his back, his shoulders firm and upright. He must have had military experience, I thought. “ You have fought for us, protected us, risked your lives . . . but while a great many people see you as heroes, there are some . . . who would prefer the word "vigilantes".”

“Vigilantes?” I murmured. “What the hell does he think of that Spider-kid then?”

“And what word would you use, Mr. Secretary?” Natasha’s back was to the security camera, but I could recognize her voice among any crowd. I noticed then that my father wasn’t sitting at the table. He was separated, huddling back in the corner of the room. A shadow overlooking the group.

“How about "dangerous"?” Ross nearly spat. “What would you call a group of US-based, enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders and inflict their will wherever they choose and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?”

Ross leaned over and picked up a small remote from the tableside. He pointed it at the projector, which lit up in a flash. Images from the Avenger’s past flooded the screen. Ross pointed out each location as they passed.

“New York, Washington DC, Sokovia, Lagos.”

He halted on the last one, letting images of buildings on fire burn into my team’s eyes. There was footage of crowds running in the opposite directions. Paramedics moved in on a body just as another explosion went off. A dead girl.

I scanned the table, trying to read pixelated body language as best I could. Dad’s hand was by his chin; a classic defence mechanism for when he wanted to look deep in thought but really he was dreadfully uncomfortable. Wanda had sunk as low as she could possibly go without slipping to the floor. 

“Okay. That's enough,” Steve said to Ross, but his gaze was on Wanda. Ross made no indication that he caught, or even cared about, Wanda’s stature. 

“For the past four years, you've operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That's an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. But I think we have a solution.”

I felt my heart rise into my throat. Ross made a lazy snapping motion at his assistant with the glasses, who was sitting in a chair by the window. He had shrunk down. I hadn’t even noticed him until then. The man pulled something out of his briefcase and handed it to Ross, who promptly set it on the table with a thwack. I craned my neck to get a better view, but the camera quality was too poor for me to make out what it could be. 

“The Sokovia Accords. Approved by 117 countries . . . it states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they'll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, only when and if that panel deems it necessary,” Ross explained. The team took turns examining the document before passing it along to their neighbour. 

“The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place. I feel we've done that,” Steve said when the Accords landed in front of him. 

“Tell me, Captain, do you know where Thor and Banner are right now?” Ross stared hard at Steve down the bridge of his nose. When Steve gave no response, Ross continued. “If I misplaced a couple of 30 megaton nukes . . . you can bet there'd be consequences. Compromise. Reassurance. That's how the world works. Believe me, this is the middle ground.”

“So, there are contingencies.” Rhodey flexed the thick document out in front of him. Ross nodded. 

“Three days from now, the UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords,” Ross said. He glanced back at my dad in the corner. “Talk it over.”

“And if we come to a decision you don't like?” Natasha asked. She was still sitting, but her presence made her appear several feet taller than the secretary. 

“Then you retire.”

Natasha didn’t even try to hide the sarcastic smile and eye roll. No one had anything to say after that. Not even a witty remark from Tony. Although from the way he was still slumped in his corner, practically cowering, I had a theory that he knew this was a long time coming. 

Secretary Ross bid his farewells and left without another word. His poor assistant trailed after him like a kicked puppy. I expected the team to erupt into some sort of fit. Certainly, my father would at least be peeved at this. He’d never done well under someone else’s rule. 

To my disbelief, he was the calmest in the room. Sam and Rhodey looked like they were speaking in hushed tones, and Steve was motioning toward Wanda, likely offering some sort of condolence. The mics weren’t able to pick up on any of the specifics, though. 

My eyes glued to the white pixels on the table, the document currently causing so much grief. Between being just barely filled in on what happened in Lagos and having to eavesdrop on the meeting through a janky video system, I felt entirely confused at what the big deal was. 

“What do you think it is, A.P.R.I.L.?” I asked my dearest companion. “Some sort of damage control? They sign it to agree to like, I don’t know, say they’ll pay for any destruction or whatever?”

“I’m not sure, boss.” A.P.R.I.L.’s voice had a slight hint of hesitation. Not that she had any real tone, she was made up, but I could always tell the difference. “Best to just go ask.”

“When have you ever known me to get what I want by asking?” I scoffed. No, if I asked the adults they wouldn’t tell me the truth, and I was done being kept in the dark. Everyone thought that I was still just a kid, but never treated me like one when I actually was. And to start acting like that now? It majorly pissed me off. 

I hovered at my desk for a moment longer, waiting to see what the team would do. They continued to talk in low voices, some weren’t engaging in conversation at all. Rubbing circles along the inside of my palms, I was nearly doubled over with nerves. 

My breath caught in my throat when Dad stood up. He said something that sounded like “Let’s take this somewhere with better seating, my ass hurts,” and gestured to the door. The team all got up in unison and followed Dad’s lead out the door. In their haste, the Accords document was left sitting on the oval table. There’s my chance, was the last thing I thought before I dashed out of my bedroom, leaving the desk chair spinning in my wake. 

[laurie-stark]

Chapter IV: Billy Eichner

A/N:

thank you again for all the love and support. with this chapter, we wrap up act 1 of cherry bomb volume 1! how exciting.

Word count: 5.5k

Cherry Bomb Masterlist

Friday afternoon rolled around fast, and before I knew it the final bell rang through the school halls. A buzzed energy vibrated off the shuffling groups of students who were all eager to begin their weekends. I was eager to get home and pack my overnight bags, desperate to get out of the city. Brianna was leaning against the locker next to mine, talking at lightning pace about the musical she and her family were seeing that night. 

“Wait, you’re seeing Hamilton again?” I asked. I sifted through one of my binders to pull the notes I needed for studying. 

“Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said for the last three weeks?” Brianna rolled her eyes. “Yes, I am seeing Hamilton again.” I could have bet money that this would make it her seventh or eighth time seeing the show on Broadway that year alone. I used to think that I was a crazy musical theatre nerd until I met Bri.

“You are so lucky,” I said. I had heard such great things about the show from her and still hadn’t gotten to see it myself.

“Don’t tell me you still haven’t seen it Laur, it’s practically old news by now!” Brianna laughed, tossing ringlets of fire over her shoulder. 

“I know, I know!” I said, head thrown back against my locker as I shut it. “I keep trying to get my dad to buy us tickets but he has all these work trips and truth be told I think he forgets to buy them on purpose.” 

“Okay, but your dad like, hates musicals, right?” she asked. I nodded and she gave me a genuine look of apology. “Well, I’m sure he’ll just love our show. Maybe Mer and I can finally meet him!” 

I grit my teeth and grinned falsely. The Dalton’s school musical was set to happen in June, and my father wouldn’t miss it for the world. But the world had no idea that his daughter was in it, let alone that he had a daughter at all. When we found out I’d be performing, he arranged for a huge donation to the school so that he could attend the show under the guise of “funding youth’s artistic endeavours.” And it was a real kind gesture, I just wished he could come for me without the spangled banners and flashing bills. 

“Yeah, maybe!” I choked out. It was a running joke in our friend circle that my parents must be Russian spies or royalty, because neither Brianna nor Meredith have met them. At first, the jokes made me laugh, like the one time Meredith created the elaborate rumour that my parents died in a tragic accident when I was a baby and I was actually raised by my robotic nanny. But with the school year end approaching, and three more years left to go, I was getting stressed about having to maintain the facades. 

 I pulled my body away from the lockers, signalling to Brianna that I wanted to start moving. We walked side by side through the halls and out to the street. She and I both spotted her dad’s car at the same time. It was parked a few buildings down the block. Mr. Sinclair stuck his head out of the window and waved at us. 

“Oh my God, he is so embarrassing.” Brianna covered her eyes with one hand and spun us around with the other. I laughed at the way she shrunk into me. I pulled her into a quick hug to say goodbye. 

“You’re lucky that your dad can pick you up though, not everyone gets that,” I said. She pulled back from my embrace with a quizzical look on her face. I realized how what I just said sounded and quickly recovered. “My dad’s still on that damn work trip, I gotta walk today.” 

Brianna peered at me through narrowed eyes but resigned to not say anything. She stepped forward and threw an arm around my side to say goodbye, then turned down the street and got into her father’s car. 

The straps of my backpack weighed heavy on my shoulders, pinching the skin at the base of my neck. I tightened the straps and turned on my heels to begin the treacherous journey home (all twenty minutes of it). 

When I was younger, my dad used to say that the longer the days got, the shorter they felt because everything fun happens when it’s warmer. But back then we split our time between Miami and New York, so it was always warm for him. It wasn’t often that I asked Happy to disregard his unpaid childcare duties, especially in the winter when the streets of New York were covered in slush and mud. The people were always angrier during the cold months, always desperate to get wherever they were going. But God forbid I ever took the bus. Gross. 

Today, the sun was beaming down on my face, surrounded by the perfect array of puffy white clouds. It was lucky that my school got out in the early afternoon, I thought. The rush hour wouldn’t begin for another few hours and that meant the commotion on sidewalks was lessened. I made my way south down Park Avenue. This part of the Upper East Side was never all that exciting; mostly a residential area paired with blaring horns and car fumes. 

I beelined my way around nannies with strollers, kids on scooters and vendors looking to scam unknowing tourists. The people were the most interesting part of the city. I’d always been good at blending in, at keeping the attention drawn to a minimum. Even when I’d sit at the back of press conferences my Dad was at, nobody batted an eye at the six-year-old in a freshly pressed suit. I fit in well along a people-lined street, where everyone around me was hyper focused on their own lives to pay me any mind. To them I was just another city girl. 

Just as I was about to turn the corner and cross the street, a flash of cerulean blue stopped me. A middle-aged man holding a microphone and his camera crew had stopped me in my path. The man was shouting loudly but I couldn’t make out any of the words. He moved with such purpose, so much vigour, I felt like I just been hit by a tornado. 

“What?” I yelled back at him. He stuck his microphone in my face. The cord, which was attached to nothing, swung between us. 

“I said ‘Miss, for a dollar, who is the worst Avenger?’” the man repeated his question impatiently. A ridiculously giddy smile crept across my face as I realized who he was. 

“Iron man.” I leaned into the microphone and smiled cheekily at the camera. 

“Wonderful, here!” Billy Eichner thrust a dollar into my hand and took off to his next victim. I struggled to grasp the bill, still reeling from the encounter. Oh, the things that happen in New York. After a moment I shook my head and crossed Park Avenue, wondering if Billy’s segments were live or pre-recorded these days. 

The side street I lived on was beautiful, with classic brownstone townhouses and trees lining the sidewalk. Dad and I moved into the new house maybe a month after the Battle of Sokovia. After Dad decided to sell his beloved Stark Tower, we became a couple of regular, townhouse-owning Joe’s…apart from the several other properties he owned. 

The house itself was packed tightly between buildings on a street reminded me of a sardine can: two neat rows of houses with absolutely no space to wiggle. Dad picked it because it stood out from the rest; smooth white brick contrasting the surrounding muddy browns and reds. There was something very Roman about the architecture. Dad said it had to have been Italian, and therefore the best on the block. He really liked pulling the Italian card when it made him look cool. 

I stepped up to the front door and grasped onto the handle, placing my thumb directly onto the latch. A faint vibration buzzed beneath the pad of my thumb. The door was scanning my fingerprints, a security measure I was all too familiar with. I don’t think there was ever a house, a car, or a bedroom of mine that didn’t require some kind of bodily scanning. The door clicked and I pushed down on the latch, swinging the front door wide open. 

I kicked my school shoes off on the entryway mat and padded into the kitchen. Setting my backpack down onto one of the island bar stools, I made my way straight to the fridge for a snack. I settled on a small bowl of strawberries. They were my favourite, and I always missed them dreadfully when they were banned from the house to keep Pepper safe. 

A familiar ringtone to the tune of “Blank Space” by Taylor Swift cut the sounds of my chewing. It was muffled by my backpack; I’d left my phone in one of the pockets. 

“Who’s calling?” I asked out loud to the empty house.

“Your father,” A.P.R.I.L. responded over the house’s loudspeakers. “Should I answer?”

“Yeah, throw him onto the surround sound.” 

“Hey there, little miss.” Dad said after A.P.R.I.L. connected his call. His voice came down right above my head. “How was the rest of your week?” 

“Hi Daddy.” I smiled. He had called me after the fiasco that was Wednesday and I cried for an hour about my history test, but he got so busy with M.I.T. that I hadn’t heard from him since. “It was good, glad it’s over. How’s Boston?”

“Oh you know, it’s no tea party,” Dad joked, laughing at himself like he was hilarious. 

“You are so lame.” I rolled my eyes and popped another strawberry into my mouth. 

“You love my jokes.”

“Yeah, the one’s that are funny,” I laughed staley. 

“See? Ha, made you laugh.”

I rolled my eyes at the phone. 

“I heard that,” Dad said. I snorted and shook my head, glad that he couldn’t see what I was snacking on. Sometimes when he called he could project a hologram of himself, like a larger-scale FaceTime. “Anyway, more about me. It has been way too long since I’ve been to MIT. Did you know they redid the entire Edgerton Center?”

“I don’t even know what that is, Dad.”

Dad sighed dramatically. “I did not culture you enough growing up.”

And he wondered where I got my flare from. “Were the students happy with your visit?”

“Well, seeing as I am personally funding each and every one of their research projects for the rest of the year, yeah, yeah they were.”

“Very generous Mr. Stark,” I said in a posh British accent. This was one of our bits that originated when we made fun of a British delegate who wanted to buy STARK armoury way back in the day. 

“Why thank you, Miss Stark.” Dad’s British accent was not nearly as good as my own. 

“Are you still coming back on Sunday?” I asked. 

“Yes I am, so don’t throw any ragers while I’m not there, okay?”

“Dad I’m not going to throw a party-”

“But if you do, take a shot in my honour.”

“Dad! You are such a bad influence.”

“You turned out fine,”

“Yeah, thanks to Pepper.” The joke came out faster than I could catch it. Dad went quiet on the other end of the call. I cursed myself for saying anything at all. Silence fell around me like a sheet on old furniture. Silence that reminded you of how distant a father and daughter could be. “Sorry.”

I heard static on the other end, the sound of my father shifting around uncomfortably wherever he was sitting. 

“It’s fine, Laurie,” Dad said apprehensively. “It’s fine! Actually no, it’s grand even. You and I haven’t been on our own since…ever, and I’d bet that your psychiatrist would want us to take this time to bond.” 

“I’m not even gonna be here this weekend.” I rerouted the conversation, deciding it was probably better for Dad if I didn’t tell him I saw Pepper earlier in the week. His Arc reactor would go out.

“What? Where are you going? Are you seeing a boy?”

“NO!” I slapped my hand across my forehead. There was no way in hell that I’d ever tell my father anything about a boy. 

“Last minute spa getaway with the girls? Do tell Mer and Bri that I miss them dearly.” I heard some shuffling in the background as Dad spoke. Voices asking when Mr. Stark would be ready to go. 

“You’ve never met them,” I reminded him. 

“Eh, bygones. But spill, where are you going? Not that I won’t be tracking your location anyway.”

“I just undid that code in A.P.R.I.L.,” I groaned. The one downside to constructing an artificial assistant using my Dad’s old foundations was that he could get inside her systems almost effortlessly. “Relax. I’m just going up to the compound.”

“Why?” Dad’s tone was sharp. It caught me off guard and I felt myself sink down in my seat. 

“I dunno,” I shrugged. “Steve offered the invitation when I was there on Wednesday and I’ve got nothing better to do. Plus, this house is six floors of ‘too big for one person’. I’m lonely.” 

“It’s seven floors of really frigging cool! Go swim in the pool, go watch a movie. What do you mean you’re lonely?” Dad exclaimed. The last question came out all jumbled up, like one big word. “You’re not lonely, you got Happy!”

“Happy is a grown man. With a job, and a life,” I retorted. I had gotten up from my seat to put my now empty bowl into the dishwasher.  

“He’s our grown man.” 

I shook my head at nothing for the hundredth time during this call and picked up my backpack to take to my room upstairs. 

“Dad,” I drawlled. “It’s not a big deal, it’s just the compound.”

“Okay, well I just don’t see why you need to go all the way up there.

“Is ‘I want to’ not enough of an answer for you?” I shot back, more harshly than I intended to. 

The truth was, I knew that my dad was weary about me still having a close relationship with the remaining Avengers. He didn’t like that I was training at all, he thought it would put ideas in my head about wanting to become an agent again. But I knew deep down it was just for fun, and to get a handle on the powers that were growing more uncontrollable each day. I never wanted to become an Avenger, and I only liked being an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. because I liked being a part of something bigger than myself. With everything that happened in Sokovia or Washington in the last few years…I was happy to be rid of it all. But I was not happy to be rid of my family. 

“I am going,” I started, “to spend time with people that I love, okay? That’s all.” 

I heard Dad sigh into the phone. “Okay. Fine. But do me favour when you’re there.”

“What’s that?”

“Grab one of those stink bombs we made for April Fools Day and plant it in the old man’s office.”

“Oh my god, shut up!” I shook my head in embarrassment, but couldn’t help the smile that crept across my lips. “I need to pack a bag, and you need to go take care of whoever has been calling your name for the last ten minutes.” 

My father said goodbye, but not without shooting another joke across the cell line. I disconnected the call the moment I stepped into our elevator, pretending that I lost reception. We both knew that wasn’t true, Tony Stark would never stand for a reception-less elevator.

…

An hour and a half later, the train I was on pulled into an Upstate station. I funnelled through the sea of people making their way through the station out onto the streets. I wasn’t sure who was picking me up today. I had sent a message in our team groupchat about my arrival time and I hoped someone had seen it. 

I repositioned the duffle bag on my shoulder and sought higher ground to scope out the parking lot. There was a small garden surrounded by stones near the station’s entrance. I climbed up onto it. The sea of cars all looked the same to me and the sunlight reflecting off the metal was nearly blinding. To my far right I noticed a Black Corevette. Natasha’s car, I thought. But the tall figure leaning against it was definitely not Natasha. 

I staggered down from my rock and headed over to greet my mystery chauffeur. The sun was beginning to set behind them, casting a dark shadow that hid their face. It didn’t take long for me to recognize the shortly cut hair and tall physique. Steve Rogers was leaning against the passenger door of the car. He had his cellphone up to his ear talking to someone. I thought it was silly that he refused to upgrade from his little flip phone. 

“I will talk to your dad, kid. I promise. You know how much is going on for him.” I overheard the end of his conversation as I approached. “No, I know. I’m not excusing his behaviour, I just want to give him a break…Yes, you are, Theo, you are so smart.”

As I got closer Steve caught a glimpse of me and I heard him cut his phone conversation short.

“Listen Theo, Laurie just got here so I’ve got to run. I’ll talk to you later.” Steve paused, listening to the response on the other line. “Okay kid, goodbye now.” 

“Everything alright?” I asked as I approached him.

“Oh yeah, I was just calling to say hi.” Steve smiled, flashing perfect pearly white teeth. “How was the ride up?”

I shrugged. “Good. There was a baby sitting across from me.”

“Cute,” Steve said as he leaned down to open the car door for me. Seven decades in  the ice couldn’t knock the gentleman out of him. The commute to the compound was only fifteen minutes, of which I spent thirteen filling Steve in on the raunchy relationship drama between the kids who sat in front of me during math class. 

…

Unlike my room at home, where the sunrise poured in through the windows in the morning, I could always sleep in at the compound. The floor to ceiling panels here were west facing, which gave me the well-deserved rest I craved, and a killer view of the sunset over the lake. On this bright Sunday morning, I woke up just before eleven like a tried and true teenager. 

I sat up in bed, stretching my arms above my head while an exorbitant yawn filled the room. The muscles in my shoulders and arms ached. Natasha hadn’t been kidding when she said I was going to make up for my behaviour in our last training session. I spent all of Friday night and most of Saturday running drills and practicing the same old fighting techniques with her. It was safe to say that the relaxing weekend I had planned made me even more tired than the week I had before. 

I padded down the hallways of the west wing, past the closed doors of the other dorms. Eventually the walls opened up to the wider living space of the compound. I stepped into the kitchen to pour myself a much-needed cup of coffee. Resting against the island counter, I looked out towards the sitting room as I took my first few sips. 

Despite midday creeping up, the place was almost a ghost town. Usually the compound was buzzing with Avengers in the kitchen or trainees chatting in the living room. There was always the commotion of life echoing off the walls, with family-style dinners and comradery. But for whatever reason, the last weekend had been anything but warm and friendly. 

I was certain that something terrible had happened during the last mission my team went on. The night before during dinner, Natasha and Sam hardly said a word to me, let alone to each other. I was sat across them, watching nervously as they avoided any sort of eye contact with each other. To my side, Steve had been parading around as his typically cheery self, but it felt performative. He was overcompensating, but for what I couldn’t tell. And I hadn’t seen Wanda once. 

In the corner of my vision I noticed one of the throw pillows on the couches move. I leaned further over the counter to investigate, only realize that it was not a pillow, but a head. Steve was sprawled across one of the couches, his head propped up against the armrest as he was reading a book. I must have completely missed him when I walked into the kitchen. 

I hopped off the stool I was sitting on and trudged over to the living room. Steve heard the gentle thump of my footsteps and looked back. He smiled warmly when he caught my eye, sitting up to make room for me on the couch beside him. I plopped right down, tucking my knees under me so we could sit shoulder to shoulder. 

“Good afternoon,” Steve said with a grin.

“It is not afternoon,” I said from behind my coffee mug. “Yet. Where’s everyone else?”

Steve inhaled sharply. I felt his shoulder tense. “I’m not sure. We’ve all been doing our own thing the last few days.”

The muscles in my jaw clenched. I couldn’t figure out what happened to the team I started out with, the team that saved the world in Manhattan. Ever since Ultron, ever since Sokovia fell to pieces and took me down with it, the balance felt off. Maybe it was because we still had no idea where Bruce or Thor were. Maybe they were the glue. Steve opened his mouth again as if to give me another glimpse into his world, but he shut it just as quickly.

I decided enough was enough. I was fed up with walking on eggshells around what had happened on that mission. 

“Okay, that’s it.” I sat up straighter so that I could stare Captain America down. “Cut the crap, please.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“I’m done with your propaganda-style acting. It’s bullshit-”

“Langauge!”

“Sorry.” I inhaled shallowly. “But seriously, what the hell happened on your last mission?”

Steve brought a hand to the back of his neck and sighed. “It was rough. We thought had all the information but we didn’t, and some bad calls were made.”

I waited silently for him to go on. When he didn’t, I leaned forward with an expectant face. “Okay, so what happened?”

He looked around like he wanted to make sure no one else was listening. “I don’t think I’m at liberty to say, hon.”

“Come on, dude! It’s me.” I felt frustration bubbling up and burning behind my eyes. Fingernails dug into my palm to keep gravity in place. 

“Laurie, we are all okay,” Steve said earnestly. He put a reassuring hand on my shoulder, but it felt more like a warning. “That’s really all that matters.”

“No, of course,” I held my hands up. My word were laced with sarcasm “Because having zero information about what happened or about the wellbeing of my team is incredibly helpful Steven.”

Steve ignored the nickname. “Well, you aren’t a part of the team, Laurie,” he said slowly.  

I blinked. My head ricocheted backwards, the words firing like a slap to the face. I pushed Steve’s hand off my shoulder with so much force I almost thought I’d accidentally used my abilities. I must have been showing everything on my face, because Steve rose to his feet as I scrambled onto mine. 

“Laurie, hold on. You know that’s not what I meant,” Steve said, waving an imaginary white flag. 

“No, no.” I kept my hands up, creating a gap between us. “You’re right. I’m not an agent anymore. I’m not S.H.I.E.L.D..”

I walked backwards as I spoke, towards the dormitory hallway. I turned my back to him and sped down the hall to my room. Steve did look genuinely sorry, but I couldn’t get over how easily he had said it. As though he had it hidden underneath his tongue the whole time. He wasn’t wrong either, my affiliation with S.H.I.E.L.D. was revoked after Sokovia. I wasn’t an Avenger anymore.

Ultron was all the worst sides of my father put into one entity. Obsessive, controlling, and dangerously powerful. He took what he wanted, and also took the things he needed to get his way. I knew that my father felt completely powerless when Ultron managed to capture and use me like a chess piece. 

It wasn’t exactly a walk in the park for me either. After Sokovia fell, Dad wanted me as far away from imminent danger as possible. He told me his decision was final because I had already lost so much of my childhood. I never felt like I’d missed out on a normal life, but I opted to let Dad think he knew better than me.

As I sulked my way down the long hallway, I noticed one of the doors was cracked open. Wanda’s room was painted grey, with accents of purple and teal throughout. Light from her windows spilled onto the floor beneath my feet. I could hear muffled voices coming from behind the door, but I knew she was alone. Before I had a chance to think, my feet had turned to the right and I was in her doorway. 

My body nudged the door slightly, giving me a better visual of the room. The TV was on and playing the news. I had stopped keeping up with the news after everything with the Mandarin; I always got the heebeegeebees at the thought of a newspaper. Wanda was sitting on her bed, knees tucked under her chin and arms wrapped around herself. I knocked gently on the doorframe, not wanting to startle her. 

My heart seized when she turned her head. Wanda’s eyes were masked by dark bags and it was obvious now that she had been crying. The sight of her made me so uncomfortable, the way anyone would get when they see their role model in shambles. 

Wanda blinked slowly at me before drawing her attention back to the TV. I took that as my invitation. Gingerly, I took a seat beside her on the edge of her bed and listened to what the newscaster had to say. 

In a matter of minutes, all of Steve’s backhandedness, all of Natasha and Sam’s distance and Wanda’s swollen eyes made sense. I held my breath as images of bruised and bloody citizens flooded the streets of Lagos. One video in particular kept playing on a loop. An office building on fire after a detonated explosive had been thrown at it by none other than Wanda herself. The death toll ran along the bottom of the screen, along with the headline, Have the Avengers gone too far?

Wanda had the remote in her hand and was re-running the program over and over. I knew I should have taken it from her, I should have turned the television off. But just like I did in the gym, my body felt frozen in place. I told myself there was nothing I could do that would relieve Wanda from her grief, so there was no point in trying. I shuffled closer to her, leaning my chin on her shoulder and bracing one arm behind her and holding the hand in her lap with my other. 

We watched the segment another three times, and each time I morphed my body more and more into Wanda’s. I thought that knowing what happened in Lagos would answer all the questions I had, but I found myself getting more and more confused. I could not wrap my head around how Natasha or Steve let the fight get to that point. If I had been there I could have helped, if they had just let me help…

Our heads turned synchronously when the TV screen turned black. Steve stood in the doorway with his arms crossed. He leaned against the doorframe, eyes glassy. The muscles in my jaw twitched when I held his gaze, still reeling from the offhand comment he made earlier.

Wanda stared off into space as she spoke. “It’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“That’s not true.” Steve and I spoke at the same time. I tightened my grip on Wanda’s hand. 

“Turn the TV back on,” Wanda replied, her tone disheartening. “They’re being very specific.” 

“I should have clocked that bomb vest long before you had to deal with it,” Steve said. He moved forward, taking a seat beside me. I scooted backwards a bit, giving him more room to sit and myself more distance from him. I could tell he noticed, because he faltered as lowered himself down. He was expecting to lean on me. “Rumlow said ‘Bucky’ and all of a sudden I was a sixteen year old kid again in Brooklyn,” 

I cocked my head at him, puzzled. When I found out they were going away, I got A.P.R.I.L. to steal the pre-mission reports. It said that they were going after Rumlow because he had biological warfare. What did Bucky Barnes have to do with anything? I fought the urge to ask. 

Two years ago when James Barnes had resurfaced, my good friend Steve began the wildest of goose chases. And of course, Nick Fury had found a way to get me tangled up in it all. Despite all the stories Steve had told me in the time between, to paint his friend in a better light, I could not shake the memory of the masked man who threw a car at me on a thirty-foot-high bridge. Next to Ultron, Bucky had been the closest anyone has ever been to killing me. 

“And people died. That’s on me.” Steve continued to offer support to his fellow agent, but his words fell onto deaf ears.

“It’s on both of us.” Wanda’s voice was so quiet that I almost missed it. Steve glanced back at me. His face was painted with a slurry of emotions. It made the room feel so heavy.

“I’m sure you both did your best,” I squeaked. It was a strain to get the sentence out; it felt so artificial. My brows furrowed and I clenched the fist that wasn’t supporting my weight. Steve offered me a trying smile.

“This job…we try to save as many people as we can,” Steve said quietly. “Sometimes that doesn’t mean everybody. But if we can’t find a way to live with that, then next time maybe nobody gets saved.” 

Wanda nodded along to Steve’s words. We resigned to sit in silence for a moment, as Wanda leaned her weight back against me. A pulse of energy in my core kept me centered. Steve brought a warm hand to my back, and this time I did not push it away.

All three of us jumped when Vision appeared, his body moving seamlessly through the solid wall. I had had very minimal interaction with it…him, since he was created. Vision was a mystery to me, a complex tangle of life and code that I both felt drawn to explore and terrified to touch.

“Vis! We talked about this,” Wanda reprimanded her red and blue counterpart. Unbeknownst to me, walking through walls must have become a regular occurrence. 

“Yes, but the door was open so I assumed that…” Vision trailed off when he saw the disapproving look on Wanda’s face. “Captain Rogers wished to know when Mr. Stark was arriving.”

That certainly caught my attention. My dad, here? He wasn’t supposed to be back from Boston until tomorrow. 

“Vision, what are you talking about?” I sat up a little straighter.

“Thank you. We’ll be right down,” Steve said. It was as if I hadn’t even spoken. Typical. 

“I’ll use the door,” Vision said lightly. “Oh, and apparently he’s brought a guest.” 

In a flash, my heart leapt and came crashing down with the hope that it would be Pepper. Foolish thinking, I knew she was long, long gone. Even still, the question still remained: What was Dad doing here, and more importantly, why didn’t he tell me that he was coming? 

“We know who it is?” Steve asked. 

”The Secretary of State.”

[laurie-stark]

Chapter III: Mom's Spaghetti

A/N:

hello gang! another two weeks, another chapter! thank you again for all the love on the last two chapters, I cannot believe how successful the launch of this fic went. hope you're all doing well and i'll see you and laurie in two weeks time. xoxo -mimi Word count: 3.2k

Cherry Bomb Masterlist

Wanda shut the door behind her and I gingerly rose to my feet. My hand flew to the side of my ribs that had taken a hit. Wanda took a step towards me, arms folded over her body, and her hands hidden by the sleeves of her zip-up. 

“That hurt?” She nodded her head towards my ribs.

“Nat’s trying to kill me,” I joked. In my peripheral vision, I saw Nat rise to her feet beside me. I ducked my head as she swatted a playful hand that just grazed my hairline. 

“I am not!” Natasha retorted. “You would have been able to predict my attack if you ever trained outside of our sessions.” 

“You try writing a history test on three hours of sleep and then getting your ass kicked,” I said pointedly. “I’m running on empty here!”

“Why are you writing a test on three hours of sleep in the first place?” Nat asked.

“Do they not teach you health at that prestigious school?” Wanda chimed in. “What is your father paying good money for?”

“Honestly, with the amount of complaining I have to hear from Tony about tuition, you’d think the kids would be better kept,” Natasha said to Wanda, as if I had disappeared from the conversation. 

“Tony? Complaining about money?” Wanda raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, alright,” I cut in, waving my hand between the two women. “Enough. I get it, can we get back to work?”

“Oh, now she wants to work,” Natasha rolled her eyes sarcastically. “Good luck with this one.”

Natasha and Wanda switched places on the floor like a dance, seamlessly moving around one another. Nat gave me a small pat on the back as she passed. I smiled, but it came out closer to a grimace. I knew I had let her down today. She, along with almost everyone else in my life, was always expecting more. 

Wanda lowered herself down to the ground and positioned herself criss-cross applesauce on the floor. With a flick of her wrist, she motioned for me to join her on the mat. While training with Nat involved constant movement and sweating, my training with Wanda was often more low-key. Wanda was an incredibly powerful Avenger, but her powers were completely different than my own. They were the product of exposure to the Mind Stone, which was now housed inside Vision. Wanda often described her powers as being internal, something she could do as easily as breathing. 

To me, I felt like my powers were similar to the Arc Reactor embedded in my father’s chest. Something outside of myself that was still buried within. I could always feel the energy before I used it, the way it pooled at my core, in the centre of my chest. Only then would it spread outwards, like streams of water running away from a great lake. That energy would collect again in the centre of my palms and extend right to the tips of my fingers, emanating a gentle purple glow while it did. I never knew why it was purple as opposed to any of the other colours. Not that I was complaining, purple had always been my favourite. 

I chose not to think about the experiments that I had no memory of, through which I was given my abilities. I still didn’t know the full scope of what I was capable of. I just knew that when I got really scared, or really angry, things went flying. We were able to check telekinesis off the list of possibilities in exchange for some sort of gravitational manipulation. I could shift or change an object’s gravitational pull. It was all very scientific. And in addition to that, I had very limited manipulation of the elements. Fire, air, rocks, the works. I had considered shaving my head off and getting a blue arrow tattoo once. 

I was seven when my powers manifested for the first time. It was a few weeks after my father had been kidnapped overseas. In an instant, my entire world had flipped on its axis, and every little thing would set me off. I was hardly eating or sleeping, and I’d have recurring nightmares about what I imagined was happening to Dad. I remember that one night, instead of waking up screaming I woke up to screaming. When I opened my eyes, Pepper was underneath me and I was floating in my bed. I looked around, and everything in my room was floating, hovering like it was all being suspended by invisible strings. And suddenly all I could see was pure, white fear. When I came to again, I had broken my bedroom window and put multiple holes in the walls. I felt like someone had taken over my body. 

So, while Wanda couldn’t really give me guidance on how to use my powers, we instead worked on gaining control over them. As a kid, I was terrified of myself, of what I could do. Wanda and I had been training hard for the last several months on taming that fear so that I could eventually test my limits. The thought of becoming even more powerful than I already am made me want to cut my arms off, but progress was being made nonetheless. 

I sat across from Wanda and she held her hands out expectantly. I placed mine atop hers, palms facing the ceiling. This was our ritual: we always started with feeling. She could read my emotions, read my mind, and she could also level me. The moment my skin made contact with hers, I felt a rush. It felt like a gust of wind blowing past me, but the air in the training room was still. I closed my eyes and breathed in and out, letting Wanda do her thing. Usually, my anxieties would settle down instantaneously. Today, an eerie feeling lingered. 

I cracked one eye open and realized that Natasha was still standing in the doorway. She was leaning against the frame, eyes watching Wanda and me intently. A wave of embarrassment flushed through me, and I knew Wanda felt it because her eyes shot open. 

“Don’t you have important things to do that aren’t watching me make my hands glow?” I asked, letting out a nervous chuckle. Natasha’s stance didn’t falter. 

“I am interested in seeing the progress you’ve made,” Nat said. “From what Wands tells me, you’ve improved a lot.”

I felt my cheeks burn. “Thanks, but seriously you have got to go. I’ll have performance anxiety if you don’t”

“I have seen you strut across a stage in a lion costume, performance anxiety shouldn’t even be in your vocabulary.”

“Oh, right, because once you've roared in front of a thousand people, you're basically immune to nerves,” I chided. “Next time I'll channel my inner Simba. Thanks for the tip."

Natasha held her hands up in defeat and spun on her heel. The door shut quietly behind her and I settled myself back in front of Wanda. I closed my eyes once again and focused on Wanda’s powers flowing through me. The calm that followed still had a residue of an unsettledness. It was almost as if I could feel Wanda wrestling with it, her grip on my hands emanating her grip on the feeling as it wiggled and fought to slip away from her. 

With a sigh, Wanda let my hands drop into my lap. When looked at her, she had her head low. Her fingers were pinched between her eyebrows. I almost didn't recognize her. Wanda, who usually felt so much older than me, looked so small under the pot lights. 

“What’s up?” I asked quietly. I hadn’t meant to startle her, but I saw the way her breath caught at the sound of my voice. 

“I’m sorry, I um,” she stuttered. She took a moment to compose herself before meeting my eye. “Is it alright if we postpone our training today?”

”Of course,” I responded immediately. I gingerly reached out to place a hand on her knee. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Wanda shook her head. “We got back from a mission last night and…it did not end well.”

“Is everyone okay?” I asked. Images of Steve or Sam injured in the medical wing flashed across my mind. 

“Our people are fine. But the others, the civilians…” Wanda trailed off. I could see the heaviness of the burden she was carrying in her eyes. 

“I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.” I knew my words were empty, but the sentiment hung true. 

Wanda shook her head. “You’ll probably see it on the news, but I hurt…people.”

I chewed the inside of my bottom lip. I didn’t have the words to make Wanda feel any less bad. I wished I could take her pain away the way she would take mine. I glanced nervously around the room and my eyes landed on the clock hanging from the wall above the door. 

“Hey, you know what,” I said as I tapped a finger on her leg, “I’ll bet that someone has dinner going right about now. You wanna go see if there’s anything to eat?”

The notion of food got Wanda’s attention, and she raised her head a little higher. She gave me a small nod, so we stood up together. I had never been the best with emotions, if that wasn’t already blatantly obvious with my power outbursts, and talking about them was even harder. I knew that there was little I could do or say to make Wanda feel better, but I did know that I could take her hand and walk her to the kitchens so she would feel less alone. And so I did. 

…

The kitchen was bustling when Wanda and I walked in. I let go of her hand to sit at one of the bar stools by the island, while Wanda opted to play wallflower. Steve was practically doing laps between the counters and the stovetop. The agents who lived in the compound took turns with meals, and Steve always took on Wednesday dinners. He said he liked the routine, and it was the day when most of the Avengers would be likely at home. He enjoyed making a fuss for the people he loved. 

I propped my elbows on the island counter and held my head in my hands. I watched Steve with amusement as he stressed over the salad in the far corner and the pasta that was boiling over on the stove. 

“What’s on the menu tonight, Pops?” I asked. Pops or Grandpa: those were the only two names I had ever called Steve by. He was technically old enough to be my grandfather, and he knew my actual grandfather, so it was only fitting. 

“Mom’s spaghetti and salad.” Steve lifted the boiling pot over to the sink, pouring the contents into an awaiting colander. “When I was a kid we didn’t have a whole lot of money, so my mom made it her life goal to make the best out of what we had. She called this her “everything but the kitchen sink” meal, which really meant we were making due until the month’s end. But it was always my favourite because it was different every time.”

“She didn’t ask for your whole life story, man.” Sam chided from his spot leaning against the fridge. Nat was standing next to him, sharing a beer. 

Steve shook his head and chuckled. “Sorry. Laurie, are you staying for dinner?”

“Only if there’s room,” I replied. 

“There’s always room at my table for you, kid,” Steve said, reaching over the counter to pat my arm. I smiled brightly at him. “Now, go set the table.” 

I rolled my eyes playfully at the order and hopped down from my seat. Scooching around Steve, I pulled the cutlery drawer open and pulled out a copious amount of knives and forks. The dining room was directly connected to the kitchen and I began setting the table. I realized I had no idea how many people were eating. 

“How many places am I setting?” I called back into the kitchen.” 

“Four!”

“Six!”

“Seven!” A bunch of voices responded at once, all with different answers. 

“That’s incredibly unhelpful!” I yelled back. I waited for a moment, listening to them bicker quietly about how many people were eating. I heard Nat and Sam go back and forth about Sam’s (cancelled) date, and Wanda arguing that it didn’t matter whether Vision ate or not, he could still sit at the table with them. “Helllooooo?”

“Set it for seven, птичка,” Nat finally responded. I re-counted how many utensils I had and continued on with my task, making sure the knives were facing blade outwards to make my etiquette teachers proud.

Another fifteen minutes later the lot of us were settled around the dining table. Naturally, Steve took the head of the table and insisted that we say grace before eating. I never took him for being religious, so I chalked it up to him just being old. We obliged his asks and held hands around the table while Steve thanked unforeseen forces for good food and good company. 

“How is school going Laurie?” Steve asked while handing me the salad bowl. I took it graciously and served myself a large helping of leaves. “You had a test coming up right? In history?”

“You remembered?” I cocked my head sideways, partially in disbelief. Steve just gave me a knowing smile that said ‘Of course I did.’ “Yeah, it was today.”

“And?”

“And I will rue the day that history classes cease to exist. I hate history.”

“That is not the right use of the term rue,” Vision said from his seat across from me. I shot him a look. I 

“I’m sure you did just fine, you’re a bright girl,” Steve said. “But if you really need some help, I’ve got a friend who works for the State Department. Freddy’s a huge history buff.”

“Thanks, Grandpa,” I teased. “I’ll let you know if I do.” 

Sam bumped my elbow. “You doing anything fun this week? Throwing any rangers while dear old dad is away?”

“Oh, that’s right. Tony is away.” Nat said, mouth full of pasta. “He’s in Boston, right?”

“Yeah,” I answered as I took a forkful of spaghetti to my mouth. I had to refrain from letting out a sigh of contentment. Steve was a great superhero, but an even better cook. “He’s giving some talk at MIT. He should be home by Monday I think.”

“Well that’s perfect then,” Sam said. “Throw a party while your dad is gone, he’d never know!” Sam winced as someone, likely Nat, kicked him under the table. “Hey! I’m just saying.”

I shrugged half heartedly. “I don’t have enough friends for that.” 

“Don’t need ‘em. All you need is an empty house, some booze, and good music.”

“Sam,” Steve warned. “Enough of that. Tony’s never going to let her come back here.”

“Are you kidding me?” Natasha laughed. “If Tony came back to his house trashed because Laurie threw a party, he’d never be prouder!” 

We all laughed at that one. If there was one thing Tony Stark knew how to do, it was throw a good party. 

“Well if you aren’t doing anything fun, why don’t you stay here for the weekend?” Steve suggested. 

“Sure,” I said nonchalantly. “That’s a great idea.”

The table fell into silence for a beat as we focused on eating. I helped myself to a second serving of spaghetti. As I leaned back in my seat, I noticed how distant the rest of my team felt from one another. I watched as discomfort covered the table like a blanket. 

“So, uh,” I said midway through chewing on a noodle. “How’d your last mission go?” I immediately wanted to bite back my words the moment they came out. Wanda slumped low into her chair and the others looked at each other. No one was meeting anyone else’s eyes.  

“There were some hiccups.” Steve was the one to speak first after a moment’s silence. “We got the job done, but let’s just say there will be a lot of paperwork for the rest of the week.” 

His joke landed flat. I knew that something was eating at the Avengers sitting around me, but they were all trained well enough not to let their tells share anything. I wanted to know more, but I couldn’t handle the awkwardness. I racked my brain for something, anything, to change the subject. 

“What should we do this weekend then?” I asked hastily. “I know for a fact that none of you have tried out the go-kart track Dad installed last month yet.”

The tension in the air didn’t completely dissipate as dinner went on, but I resolved to knowing that it wasn’t my place to poke at. We had cordial conversations about weekend plans and how many laps Sam could outrun Vision. In the back of my mind, I still wondered what happened during their last mission that had everyone shaken up so bad. I hoped with all my heart that it wasn’t bad, but my gut was telling me otherwise.

…

I managed to avoid telling Happy I was going home alone that night. Nat dropped me off at the closest train station soon after dinner. Taking the train from Upsate was always an interesting experience. If I got to the station early enough or if I prepaid for first-class, it would be an easy trip. Since my plans to commute were so last-minute, I had forgotten to buy tickets ahead of time and was stuck sitting in a cramped four-seater across from a mother and her infant baby. 

I’d always had so much respect for mothers who were willing to travel with their children, especially ones as young as this little girl. She was absolutely adorable, but I couldn’t begin to imagine the stress it took to get a small gremlin onto a train. At least the ride back into the city was just under an hour. 

I had my earbuds in the whole time, and I was trying to gaze off out the window to appreciate the views. The sun was just beginning to set, casting a comforting glow over the endless fields of grass we passed by. Usually I’d let myself become entranced with the scenery, but every time I locked in on the horizon, I got the uneasy feeling that someone was watching me. I turned away from the window to find the baby staring into my soul. She smiled when I made eye contact with her and started to babble loudly. 

This carried on for the entire trip, but I wasn’t upset about it. And every time it did, the mother would shush her baby gently with a pat on the back. She had an abundance of toys sprawled across the seat and took turns trying to get one of them to grab her daughter’s attention. I wondered if my own mother ever played with me like that. 

I didn’t know a thing about my mother. Custody was given over to Dad before I was fully cognizant. I didn’t know if she drank coffee or tea in the mornings. I didn’t know her favourite song. I didn’t know if she ever loved me, or if I was only born to be useful. The train rolled into the station and I went home. 

[laurie-stark]

Chapter II: Sore Eyes and Sore Muscles

Word count: 3.7K

Cherry Bomb Masterlist

The rest of the day went by without any major hiccups. I was starting to feel the nervous energy that comes with the end of a school year. I was eager to be done with all my assignments and enjoy the freedom of summer break. I finished my English period groaning when my teacher handed out another essay assignment. I said a weary goodbye to my friends on my way out. At lunchtime, I did manage to get my hands on that turkey avocado sandwich and absolutely devoured it. Emery and I chatted a little bit about his family back in France. Mostly, he was telling me about how I would get ripped to shreds by them.

“Tu manges ce sandwich comme une vache,” he said from behind the counter. 

I took another outlandishly big bite of the sandwich, chewing it obnoxiously. “Tu es prude," I replied with my mouth full. Emery scoffed but he still gave me a free croissant before I left. 

I just about got through the last two periods without falling asleep at my desk. I had no idea how I was going to get through training that night without napping before. Hopefully Happy would keep the rock and roll music to a minimum on the drive to the compound. 

I popped my locker open with a click and exchanged the books in my arms for the books I needed to take home. As the locker door swung open, a piece of yellow paper fluttered down to my feet. I bent down to pick it up. It was a sticky note with the words Compound tonight, 6 pm written on it. The messy scrawl was clearly Happy’s handwriting. He must have stuck it to one of my books earlier that morning. As if I would forget about training. 

I made my way down six flights of stairs and out the main doors onto the street. Cars and students filled the bustling streets. I remained at the top of the staircase for a moment, surveying the block for the familiar black Cadillac. Among the dozen cars parked on the street, I could not see Happy’s vehicle. Maybe he was late arriving and needed to park around the block, I wondered. As my eyes scanned up and down the road, I spotted a familiar blue Mercedes Sedan. What the hell is she doing here?

I skipped down the steps and looked both ways before crossing the street. As I approached the car, the dark-tinted window rolled down. Blue eyes and the prettiest smile were staring up at my from the driver's seat. Pepper Potts reached across the passenger side and popped the door open to let me in. I took a quick glance around me to make sure no one saw whose car I was getting into, then slipped into the seat. The second the car door closed and the window rolled back up, I felt all the tension from the day drift away. My shoulders sagged as I melted into the seat, letting my head fall back against the headrest. I let out a content sigh and closed my eyes. 

“Bad day?” Pepper’s voice pulled me from my trance and I rolled my head sideways to look at her. She had her eyes on the road, focused on pulling out of park and driving northbound. 

“No,” I started. I pondered the truth. “Yeah. I’m tired. I stayed up way too late last night.”

“I told you that all-nighters are nothing but trouble,” Pepper said. “Every time your dad would pull one, Happy had to take a bucket of water to his face the next morning.”

I chuckled at the image. “Speaking of Happy, why are you here?” I didn’t mean for it to come out sounding so accusatory. Happy Hogan, head of security for Stark Industries, was usually my lift from school to the compound. Even though it had been years since he worked under my dad directly, Happy still insisted on being my personal chauffeur for trips like these. He claimed it was well within his job description, that he was paid to protect Stark Industries' assets, and that included me.  I guess he had gotten used to taking me places and neither of us was ready to let go of that when he moved up in the ranks. So we never did. 

“Happy got stuck in a meeting with the new executive hires, so he asked me to come get you,” Pepper explained. It was unlike Happy to let meetings go over the allotted time, so I could picture his fuming face perfectly. 

“Well I’m sorry for Happy, but I’m glad for me,” I said with a halfway smile. “I missed you.” 

Pepper had been in my life since I was eighteen months old, just as long as my own father. She was the second person to hold me after child welfare handed me into my father’s loving arms. I couldn’t remember a time in my life when Pepper wasn’t around when I needed her. I hadn’t heard of any other personal assistants who moved into their boss’s house to be a temporary guardian for their boss’s kid when said boss got kidnapped by overseas terrorists. My entire childhood was filled with memories of Pepper: she played dolls with me, she taught me how to love the arts like she did, she made sure I got into therapy, hell, she even gave me my middle name. On paper, Tony Stark was a single father but Pepper had been playing parent for just as long, and I never thought of her as anything less. 

I remember being so happy when she and my dad finally got together. I’d seen The Parent Trap before and knew what Hallie and Annie must have felt at the end of the movie. Nothing about my life or routine changed, but at the same time, everything was different. I was one step closer to having someone to call mom, someone who could take me prom dress shopping and braid my hair. I came to learn that nothing good lasts forever. They told me at the beginning of the semester that they were taking a break. I was devastated, to say the least. Pepper moved out at the end of January and for the first time, Dad and I were on our own. They both claimed that it was temporary, that it was just a break, but I wasn’t convinced. 

“I miss you too, sweetheart.” 

Silence fell over us as Pepper got onto the I-87. I took to shifting around in my seat, hoping to get comfortable enough to fall asleep. I leaned my head against the window and watched the city pass us by. A sharp inhale from Pepper drew my attention away from the horizon of buildings. I looked at Pepper expectantly. 

“I know that the break between me and your dad hasn’t been easy on you, Laurie,” Pepper started. I looked down at my hands in my lap and started tugging at my fingertips. “And it’s been hard not being around each other as much. But I want you to know that even though I’m not really your mom, I hope you don’t feel like I’m abandoning you. And if you do I am happy to come around more often, or maybe you could spend a few nights of the week with me, only if you wanted to, of course.”

Pepper took her eyes off of the freeway for a moment to gauge my expression. I stayed still, taking in all that Pepper had just said. Raising my head slowly, I looked ahead at the open road and said “Yeah, you are.”

“Yeah, I’m what?” Pepper asked. 

“A mom.” I blinked. “My…mom. I think.”

“Well, no honey, you know that your mother was-”

“No, I know. I just don’t care,” I said, bluntly. “As far I’m concerned, Pepper, you’re the one who taught me how to tie my shoelaces and took me to piano lessons and did all the things that went so far out of your job description. I’ve even call you ‘Mom’ by accident sometimes and you never say anything about it. So sure, biologically whatever, but…”

I trailed off, biting my own tongue. I had been so worried the last few months, wondering if the breakup would change things between me and Pepper. I glanced up at Pepper and found her looking back at me. We shared a knowing look. An unspoken agreement settled between us. Blood doesn’t make a family, and it had never made up mine. I let my head lean against the window once again, watching as the cement jungle became a horizon of green trees and land. 

“We still have forty-five minutes on the road Laurie,” Pepper said softly. “Close your eyes, I’ll wake you up when we get there.” 

I did as I was told, letting my eyes flutter closed. The cold windowpane became the only sensation I could feel as I drifted off into a dreamless sleep. 

…

When I woke up, the car was parked outside the main doors of the compound. Pepper was gently shaking my left shoulder, pulling me from sleep. An overexaggerated yawn escaped my mouth as I rubbed my eyes and stretched the best I could inside the cramped vehicle. One more deep breath and I stepped out of the car with my backpack. The sun had shifted lower in the sky, but was beating down with the same relentless heat. 

I climbed out of the car and leaned my head through the window to thank Pepper for the ride. 

“It’s no problem at all sweetheart,” Pepper assured me. “Do you need a ride back into the city later tonight?” 

“I don’t know.” I thought about it for a moment. “No, I should be fine. Happy will probably come, and if he doesn’t I’ll take the train.”

Pepper and I shared one last goodbye and I watched the blue Sidan drive down the compound’s dramatically long driveway. 

I turned on my heels and made my way into the smaller building on the property. The compound was my father’s idea that he put together just after we returned from Sokovia. Between the main Avengers being separated and new recruits who needed training, Dad oh-so-generously donated an old Stark Industries warehouse for S.H.I.E.L.D. to use. 

I had to admit, it was a pretty incredible place. The original warehouse was still standing and housed things like weapons, private jets, and other things that needed to be kept separate from trainees. The compound itself was a multi-billion dollar building equipped with the latest and greatest that money could buy. The ground floor played host to all things business. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had offices there, a few of the Avengers did as well. I wasn’t really acquainted with any of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, but the receptionist at the front desk always offered me a friendly wave as I walked past. 

I walked straight through the first floor and up the grand set of stairs towards the south wing. Almost all the training was done in the southernmost part of the compound. My dad ensured that the place would have everything, from an expansive shooting range with dynamic abilities to switch between different artillery. As I walked the halls I passed the range, along with the fully equipped gym, indoor pool and private training rooms. At the end of the hall, a floor-to-ceiling window gave way to the gorgeous view of the neighbouring lake. The training room Natasha and I always used looked out over the water. At least there was a pretty sight for sore eyes and sore muscles. 

The compound was also a place for agents to live if they wanted. Some were like my dad and I, who had rooms in the west wing but lived off the campus. But others, like Nat and Wanda, were permanent residents here. The west wing was essentially a deluxe university dorm. Everyone had their own bedrooms and ensuites and they shared the common living spaces. Dad even contracted two kitchens on opposite sides of the wing, so that Pepper could have a strawberry-free kitchen when she visited. Those visits were rare, but the strawberry rule was scarily strict. 

Just like all the rooms on the floor, the training room I approached was secured with a padlock. Happy had a little too much fun with the security measures when we were doing the blueprints for the compound. I bent down so that I was at eye level with the door’s keypad. 

“A.P.R.I.L., scan.” My voice command activated the keypad and a bright blue ray of light emitted from the device. It scanned over my face and I heard the familiar click of the lock. 

“Welcome back, babe.” A robotic voice with the sweetest Southern accent came through the overhead speakers. A.P.R.I.L. was my own personal artificial intelligence assistant. When I was eleven or twelve I found a really old version of F.R.I.D.A.Y. and used the architecture to create my own. A.P.R.I.L. wasn’t nearly as advanced as any of my dad’s A.I.’s, but she did the trick just fine. We did a lot of slightly questionable acts together, like hacking into S.H.I.E.L.D. files or binge-watching old security footage. She was programmed into just about every piece of technology I had or made, including the Red Wing I made for Sam Wilson. A.P.R.I.L. was able to speak in any dialect or accent I wanted. She was Southern right now mostly because I thought it was funny. 

“The grades for your history test got uploaded while you were in the car. Do you want me to get into the grade books and find them again?”

I winced at the thought of knowing what that awful test ended up getting. “Oh god no, A. I’d actually rather die than know that.” 

“Whatever you say, little boss,” A.P.R.I.L. chimed. 

Even though the A.I. would use the closest speaker to communicate with me, my head still shot up to look at the ceiling, as if it were a celestial being. 

“Little boss? Why are you doing that again, I just reprogrammed you to say ’boss’!” I exclaimed. 

“Someone infiltrated my systems last night and changed my code. They renamed the module “Best Prank Ever.”

There was only one culprit for that. 

“Dad.” A.P.R.I.L. and I said in unison.

I slumped my backpack against the wall closest to the door. It occurred to me that the jeans and silk blouse that I was wearing were not the best attire to practice hand-to-hand in, but I was honestly not in the mood for training to begin with. 

I stepped onto the cushioned martial arts mat in the centre of the room. Although the room appeared to be empty save for the red mat on the floor, one just had to know the right way to get out equipment. 

“A.P.R.I.L., lower a punching bag, would you?”

Above my head, one of the ceiling tiles began to slide behind the others, revealing a punching bag. It slowly lowered to my level and I cracked my knuckles. If Nat was here she would absolutely berate me for starting hot without any warm-ups. I started with a few punches, grunting each time my fists made contact with the heavy bag. I was using maybe a tenth of my strength, and the punching bag was barely moving in tandem with my strikes. 

Tension in my shoulders built up, and I was beginning to get frustrated with myself. Suddenly the tight jeans were scuffing against my skin in all the wrong ways, and the loose fabric of my shirt was getting in the way. I gave the punching bag one measly kick before giving up entirely. 

“What the hell are you wearing?”

I whipped around and was met with a flash of red. Natasha stood in the doorway with a look of disbelief plastered on her face. The arms crossed over her chest were adorned in a black zip-up that was taut against her skin. I did take notice of the grey sweatpants Nat had on, which was an unusual fashion choice for her. 

I looked down at my own outfit and gave Nat a shrug. “What, this doesn’t look professional to you? I think it’s important for me to train in regular clothes Nat. If I get attacked on the streets I’m not gonna be wearing my workout clothes.”

The sound of a fist rapping on wood echoed over the speakers, causing me to break my serious stature and smirk. I had programmed A.P.R.I.L. to recognize when to knock on wood for me. 

Natasha’s expression didn’t falter. “Go change. We’re wasting time.” 

I gave a curt nod and silently slipped past her out the door. I scampered down the hall into the locker room and quickly swapped my school clothes for leggings and a sports bra. 

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair fell in loose waves, pooling over my shoulders. Although it would have been faster to throw it up into a ponytail, I opted for a simple braid. My hair was thick, a feature my father constantly takes credit for, and the braid settled nicely down my back. I took another once-over in the mirror before taking off back to the training room.

When I returned I found that Nat had gotten rid of my punching bag and replaced it with an entire boxing ring. From the way she was completely doubled over in a full-body stretch, I knew two things. One, she was not going to go easy on me, and two, I was royally screwed. 

“Have you warmed up at all?” Nat asked me with her arms stretched above her.

I shook my head, shame rising in crimson patches on my cheeks. Nat let out a scoff and my fingernails found solace in the flat of my palm. 

“What’s up with you today?”

I shrugged half-heartedly. “I don’t know, I’m tired?” I admitted defeat, although it came out sounding like a question.

I remained under Nat’s hot gaze until I watched it melt. 

“Give me twenty push-ups and a five-minute wall sit and then we’ll focus on your punch combinations today,” Nat said. “You can thank me for going easy on you today, but I’ll expect twice the effort next week.”

I nodded curtly and dropped to the ground, gawking inwardly. Easy, I thought. This is going easy?

An hour and a half of my blood, sweat, and tears later, Nat and I had taken to the sparring floor. The room was filled with the steady rhythm of our footwork and the sharp crack of my fists hitting the pads on Nat’s arms. Nat, always composed and precise, demonstrated a basic punching combo: a quick jab, a powerful cross, and a swift hook, each strike executed with perfect form. I mirrored her movements, feeling the strain in my muscles and the burn of exertion, but also the satisfaction of each successful hit.

Nat's corrections kept me focused on the task at hand, although I couldn’t help but notice her enthusiasm was less than the weeks prior. Something was off about her. Her stance was more guarded and her blocks were swifter, more threatening. I sent another jab towards Nat’s left side that she quickly deflected. Unexpectedly, the arm opposite mine swung hard and angled so that Nat’s exposed fist made contact with my gut. 

The blow knocked the breath from my lungs. I stumbled back a few steps before inevitably tripping over my own feet and hitting the mat. The whole ordeal made my head spin and I let my back fall against the floor, stunned. 

“Oh shit,” Nat exclaimed. I heard the soft thud of the focus pads hitting the floor as Nat rushed to my side. I was staring up at the ceiling tiles as Nat’s face came into view. She was biting back laughter as she looked down at me. 

“I’m so sorry, птичка,” Nat apologised, pulling me up into a sitting position. “Are you okay?”

I stared up into Nat’s worried eyes for a long second. I could feel the laughter bubbling up in my chest. It came out it chokes and strangled noises. I was pretty sure Natasha thought I was going to cry. The dam broke and I erupted into a fit. Nat joined me in kind and we laughed so hard the side of my ribs that got hit started aching. Neither of us heard the sound of the door unlocking, nor the person watching us from the doorway come inside. 

“I can see that your training is going well.”

Nat and I were both still recovering from our fit as we turned to greet Wanda who stood at the door. She was dressed down compared to Nat and I, sporting a grey hoodie on top of a white t-shirt and sweatpants. She held a smile on her face, but I noted right away that her eyes were clouded in dark circles. It was clear she had been crying. An uneasy feeling tugged at my insides. I wished that I could read her mind the way she read others. I’d never been particularly good at catching emotions on others; I was always too busy wrestling with my own. 

I studied the way she stood, how her posture was fixed and upright. By quick glance she appeared nonchalant, relaxed even. But I noticed the way her arms were crossed protectively over her chest, fingertips pressed so tightly that the skin beneath them went white. Was it bad sleep? Nightmares? We were both known to get them, so maybe she was just tired. I returned Wanda’s gentle smile, wondering silently what upset her. 

[laurie-stark]

Chapter I: Secret's Keeper

A/N: RAHHHHHHHHHHH Cherry Bomb is finally yours. Thank you to everyone for the tremendous support and excitement leading up to the publication. You guys loving Laurie means more than I can express.

A special thank you to w1steriaa_for being Laurie's biggest cheerleader and also the best proofreader ever. Guys, please go give Amber's works a read bc she is so immensely talented and I could not have done this without her.

see you guys in two weeks for the next update! lots of love, m<3

Word count: 2.8k

Cherry Bomb Masterlist

Seven in the morning was an ungodly hour to expect a fourteen-year-old to pay attention to ninth-grade algebra. The bell had just rung and I was already sitting in the same spot I had been since January. I may be my father’s daughter, but Pepper Potts drilled punctuality into me like it was my life’s blood. And I’d grown up watching how stressed she would get every time Dad ran late for an event or press conference. Being Tony Stark’s personal assistant was hard enough, so I decided when I was still pretty young that being early was another way of being kind. It was the least I could do.

My classmates started to file into the room and take their seats. Despite it still being early in the morning, the New York City summer heat was well on its way. And it was only May. Being on the fourteenth floor of a really old building didn’t help either. But hey, I was not one to complain. I was just happy to be at school at all.

Kidding, of course. That was horseshit. It was mornings like these, when the humidity made it feel like I was underwater and I’d only gotten four hours of sleep because I had been studying for the history test I had next period, that I truly cursed my younger self for wanting to go to real school so badly. Being homeschooled made the most sense when I was younger. Dad was hardly ever in one city for longer than a month and he had crippling undiagnosed separation anxiety to me. So, I spent my childhood following him around the world. It was nice though. I had complete control over my education and my dad did a pretty good job of being involved, as much as a billionaire harlot with a small gambling addiction could. Naturally, Dad spent the most time on science stuff with me. He’d work in his lab on weapons, and then eventually the Iron Man suits, while I did spelling and math and science. It was nice, nearly perfect. As I got older, I think I began to realize my dad was definitely working overtime to be a better father than his was. And he was a really, really good dad. 

Homeschooling also meant that I had a lot more freedom and flexibility than the other kids my age. And where some kids do hard-core dance or varsity one sports, I would bother the Avengers over their intercom. So basically dance, if Tony Stark being a dance mom equated fighting by his daughter’s side to protect the people of New York…You get the gist. I was a registered agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. for a couple of years. It was never anything crazy, I just helped where I could. It started eight years ago, with Loki. Nick and his team knew virtually nothing about controlling the Tesseract and he thought me and my abilities would be helpful. They weren’t. So, Nick found other uses for me. 

The Battle of New York left me fairly shaken up and my parents were super against any active participation during missions. In between my schooling and singing lessons, I would help with the preparation: scouting locations, hacking enemy mainframes, anything that let me feel like I was truly a part of a team. I was always desperate to impress the adults in my life, to show them that I could be useful and worth something. That feeling sparked when I first met Nick Fury and it never truly went away. 

I liked being an agent. I liked being in on all the secrets, I liked helping people, and I loved working with the Avengers. Nat, Steve, Clint, Bruce, and Thor became family. Suddenly I wasn’t a lonesome only child whose only friend was her dad and his assistant. I was the guy in the chair, the one handing out coordinates and fallback plans. I had a purpose. 

Sokovia changed everything. I still had nightmares about what happened a year ago. I’d wake up in a sweat, feeling the phantom grip of metal fingers around my arm. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sounds of screaming people I couldn’t save because I froze up. They died because I wasn’t strong enough. Dad put his foot down after that. He told me that what I was doing wasn’t good for me and he’d be a terrible father if he let me continue. He was right, but I was still angry about it. 

Real school was our compromise. If I wasn’t allowed to go on missions anymore then I needed someplace else to have a social life. It was pretty good timing too because I had just wrapped up the eighth grade curriculum. It took a lot of convincing and three PowerPoint presentations to finally convince my dad that being a normal kid in a normal school would be beneficial for me. He got me into Dalton and the rest was history.

However, what wasn’t history was the test on that very subject that was surely going to kill me next period. I spent the remainder of my math period going through my flashcards and study notes. I wasn’t alone, nearly half of the class was in the same boat as me. And if they studied as much as I had, then we were all fried. 

…

Halfway through my history test, I knew I was screwed because all I could think about was lunch. Every factoid about Greek history was clouded with fantasies about turkey avocado sandwiches. There was a little French sandwich place just down the road from my school and it was my favourite. The owner was a true French man from a town just outside Paris and he let me practice my French with him. I spent at least two lunch periods a week being ruthlessly criticized by a middle-aged man, but that made it more authentic. I wasn’t super fluent, but I knew enough to hold a conversation, or at least get through a conversation with Emery. But French was not going to help me pass this history test and I was beginning to recall all my knowledge of Percy Jackson as a last resort. 

Forty-five minutes later, I gathered all my dignity and shame and walked my test up to the front of the room. I handed it off to my history teacher, who gave me a grim smile. My classmates seemed to be just as stone-faced as I was and I think we were all hopeful that our teacher would curve the grade. 

I rocked on the balls of my heels outside the classroom door, waiting for my two best friends to finish their tests. When I first started at Dalton, making friends was a challenge. Quite a few of the student body had been attending the school since kindergarten, so their relationships had been forged nearly a decade ago. I didn’t have an abhorrent amount of friends; I knew enough people to say hi when we passed in the halls or have someone to sit with in the cafeteria. I would have been content with just that, but I was fortunate enough to have made two wonderful best friends. 

Like many of the numerous friendship pacts, Brianna Sinclair and Meredith Camden had been best friends since their preschool days. We met briefly during freshman orientation, but it was first-semester theatre class when we really got close. Brianna and I were both huge theatre nerds and she was quick to sit at the desk next to mine. She was a redhead with the spirit to match the fiery hair. She loved performing and astrology, and she was definitely the epitome of an Aries. It wasn’t long before she introduced me to Meredith and we all became happy chums. 

Meredith Camden was perfect. She was the only freshman I knew who was already planning her senior year class presidency. And, she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and I don’t even like girls. Meredith was a true stunner, from her long, silky coils to her perfectly smooth dark complexion. She was kind as well. Even though I met Brianna first, Meredith was the one who really made me feel welcome at Dalton. At first, I was apprehensive about making a trio out of an already tight-knit pair, but Meredith always made sure I felt included. And soon enough we were as thick as thieves. 

Post-test stress had kicked in while I waited for the girls. I used my thumb to rub circles into the centre of my palm, switching back and forth between my hands. When I caught a glimpse of red, my back straightened. 

“How bad was that?” I asked.

Brianna swung her ponytail over her shoulders. “That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done,” she huffed.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Meredith chimed in softly. “Everything that was on there was in our notes.”

“I was up until like three in the morning studying and I still think I failed,” I said as we began to walk towards the stairs to our next period. 

“Well studies do show that quality of sleep greatly impacts test performance, maybe next time you should prioritize getting a good night’s rest and study more in the morning.” 

Brianna rolled her eyes playfully at Meredith’s info dump. 

I smiled at her. “I’ll give that a try.” 

We squeezed through the flood of students walking around us and I slunk back behind the girls to give us some more room.

“So what are we doing today? Shop along Park? I think Madison Beaucard is having people over. Oh, we could go to the flower market, I have been dying to get my hands on fresh tulips now that they’re in season.” Brianna’s hands were flying around as she talked. 

“Right now?” I asked.

“No, stupid,” Brianna teased.  “After school.”

“Be nice,” Meredith chimed in. Brianna shot a playful look at the other girl.

“We finally, finally finished the renovations on the indoor pool yesterday so you guys could come over to test it out!” Meredith offered. Her family had been chipping away at that project for as long as I’d known her for. 

Brianna tugged on Meredith’s arm excitedly. “Oh my gosh, yes! We are so doing that.” She turned around to face me, still hanging off of Meredith. “You in, Laur?” 

I smiled but heaved a high. “Sorry Bri, I wish I could, but my family is gonna want me home right after school.”

“Of course, how silly of me,” Brianna feigned an English accent. “It’s Wednesday.” 

“Are you sure your Dad wouldn’t miss you just for one week?” Meredith pouted. 

“I’m sorry dude, it’s out of my hands.”

“Ugh, your parents are no fun.” 

I smiled inwardly. “You know I’d be hanging out with you guys in a heartbeat if I could.” 

To Meredith and Brianna, Wednesdays meant I had “family time” immediately after school each week. If it were any other day I would have happily tagged along for shopping or swimming or whatever new activity Brianna found on Instagram was. But Wednesdays were always signed off. 

The truth was that I had training at the compound. Although my dad was firm about pulling my involvement with S.H.I.E.L.D., he allowed me to go Upstate once a week to do drills with Nat. Natasha Romanoff had been training me in hand-to-hand combat since I was seven or eight. She said it was important that I knew how to protect myself. At first, it was just for fun, but with how defenceless I’d felt in the last few years,  I started to get more serious about it. 

There was also the small matter of superhuman powers that I had very little control over. They showed up when I was seven, pretty soon after my father was kidnapped and held hostage overseas. They say it was the trauma and intense emotionality that triggered my powers being awoken. But my knowledge of the powers ended there. My father absolutely refused to let Nick Fury or his team study me or study the things I could do. Which, if I was honest, was a good call on his part, but it did leave me living with a lot of questions. From what we could tell, it was some sort of gravitational and elemental manipulation; the product of experiments my birth mother ran on me as an infant. I tried not to think about that too much, though. I just knew that when I feel things too hard, the powers can get out of control. It was pretty scary, and really confusing as a kid. But thankfully the Avengers found an expert.

Wanda Maximoff has been a great help in the last few months. Training with Nat became also training with Wanda after Ultron and the destruction of Sokovia. Her powers are very different from mine, but she approached me after she moved into the compound to see if I wanted her help. I remember I had woken up in the middle of the night to my bedroom at the compound looking like a storm had passed through. I must have been having another nightmare and set myself off in my sleep. After I did my best to put the room back in order through tears, I found myself on the roof of the compound, looking out at the stars. Wanda found me sitting out there. Turned out she was having similar dreams. She asked me about my powers, I asked her about hers and soon enough she was offering skills and advice and suggesting I start honing in on training. It had been about a year since then and my control had gotten a lot better. But of course, this was all a humongous secret I was keeping from my friends. One secret wasn’t too bad though. 

“I was thinking we haven’t done our monthly movie marathon sleepover this month,” Meredith pointed out as we took our seats. The three of us had history and English class together this semester. “Laurie, is your place free?”

And there was the other shoe. Secret superhero shenanigans weren’t the only thing I kept from Meredith and Brianna. I was also under strict orders to pretend that I didn’t exist. Or rather, pretend that Laurie Stark didn’t exist. 

Sometime after the battle of New York, probably during all the stuff with the Mandarin, my dad asked Nick Fury to erase me from existence. It was a safety thing. Somewhere between aliens and terrorists attacking our house over and over, my dad decided he needed to take a more proactive role in my general safety. Hazards of the job, he called it. I understood, I guess, but it just meant there were even more secrets to keep. I was enrolled in school as Laurel Potts. My private social media accounts were under that same name, and I even carried a fake learner’s permit with the alias. I always felt really guilty when I had to turn down bringing friends over or lying about why they had never met my parents, but the secrets kept me safe. And they offered me freedom. Win some, lose some. 

“Sorry guys, our kitchen is undergoing a huge reno,” I blurted out the lie. “My dad has been super into…dutch ovens?”

I could tell they didn't believe me but they shrugged it off. Guilt panged at my heart and I rubbed at the centre of my palm again. When it was just me and my dad and our small world, I could be anything. And as much as I loved being out in society like a normal teenage girl, I wished I could live it authentically. 

The girls snuck a look at each other they thought I wouldn’t see. I could almost hear the best friend telepathy going off. They were definitely thinking I must not want them around. With their backs to me, I felt my shoulders begin to tense. My girls had never once made me feel out of place since starting at the Dalton, but I had never been oblivious to the fact that three was a crowd. 

I turned away from my friends when our English teacher pulled the class’s attention to the front of the room. We started our lesson on writing comparative analysis essays, but the only thing I was analyzing was the body language of the girls beside me. The pinch of my thumbnail against my palm was enough to bring me back to the present, and I forced myself to focus on worrying about that rotten history test instead…

[laurie-stark]

Cherry Bomb

Tony Stark reveled in the spotlight. Between the high-end parties and multi-billion dollar company, there wasn't a thing that he kept from the public eye. Except for his daughter.

Laurel "Laurie" Stark was Tony's closely guarded secret. And while she inherited her father's intelligence and charm, she also inherited his stubbornness. Despite his best efforts to keep her far away from the Avenger's war front, Laurie found a way to be needed, time and time again.

With the Sokovia Accords underway, Tony and Laurie find themselves on opposite sides of the fight. Will they continue to crash heads, or will Tony finally come to realize his daughter's strength?

Started 09/01/2024 Last Updated 10/20/2024 Next Update 11/10/2024

Updates every two weeks!

Introductions

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI: Coming soon!

[laurie-stark]

Only A Moment

(not my gif)

Summary: Another hunt goes wrong, but this time it leads to some...unconventional release of anger.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI

Pairings: Sam Winchester x OC

A/N: you guys on tumblr deserved this too

Once again, the drive back to the motel was silent. A knife could slice right through the tension in the air, and Kath was tempted to try. Bobby had sent them on another demon goose chase, this time in Minnesota. They made it out without a scratch, but only barely. The demon was stronger than average and possessed the body of a little girl. And demon or not, no one wants to hurt a little girl. To Sam and Kath, the answer was obvious. Sam could trick shot the demon back to hell in less than five minutes and they would all be on their merry way. Dean said no. After an hour of back and forth between the boys, Sam decided he was old enough to stop listening to his big brother. The little girl was returned home to her parents before the night was over. And the night was far from over. 

Kath bit her lip in the backseat of Baby the car. She glanced nervously between the two brothers. Dean was stiff as he drove, going well above the speed limit. Sam had his head leaning against the window. It was not often that Kath disagreed with Dean. For most of their lives together she’d follow him blindly. It was second nature. But Sam’s addiction was something they could not find a middle ground on. Dean didn't understand. He was human after all. He didn’t have a disease coursing through his veins. He wasn’t created as the product of all things good and evil. He did not understand. 

The moment Dean pulled into the parking lot, he unleashed weather greater than God on his baby brother. Kath sighed and ran a hand over her face. This was not helping. At this point in their journey, Sam was not in the mood to be chastised. He had saved them, saved everyone. Dean should be grateful. Sam got out of the car while Dean was mid-sentence, slamming the door on his way into the motel room. 

Dean had about a million rules when it came to Baby, and slamming her car doors was a felony. Kath inhaled sharply, not because the sound of the door scared her, but because she could literally see Dean’s face turning a bright shade of red. If she squinted she could see steam coming out of his ears. 

“That little shit!” Dean said, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. He moved to get out of the car but Kath stopped him.

“Dean stop,” she said, putting a hand on his arm. “You know as well as I do that we were trapped. If Sam hadn’t done what he did then we’d all be as good as dead.” 

Dean was not listening. “That’s not saying much since Sammy’s already halfway gone to hell.” The sentence stung Kath and it wasn’t even aimed at her. To anyone else, the idea of going to hell was a passing thought. Coming from Dean though, Kath couldn’t believe he’d say something like that. Not after the thirty years Dean endured. For Sam, she might add. Kath opened her mouth to respond but nothing came out. And Dean was already halfway into the motel room. 

Kath entered the musty motel room to the brothers having a catfight. They were shouting so loudly that Kath couldn’t make out what was being said. She almost got trampled by Dean as she walked through the doorway. He pushed past her, got into his car, and drove off into the night. It all happened so fast that Kath got dizzy. She got a grip on her footing and gently closed the motel door, locking it with a click. Sam was pacing across the floor with his hands in his hair. 

“Don’t let him get to you Sammy, he doesn’t get it,” Kath said. She took a few steps towards him so he would stop pacing. It always made her nervous. Sam stopped in his tracks. His hands dropped to his side and he stared at her blankly. 

“Can you shut up?”

Kath’s jaw dropped. In all their years of bickering and pissing one another off, he had never once told her to shut up. In fact, Sam told her on numerous occasions how much he valued her opinions. She was shocked. 

“Well fuck me for trying to be helpful!” Kath threw her hands up in defeat. “You are such an asshole, you know that?” 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you,” Sam muttered under his breath, ignoring Kath’s asshole comment. 

“What?” Kath asked, not hearing what Sam said.

“I said you’re full of shit,” Sam responded. “You think you know me? You think you understand what I am? You have no idea what it’s like to be…to be this.” Sam gestured to himself. “I’m poisonous Kath.” 

“Do I need to remind you that you’re not the only one who learned life-changing information? There is no part of me that’s human! I have been a walking vessel from the moment I was born Sam. So fuck you for saying I don’t understand.” 

The vein in Sam’s forehead was beginning to grow, which meant Kath was really getting under his skin. Normally she wouldn’t dig herself any deeper, but he was rude to her when she just wanted him to know she cared. He had it coming. 

“At least I can say I’ve got some good in me. You’re closer to evil than I’ll ever be.” 

Sam closed his hands into fists. He brought one up to his mouth to bite his tongue. Although his stature would never show it, Kath’s statement hurt Sam down to his core. It was in his nature to be evil and he fought against it in his every waking moment. 

Kath stared at Sam through furrowed brows. She waited for him to respond, to retort with a snarky comment about how she was acting like a brat or a princess or one of the other thousand remarks he’d made before. His silence scared her. His posture was furious, but his eyes were hurt. She knew she had taken it too far. 

“Look,” Kath started. “I’m sorry. We’re both exhausted. Let’s just forget about it.” She didn’t wait for a response. Kath stepped past him to go take a much-needed shower. With one wrong footstep, she accidentally pushed her shoulder against his. The impact made Sam stumble sideways. She hadn’t meant to push him, but he didn’t know that. He was fed up with her and the way she made him feel. Like he was worth something and worthless all at once. 

Without thinking Sam grabbed hold of Kath’s right arm tightly. He pulled her towards him, her back flush against his chest. He felt her inhale sharply. He leaned his head down to the space between her chin and her shoulder. Kath could feel his warm breath tickling her neck. 

“What are you doing?” Kath asked, trying to wriggle out of his grip. Truthfully, Sam didn’t know what he was doing. All he knew was that he was angry and she was there. And from the way her hips pressed back against him, he could tell she wanted something as much as he did. Sam loosened his grip as Kath twisted her neck to look up at him. Kath’s eyes were wide with confusion, Sam’s looked at her with desire. Their lips were dangerously close to one another. Something in the air snapped and it was unclear who made the first move. But the next thing Kath knew, she was kissing Sam with force she didn’t know she was capable of. 

Sam’s hands were all over Kath’s body, turning her so that she was facing him completely. He brought a hand up to cup her chin, tilting it upward so he could get more access to her mouth. All of Kath’s better judgment had flown out the window. She let Sam devour her, tongues clashing and hands flying. The kiss took all the air out of her lungs. Sam leaned back to let them both take a breath before leaning down to kiss her once again. Clarity washed over Kath as she inhaled and suddenly she was very aware of what was going on. She pushed both hands against his chest, putting some much-needed space between their bodies. 

Sam and Kath stood on opposite ends of the motel room. The light above them flickered in time with their laboured breaths. What the hell was that? Kath was unsure, but deep down she liked it. Something inside her burned and ached for more. She stood a little taller, shoulders back a little straighter. Her mind was clear this time and she took one long stride towards Sam. In one fluid moment, she pulled his head down to hers and their lips met again. This time, it was Kath who enveloped Sam in an embrace. The sudden movements made Sam stumble backward until his back hit the wall behind him. He braced his weight against it, letting it hold him up so he could focus his strength on kissing Kath. Neither one of them knew where all this passion was coming from, but they weren’t exactly eager to stop it. Sam groaned into Kath’s mouth as her fingers tangled in his soft hair, tugging ever so slightly. Kath smirked inwardly at that, making a mental note to do that again later. 

Sam’s hands were erratic, travelling from the nape of Kath’s neck down to her waist. He wanted to explore every inch of her. The tips of his fingers made their way underneath her tank top. She gasped at the contact and pressed her body closer to his. She could feel his heart racing underneath his shirt. She wanted, no she needed to feel him. She had never done anything like this before. Sure there was the odd townsboy she’d meet on a hunt, but she had never done anything more than kiss them. She had no idea what she was doing, but at the same time, it felt natural. Kath broke the kiss hastily and started to tug on the hem of Sam’s shirt, signalling that she wanted it gone. Sam slowly placed his hands on top of hers, stopping her. She looked at him confused. Wasn’t this the natural next step? 

“Do you want this?” Sam’s voice was low against her neck. Kath nodded. “I need to hear you say it, Kath.” In all that she knew about sex, she wasn’t aware there was supposed to be talking. Could Sam not feel how badly she wanted this? 

“Please,” Kath said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sam pulled back in surprise. “Please?” He echoed, almost mocking her. A dark smirk fell across his face and he tilted his head sideways. “I can work with that.” 

Sam’s hands grip Kath’s hips tightly and he walks her backwards towards the motel bed. She almost trips over it, landing flat on her ass with Sam towering over her. She is reminded of the last time they were alone in a motel room together like this. She’d wanted him then too. Now she could have him. 

Sam gestured for Kath to move up the bed and she complied. He was impressively large above her. He began to crawl towards her, leaving a trail of kisses up her body as he went. When he reached her mouth he paused and took her in. Kath looked different below him. Fragile, but not breakable. He took her mouth once again, this time bringing his knee between her legs as he did. Kath moaned into the kiss as Sam’s body contacted the place where she was most sensitive. Her body had a mind of its own. She ground her hips against Sam’s thigh. Sam felt his chest seize as she did. He kissed her deeply, then began making his way back down her neck, sucking on the sensitive points. He knew he would leave marks in the morning but right now he did not care. 

Kath was making the most beautiful breathy noises Sam had ever heard. He’d give anything to get her to continue making them. Shirts went flying and Sam’s mouth travelled back down the way he came and eventually, he slid off the bed onto his knees. Kath propped herself onto her elbows to get a better angle of him. Her breath caught in her throat when Sam took hold of her hips and dragged her toward the end of the bed. She let out a small yelp. Sam chuckled. 

“What are you doing?” Kath asked for the second time that night. It occurred to her then that they had no idea when Dean might come back. Sam’s hands ran the length of her legs and the thought left her mind. All of her thoughts, actually. Sam slowly began to unbutton Kath’s jeans. Her heartbeat doubled. As if he could sense it, and maybe he could, Sam stopped. 

“Is this okay?” He looked up at her with his puppy dog eyes. She smiled down at him. 

“Yeah,” she breathed. Sam continued to unbutton her pants, taking an excruciatingly long time. Kath fought the urge to whine at him to hurry up. Once Sam had undone the final button, he tugged at the hem of her jeans. 

“Lift.” It wasn’t a question. Kath lifted her hips and to her surprise Sam pulled her pants and underwear off all at once, leaving her completely exposed to him. The sight of Kath’s naked body made Sam’s mouth water. He stayed motionless by the edge of the bed for some time, just taking her in. She was beautiful. Kath felt herself grow a little embarrassed just laying like a pig on a platter. She sat up and scooted towards Sam, pulling him closer to her. He nestled between her legs while her arms linked around his neck. She took the opportunity to study his face. Loose brown curls fell around his face, and she was playing with the ones at the nape of his neck. Kath took to examining his face with her hands, tracing his eyebrows down to his nose and over the one freckle on Sam’s cheek. 

“What are you doing,” Sam asked in a mocking tone. He gave her a smile that let her know he was kidding around. 

“Just looking,” Kath shrugged. 

Sam ran his hands up Kath’s sides and over her shoulders. “You nervous?” 

“A little,” Kath said, breaking eye contact. “It’s just been a while.”

“Have you never…?” 

“Not never, just not…everything.” 

Sam’s demeanor changed completely. His hands dropped from Kath’s shoulders and he pulled away from her. 

“Oh my God, we can’t, I can’t be your first time.” Sam stuttered over his words. 

“Sam, I don’t care about that,” Kath said. 

Sam started pacing again. “I mean, how have you never? Not once?” 

“When would I have had the time to check this off my bucket list?” Kath asked. “I’ve been hunting  for half of my life, sex isn’t really on the table.” 

Sam stopped in his tracks and turned to look at Kath, who was still naked on the bed. 

“Then how the hell did you learn to kiss like that?” He asked with both hands on his hips. The question caught Kath completely off guard. She started to giggle, which then turned into full belly laughs. Sam let his guard down and laughed with her. When they had both settled down, Kath rose to her feet.

“We don’t have time to care about romances Sammy. The most I’ve ever hoped about my first time is that it’s with someone I trust.” 

“You mean that?” Sam asked after heaving a sigh. 

“Do you think I’d be standing buck-ass naked in front of you if I didn’t?” 

That was an answer enough for Sam. Without another word, he bent down to pick Kath up by her thighs. She yelped as her feet left the ground and she was tossed haphazardly back onto the bed. Another laugh escaped her when she bounced. 

Sam was quick to bring the moment back. He kissed her fiercely, framing her head with one hand and running the other along her bare thigh. With each stroke, he made sure to inch closer and closer to where he wanted to touch Kath the most. He could feel her growing impatient below him and relished in the power. Kath stopped kissing him and finally let out the whine she had been holding in.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked innocently. Kath only frowned in response. Sam gave her thigh a tight squeeze which caused Kath’s breath to hitch. “Tell me what you want from me.”

“Touch me, Sam.” 

Sam needed no further instructions. He gingerly moved the hand on Kath’s thigh to the depths between her legs. He didn’t have to look to know how wet she’d become for him, but God did he want to. Sam quickly positioned the two of them so he was sitting against the headboard and Kath’s back was against his chest. She was almost sweating from the anticipation. She let out the sweetest sounds when Sam’s fingers finally found her. He started off with a gentle circular motion over Kath’s clit. The sensation was sending waves of pleasure throughout her entire body. Kath sighed and let her head fall back against Sam’s shoulder. Sam brushed the hair out of her face with his free hand. He continued to work Kath into a tizzy and eventually slipped a finger inside. Kath had experienced this before with other men, but those moments did not come close to this. She felt like she was a fire and Sam was the fan that kept her burning. 

Sam coaxed another finger into Kath’s entrance. She moaned excessively as he curled his fingers inside her, brushing them against that sweet spot. 

“You feel that angel?” Sam said into Kath’s ear. 

“Mhm!” That was all Kath could get out. 

“No one’s ever made you feel this good have they?” Sam grinned as Kath shook her head furiously. “And to think that I’m the one who gets to take you, you must be really desperate.” 

Kath’s moans were getting higher and more frequent. Sam felt her core pulsing against his fingers. The tightness in his pants grew. Even in her state of bliss, Kath still had the ability to push her body against Sam’s for the sole purpose of getting him harder. The groan Sam let out was reward enough. In retaliation, Sam continued pumping his fingers in and out and watched Kath get closer to her edge. Just as she was about to fall over it, Sam removed his fingers from her. The loss of sensation left her feeling empty - and entirely unsatisfied. 

“What the hell?” Kath whipped her head back to look at Sam.

“You really thought I wasn’t going to take my time with you?” Sam gloated. He brought the fingers that were just inside Kath up to her mouth, tapping on her lips gently. 

“Open,” Sam commanded. Kath did as she was told and Sam filled her mouth. She took his fingers perfectly. “Atta girl, you see how good you taste? I want a piece of that.” 

Kath’s eyes widened at the thought of Sam being…down there. That was further than she’d ever gone before. 

Sam manhandled Kath into his lap and she straddled him easily. She bent down to kiss him and Sam could taste her on his lips. The desire to have her almost made him dizzy. He pulled away and cupped her face with both hands, looking at her with pleading eyes. 

“Kath please,” he begged. “Please let me taste you.” 

Kath blushed. “Well if you want to that badly,” she said. 

“You have no idea.”

Before she knew it, they were right back where they had started, with Kath lying on the edge of the bed and Sam kneeling before her. The temptation to eat her out for hours was strong, but the urge to make Kath squirm was stronger. Sam began to place small kisses along Kath’s inner thighs while his fingers lazily danced through her folds. She was a whimpering mess. Kath’s hand found Sam’s hair and she started pulling desperately on it so that he would do something. 

“You have no patience, you know that?” 

“Sam, please!” 

“Please what?”

“Touch me!”

“I thought I already am,” Sam smirked. 

“I could touch you here.” He pressed the pad of his thumb against her clit. 

“Or maybe I could touch you here.” His finger traced the outline of her entrance. Kath was moaning loud enough to wake the entire motel. 

“Or maybe…I could do this.” 

Kath’s vision went white. Sam pushed two fingers back into her while pressing his mouth to her clit simultaneously. She cried out and her hands flew down to his hair. She was tugging on it as though she needed to for dear life. Sam groaned against her and the vibrations sent a shiver up her spine. Sam matched the pace of his fingers to that of his tongue and brought Kath closer and closer to her edge in waves. 

“Oh my God!” Kath exclaimed. “I think-” 

Her words were cut off by her moans. The final wave finally crashed over Kath and coursed throughout her entire body. Pleasure from her core extended all the way to her fingertips. She was writhing like crazy and Sam had to use his free arm to pin her down. Only once Kath started to come down did Sam take his mouth away from her. 

Kath was panting heavily. Sam used his discarded shirt to wipe Kath off his mouth, although he knew he’d be savouring the taste forever. He gave her a moment to come back to reality and discarded his pants onto the floor. He joined her back on the bed in just his boxers. Sam lay propped on his elbow beside Kath, absently drawing circles across her arm. Kath eventually came to and noticed the state Sam was in. 

“Where did your pants go?” She asked in a very serious tone. 

Sam laughed at her confusion. “We don’t have to keep going,” he said genuinely. 

“Please don’t stop.” 

Sam’s eyes darkened and he leaned down to capture Kath in a kiss. They became a tangle of limbs and tongues and teeth. Sam pressed his hips against Kath’s and she could feel his hardness against her core. The desire that filled Kath’s head was almost unbearable. She began to push her hips upwards against Sam’s. He shuddered above her and buried his head into the crook of her neck. He trailed kisses down it and then he sank his teeth into her shoulder. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make Kath’s head swim. 

“I need you,” Sam breathed into her neck. 

“Then take me, idiot,” Kath said back. 

Sam pushed off of her to remove his boxers, his cock springing upwards as he did. Sam got off the bed quietly to dig through his duffle bag. He pulled out a condom and slipped it on effortlessly. Kath shamelessly checked his ass out while he had his back to her. 

He was above average for sure. Kath couldn’t help it when her jaw dropped and she stared at him. Sam chuckled at her and gripped her chin. He moved her head from side to side as if he was deciding on something. 

“Hmmm, no,” he murmured. “We’ll put that pretty mouth of yours to use another time. Tonight I’m going to take you until you’re screaming.”

Kath had no idea how to respond to that so she didn’t. She simply laid back down on the mattress and watched Sam tower over her once more. He kissed her once, then tapped her thigh. 

“Open.” 

Kath gulped, then slowly began to spread her legs apart. Sam sunk in between them. The tip of him was pressed against her entrance and Kath’s heart began to race again. Sam held himself up with one hand and used the other to line himself up with Kath. He kissed her again, this time tenderly. 

“Are you ready?” Kath nodded. “You tell me to stop and I will.” 

Kath nodded again and closed her eyes. She opened them again to the feeling of Sam’s thumb tilting her head up. 

“Nuh-uh,” he said. “I want you to watch.” And with that, he pushed himself into Kath. Her jaw went slack and a gasp slipped past her lips. Sam let out the most beautiful moan Kath had ever heard. The feeling of Sam stretching her out took some getting used to, but Sam gave Kath ample time to adjust. He waited for her signal to start moving. Kath took a few deep breaths and then nodded. 

Sam started off with slow, gentle thrusts. This was Kath’s first time, of course, he wanted her to remember it. But with each movement, Sam’s ability to control himself slipped away. He kissed her feverishly and trailed his free hand down her arm to grip her wrist. He pulled her hand above her head, pinning it there with his own. The gesture made Kath euphoric. She could tell he was beginning to lose his grip. Now it was he who was holding onto her for dear life. 

Kath was nothing if not a nuisance. She knew that if she reached her free hand up into Sam’s hair he’d snap. She knew that if she tugged on the loose curls that hung by the nape of his neck she might need help walking tomorrow. So naturally, she did it anyway. Sam groaned desperately into her shoulder and the grip on her hand tightened. 

“Kath,” Sam warned.  

“Just let go,” Kath assured him. 

“I can’t.,” he said through gritted teeth.

“It’s okay,” she promised. “I won’t break.” 

Sam tried to hold on for her sake, but eventually his mind cleared. His thrusts became harder and faster as he took her with a force she didn’t know he was capable of. Still, she trusted that he couldn’t hurt her. They moved in sync together, like a choreographed dance. Kath felt the fire begin to grow inside of her. Sam was hitting the right spot over and over and over. When she couldn’t hold on any longer Sam leaned down and placed a kiss below her ear. 

“Come for me, angel.” 

Kath’s body shook underneath Sam as she fell over the edge once more. Pleasure crashed through her and she was close to tears. Sam’s pace didn’t slow, but the strength of his thrusts did. The hand that was once holding her own gently cupped Kath’s cheek. She opened her eyes and found Sam looking into them. His hair fell around his face, framing it perfectly. His skin was flush and he held an expression that Kath couldn’t place. Time around them slowed with what Sam said next. 

“You are so beautiful.” Sam came inside her soon after.

Kath’s heart seized. The euphoric feeling that flooded her brain moments ago was gone. She was not expecting that from Sam. She was used to his snarky remarks, even the names he called her were usually laced with sarcasm. What he said was genuine. It was vulnerable. It was not what she had signed up for. 

Sam pulled out and flopped onto his back next to her. They were both panting, sweaty messes. 

Sam let out a breathy chuckle. “That was something.” 

Kath stayed silent. Sam took it as post-sex brain fog. He got up and headed to the bathroom to clean up, leaving Kath alone with her thoughts. When Sam returned, she quickly stumbled into the bathroom without so much as a look in his direction. 

Kath looked at herself in the mirror. Her bare chest was decorated with purple marks. Her skin was flustered and beats of sweat trickled down her neck. 

What the hell did they just do? 

Kath splashed water from the sink on her face and finished cleaning up. When she left the bathroom the first thing she did was find her discarded clothes. She folded them carefully and put them on one of the motel chairs. Kath pulled her pajamas from her own duffel and pulled them on. Despite the pit in her stomach, she still made a show of bending over to pull the flannel pajama pants on. She could feel Sam’s smirk burning into her back. 

Sam was sitting against the headboard of the bed he and Kath had just christened. That was some of the best sex he’d had in, well in a very long time. He studied Kath carefully as she pulled her pajama bottoms on, making sure to check out the ass she put on display. He flipped the blanket over so she could get into bed next to him. To Sam’s surprise though, Kath made a bee-line for the other bed. 

“What are you doing?” Sam asked. It seemed to be the question of the night. 

“Going to bed,” Kath responded curtly. 

“Come here then.” Sam patted the spot next to him. 

Kath looked at Sam’s hand, then at him, then at his hand again. She shook her head. 

“No, I’m not sleeping with you,” she said. 

“You just did,” Sam responded with a smile. 

Kath’s expression did not change. “No. We’re not, I’m not…This isn’t going to be a thing. It was just a moment.” 

Sam’s demeanor stiffened. “Oh. Okay.” 

Kath got into her bed and turned away from Sam. At some point during this night Kath had stopped being Kath and started being Sam’s. She hated the feeling that was growing inside her chest. It was just a moment. It had to be just a moment. 

[laurie-stark]

Silent Alarms: A 9-1-1 Fanfic

ANOTHA ONE: HERE