Chapter Text
Apparently, my sister and I had been on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar since we’d entered the foster care system. They didn't want to take in any children, though. They weren't a foster home and they wouldn't have known how to deal with our angsty teen emotions.
We couldn't tell if our social worker, Julie, was ecstatic or not when it was said that the Avengers wanted to take us in. While we had a better chance at actually staying for over a year, I was also going to be in the spotlight. And it was likely they'd want me to fight. It was probably the only reason they wanted me. Another tool in their belt. Though, we felt that the only reason the state allowed them to take us in was that they were actually looking to adopt.
The car ride felt far from familiar, despite what the uninformed public would thing. I'd only done this twice before, getting kicked out of a house and driven to a strangers house by another stranger. Besides, this time I wasn't driving to some apartment with two or three other kids, I was going to live in a fucking mansion-tower. A mansion-tower filled with people with superpowers.
I ran the seam of my torn jean jacket between my fingers, looking through the window and past the glaring sunlight. The coarse fabric felt good on the pads of my fingers.
Rue tapped me on the shoulder, "Symphony's singing."
I cursed silencing the deep rolling sound. The sound was an amplification of a specific part of the car's engine that my senses just so happened to zero in on.
The term "Symphony's Singing" was my therapist's idea. I used to call it rumbling but my therapist decided that was too much of a "mean word." He felt like singing would be a better description than rumbling—even though it was certainly more of a rumble than a song—and it sounded good with Symphony, the name I'd given my powers.
"Sorry."
"Is fine," Rue waved it off.
I looked out the window again, recognizing Cafe Centro, a restaurant that my first foster parents loved going to despite its priciness. The wife, Brandy Schucker was also my AP World History teacher and I ate lunch in her class on the days I needed to be alone. I remembered eating at Cafe Centro, listening to her go on long history lessons to answer a simple question. The husband, Jonah Schucker, was the classical guitar professor at Columbia University. He taught me music theory and how to play the guitar.
"There's the tower," the social worker pointed out a skyscraper peeking out behind a few other buildings in the street.
"Jesus," Rue muttered.
We'd seen it before—of course we had—walking by with friends, making fun of how rich Tony Stark was, though I never really took as close of a look before then. It was a giant, futuristic looking building that I knew had even more futuristic technology inside. It gleamed in the sunlight, proudly erect and displaying itself for all to see and mocking my anxiety.
The heavy traffic of midtown Manhattan made the small distance drive last far longer than it needed to. I could swear, even the rushed business men were faster than us. As I watched the tower get bigger and bigger as we got closer, my heart rate sped up and I could feel my face get hot. I wasn't sure if I wanted the car to slow down even more or to just get there already. I was in purgatory, but the destination may as well have been Hell.
Rue tapped me on the shoulder again, nearly causing me to shit myself. A phone was shoved into my face, displaying a meme. With some tension partially relieved, I snickered at its relatable-ness.
As we got closer to the tower, we saw a man standing outside, looking like he was looking for someone. The social worker rolled down his window and waved at the man to come closer.
The social worker stuck his head out the window "Are you Happy?"
"Yes," the man leaned over to look at the two of us in the backseat, "are these the girls?"
"Yeah. Where's parking?"
"Right here, turn on your blinkers. Can I come in?"
Rue and I made faces at each other but the social worker motioned for him to enter. The man, Happy, clicked a button and the gate leading to the property was opened. He handed us all badges and instructed us to wear them while we were in the working areas.
After turning into the gated off area and making our way through the unnecessary twists and turns of the entryway, we arrived in the fanciest garage in the world. We didn't even have the time to admire the cars that probably cost a hundred times more than we would ever be worth, as Happy made a beeline for a door into the building.
"This man has such a gay powerwalk," I whispered in Mongolian just loud enough for Rue to hear.
She examined his walk for a second, taking in his confident, fast paced strutt that told the world he had places. to. be. Periodt.
She snickered, "oh my god, you're right."
"So," Happy broke us out of our mocking as we entered the building, "are you their case worker?"
It looked like a regular office building that you'd see in the movies. The walls and floor were pure white with electric blue highlights and borders. There were grey chairs in multiple waiting areas that looked like they had questionable levels of comfort, the occasional one sporting a business person waiting for an upcoming appointment.
We were about to enter the elevator when a woman with a wavy red bob made her way toward us. Black Widow. I remembered joking with my friends about how she's the only girl in the Avengers and how "she either hates it or gets all the dick."
Rue must have had the same thought process as me, because she leaned over to my ear and wiggled her eyebrows, "whoop."
Black Widow made direct eye contact with us, raising her eyebrows and smirking, a face that I could swear meant she knew exactly what that small interaction meant.
"Hello," Happy and the social worker spun around as her presence was announced, "I'm Natasha."
"Hello," the social worker returned the gesture before shaking her hand, "I'm Robert Newman."
"And this must be Bolortsetseg and Altan Sarnai," she said, pointing at Rue than me, perfectly pronouncing our Mongolian names .
"…Just call us Rue and Rose," my sister tried to say politely.
"Alright," Natasha smiled knowingly before turning to the adults, "let's continue this upstairs?"
"Sure," the social worker, apparently named Robert, seemed ready to make sure that this actually had a house, not that they'd even get past screening without one.