Chapter 1: You do not have the clearance to access this file.
Notes:
Hi, welcome to TLGAD. This fic was originally a joke about just how far the government in Marvel is willing to go to recreate Captain America, and it spiraled out of my control from there. It was posted first on my Wattpad, -punisher, but is being cross-posted so that my friend can read it without having to make a Wattpad account. Thank you, if you are not her, for reading :).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
FILE NAME: [REDACTED]
CLEARANCE LEVEL: Level 10
RESEARCH TEAM: [REDACTED]
SUBJECTS:
1. Unsuccessful
2. Unsuccessful
3. Unsuccessful
4-21. Unsuccessful
22. Successful
SUBJECT ALPHA
NAME: Donna [REDACTED]
AGE: 29 years old
DOB: XX/XX/1963
CURRENT STATUS: Unknown
Notes:
Despite a clean bill of health and having three previous children, Subject experienced implantation failure with three viable embryos and was promptly removed from the project and sent home.
SUBJECT BETA
NAME: Kimberly [REDACTED]
AGE: 32 years old
DOB: XX/XX/1960
CURRENT STATUS: Unknown
Notes:
Embryo implantation was successful but spontaneous abortion occurred at fifteen weeks. The subject was promptly removed from the project and sent home.
SUBJECT GAMMA
NAME: Jennifer [REDACTED]
AGE: 22 years old
DOB: XX/XX/1969
CURRENT STATUS: Deceased
Notes:
The subject carried a single male fetus to term but experienced severe hemorrhaging shortly after birth and could not be resuscitated. The child was sent to live with his maternal grandparents.
SUBJECT DELTA
NAME: Roger [REDACTED]
AGE: XX
DOB: XX/XX/1992
Notes:
The subject’s cognitive, physical, and mental development is average. He has not shown any sign of superhuman ability.
…
…
…
SUBJECT PSI
NAME: Jennifer Stokes
AGE: 18 years old
DOB: XX/XX/`1976
CURRENT STATUS: Alive
Notes:
Subject carried a singular female fetus to term with no adverse side effects.
SUBJECT OMEGA
NAME: Christine Stokes
AGE: XX
DOB: XX/XX/1994
CURRENT STATUS: Alive
Notes:
The subject’s cognitive and physical development is well beyond average. Displays the enhanced speed, strength, and endurance of an Olympic athlete, and has the metabolic
rate to accompany it.
A quantifiable amount of serum could not be taken from her blood, but further testing will occur.
All information about Subject Omega will be stored in the Subroutine [REDACTED]
until further notice.
ACCESS RECORD:
ERROR_ACCESS_DENIED (403)
Access is denied. You do not have the clearance to view this file.
ERROR_ACCESS_DENIED (403)
Access is denied. You do not have the clearance to view this file.
ERROR_ACCESS_DENIED (403)
Access is denied. You do not have the clearance to view this file.
Initializing Policy Reset…
Policy Reset Failed: This File Is Protected
Re-initializing…
Re-initializing…
Re-initializing…
Policy Reset Success.
SHIELD INDUSTRIES (™) TERMLINK PROTOCOL)
ENTER PASSWORD NOW
4 ATTEMPT(S) LEFT: ****
0xF4F0 ?!@– ‘ @ ’ “ # ” ([ 0xF5BC NG<, CONSIST?
0xF4FC “= / #[ ! {–CONF 0xF5C8 ( @ [_/$:. SEVEN
0xF508 IRM<“_ROAMIN 0xF5D4 TEEN*|## -@- \(
0xF514 G{ , ‘ ] | ; = ; + # – 0xF5E0 ‘ | _ { :>HOUSIN
0xF520 == LONGING@” 0xF5EC G ^ ? : , ( ^ ( . |\$
0xF52C ^ ‘ | . >} [%) $ ’ ? 0xF5F8 =( STERILE / . =
0xF538 . ==@>GAINING 0xF604 #’#] ? ] { < DAYB
0xF544 { ) – , ; ” ) ! –@|H 0xF610 REAK @_;^> (TAC
0xF550 EARING } ” }*” ^ 0xF61C TICS ” { , : $ = ’ /
0xF55C ; ( } / + –– [ $ ’ } | 0xF628 * ‘ – ” ‘ [FURNAC
0xF568 ‘ . } : = , “ < # ) __– 0xF634 E : // ‘ FREIGHT C
0xF574 ( = ? ) . . @ ) ‘ \ – ; 0xF640 AR + , ; ’ > }($$!%B
0xF580 \ __ < ! ( . _ > : – # 0xF64C ENIGN _ ) { – > ;
0xF58C MANKIND”#}’} 0xF658 },?.+@’{$ ’ ) , NINE
0xF598 ! / > ’ | , % RUST 0xF664 {HOMECOMING.
0xF5A4 ED [{ /= ]]\HEA 0xF670 > ONE ? - , { . { < ]
0xF5B0 LING }=} LEAVI 0xF67C + ) ! @ ( - ! @ , - {
>ROAMING
>Entry denied
>3 Correct
>HOUSING
>Entry denied
> 3 Correct
> HOMECOMING
> Exact match!
> Please wait while the system is accessed.
Access is granted.
Decrypting…
Decrypting…
Decrypting…
FILE NAME:
The Semideus Project
SUB-ROUTINE NAME:
The Liberty Kid
RESEARCH TEAM:
The Ancestral Heritage Team
WELCOME, ANTHONY STARK
LATEST VIEWERS:
Anthony Stark
[REDACTED]
[REDACTED]
[REDACTED]
Alexander Goodwin
[REDACTED]
[REDACTED]
[EXPAND LIST? Y OR N]
Without further activity, this file will be automatically locked in 30 seconds.
Thank you.
Notes:
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Any and all comments or kudos are greatly appreciated :)
Chapter 2: Mirror, Mirror
Summary:
Even if she had been looking at his face all her life, she had no clue who Steve Rogers really was.
(And she was fairly certain that, despite her international fame, he didn't know about her, either.)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Sometimes, Christine wondered what it would be like to see more than a stranger in the features of her face.
Any time she found a mirror, her gaze would linger on her reflection: she'd trace along the pronounced edge of her jawline, the bump in the bridge of her nose, and the wrinkle between her brows that she could never seem to smooth down almost obsessively. She'd stare at herself for hours if she was allowed. She'd stare and stare and stare, but she never could find what she was looking for.
She, unlike any of her brothers, lacked all of the softness her mother possessed.
Everything about her belonged, first, to a man she'd never met.
Now that he had (inexplicably) risen from his self-inflicted, watery grave, she felt less strange. Less like a ghost was living on in every single micro expression that dawned upon her, anyway. But the fact of it still remained.
Even if she had been looking at his face all her life, she had no clue who Steve Rogers really was.
(And she was fairly certain that, despite her international fame, he didn't know about her, either.)
On the morning that everything changed, Christine, half-asleep, made a conscious effort not to meet her own gaze as she brushed her teeth.
Her half-brothers (her mother and step-father's sons) were floating in and out of their shared bathroom as they got ready. Every single surface was still damp from someone's shower and the stink of cologne hung in the air, invading her senses and altering the taste of her toothpaste.
She paused only briefly when Jeremy, the younger of the two at twelve, stopped behind her, watching in the mirror, with eyebrows pinched together, as he tried to lean around her.
"Move."
It was meant to be, she supposed, a demand.
However, he was whining—— pubescent voice breaking on the upturn of his tone, the sound driving like a dull knife through her already throbbing skull—— and it robbed her of all sense to be the bigger person.
"No." She said instead of the many more vulgar things that came to mind.
"Tine." More whining. An emphasis on the long vowel sound. Pouting when she, eye twitching, turned to look at him. "I need to get ready."
"You literally have a mirror in your room."
"But all of my stuff is here!"
Christine inhaled deeply.
She thought, as she spat suds into the whirlpool of running water, about shoving him. But, as the reality of what she'd do to him if she did touch him settled, she shut the tap off, surrendering.
Jeremy, at the very least, had the right mind to thank her half-heartedly as she left.
Shut out in the hallway, Christine wiped her mouth on her sleeve and pulled her buzzing phone from her pocket. She watched until the caller went to voicemail and then, with a cursory glance through the barrage of notifications that were still coming through, shut it down. It was then that she resigned herself to start the day over once her family left; retire to her attic bedroom and go back to sleep until noon, maybe raid the fridge for leftovers, and then watch TV until her mind was so numb that she forgot to be anxious about all she was meant to be doing instead.
But, just as she reached for the doorknob, her mother's voice came up from the first floor.
"Christine! Could you come down here for a second?"
She, flinching at the sound, cast one more forlorn look in the direction of her door before turning on her heel.
Her mother and step-father were in the kitchen when she came down the stairs.
Christine lingered on the threshold so she didn't get in their way, watching them finish making breakfast and pour over a newspaper like it was a scene from some awful slice of life movie that her ex-girlfriend would've made her watch.
Her step-father noticed her, first. His eyes flicked up from the paper in his hands once or twice, and then he greeted her with a cordial smile.
"Good morning, Chris."
"Morning, Luke." She half-smiled, too, and then said to her mother. "I'm here, mom. What did you need?"
"Oh, good, I was worried you were still asleep."
Jennifer moved a pan off the burner and wiped her hands on a tea towel before crossing the distance between them.
"How're you feeling?" She asked, reaching up to press the back of her hand to Christine's forehead.
Her mother's knuckles were colder than usual, so, with a wrinkled nose, the blonde pushed the hand away.
It landed on her shoulder as she shrugged.
"I'm alright." Christine said. "Just a little tired."
Jennifer, in turn, sucked her teeth, and her daughter felt, suddenly, trapped. "This is why you shouldn't drink."
Christine's eyebrows met in the center of her forehead.
(Often, Christine found herself acutely aware of the fact that no one else in any room she stood in understood, nor would they ever understand, what was going on in her body.)
"It doesn't work like that." The words fell out of her before she could help it. "Something happened at the party and I couldn't sleep, that's all."
Her mother just responded with a thin-lipped smile, though, and the idea of starting her day over just became more and more appealing.
"Speaking of the party, how is Darla?" The change of subject came so suddenly that Christine, with her frustration dwindling, blinked, and the phone she'd shutdown upon waking felt as heavy in her pocket as the hands her mother had on her shoulders. "We haven't seen her around here in a while. You didn't even give us the chance to say hi to her before you two ran off last night."
Christine shrugged and then nearly cringed.
It was hardly a real response, the kind of thing that everyone expected of a teenager in the face of prying parents and not an adult woman.
"I, uh—— she's fine, Mom."
(Not much better, but it was the truth. Last she'd seen her, Darla was fine... Physically, at least.)
"Fantastic! You know, you really should invite her over for dinner."
The twenty-year-old winced. "I don't think that's going to happen anytime soon. We're fighting right now... and I don't think we're friends anymore."
When she had the courage to look at them again, she caught her mother, frowning, exchanging a look with her husband.
"That's a shame." Her mother said. "I really liked her."
"Is everything okay? Do you want to talk about it?"
The questions from her stepfather made Christine, already twitchy, groan. She brought her hands up and her mother let go.
"I don't—— I'm the one who screwed everything up, okay? It was me. And, no, I don't want to talk about it."
It was hard not to notice the way they both seemed to pause at the revelation. However, neither of them actually reacted, and Jennifer just reached up again to give her daughter's jaw an affectionate squeeze.
Christine wished they would react, though. Say something, shake their heads, disapprove or acknowledge the screw up in any kind of way. But, they didn't.
"Do you know what you have to do today?"
"Yeah."
The silence lingered a second and Christine sighed.
"I have to sign those old headshots and respond to that kid's letter." (The headshots were of her at fifteen, and her agent had asked for them two weeks ago. The letter was new. She hadn't gotten one in years.) "And do some chores."
"Good. Do manage to get that done, okay?"
As Jennifer left them to go shout up the stairs for her sons, Christine turned to her stepfather.
"Don't fight her on it." He sounded like he was pleading. If she wasn't so uncomfortable, she might've laughed. "She's trying."
Christine just hummed. What else was there to say? Any step she took toward defending herself was another three she took backward in terms of their respect.
"Listen, we're going out tonight—— to the Johnson's, remember them? You used to play with their daughter. Anyway, she's getting married next year, so they're throwing her an engagement party." He started fishing around in his pockets for something, newspaper discarded. "The boys are coming with us, but your mother already told them you were busy."
She frowned.
She did not remember the Johnson's girl.
She did not remember the Johnsons at all.
And, even if she was probably going to make up an excuse for why she couldn't go at the last minute, would really like to be considered in all of the decision making based around her life.
"Okay." She said.
From his pocket he pulled his wallet. The hundred-dollar bill that he slid across the countertop toward her felt more like a peace offering than anything.
"Mom already left me money for groceries."
"This is for dinner."
"Oh. Okay." Christine pocketed the note. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it."
Jennifer re-entered the kitchen, then, like a whirlwind.
Christine glanced up at the clock on the wall as Conor came bouncing in behind her.
"Hey, Chris," He said, walking around her to grab a piece of bacon from the plate next to the stove. "Can you beat a gym leader for me while I'm at school?"
She cracked a crooked smile. "Sure."
He beamed and said thank you!, handing over his brand-new Nintendo 3DS before being ushered out by their chattering mother. It continued playing the Pokémon music from her pocket.
"Call me if you need anything." Lucas said as she followed him out, pausing at the bottom of the steps to shout for Jeremy again.
"I will." She said as the twelve-year-old tumbled down the stairs, catching his binder before it could fall out entirely. "Your bag's open."
Even after all the whining from earlier, Christine zipped his bookbag shut for him. She watched from the doorway as they all left: her mother and step-father into their separate cars, and her brothers sprinting for their bus stop. As soon as they left, she shut and locked the door, paying no mind to the nosy old lady sitting on her porch across the street or the last car left, unused, in the driveway.
The house was too empty and eerily quiet without them, but she might've preferred it that way.
Eyes shut, she rested her head against the wood and exhaled so deeply that her ribs ached from the force of it.
──────────────────────
A few hours later, Christine went to get groceries.
The trip was ten miles in total—— five miles there and five miles back. She hadn't gone by herself in years and, thus, hadn't ever had to walk it; but, with the lawn mowed and the couch from the garage moved out to the curb and the dishes all done (and one Cyllage City gym leader absolutely crushed), her only options were to buy the family groceries or write that kid's letter, so she got her old running shoes from the back of her closet, put her headphones in, and got on with it.
She was damp with sweat by the time she reached the store's parking lot, but she pulled her hood over her head in a poor attempt at concealing her identity, anyway.
The aisles were, save for a few elderly people and busboys who looked less than thrilled to be there, empty. Keen on wasting time more than anything else, she moseyed about, putting things from her mother's extensive list into the cart, then pursuing her own interests. Christine grabbed cookies and chips and even a full steak that she'd eat in its entirety and get shit for it later, and managed, all the while, to avoid conversation with every person she passed by.
It felt like a successful trip all the way to the front.
Then, once she'd laid her eyes on who was working the only cash register that was open, she felt her short-lived glee turn to ash in her mouth.
"Christine?" Carson Edwards, whom she had gone to school with until she'd dropped out in junior year, asked, squinting through the dim, greenish light like he was trying to figure out when he'd last seen her.
(Christine, scratching her eyebrow with her thumbnail, resisted the urge to remind him that he'd kissed her after taking her to winter formal and the words 'I'm sorry, I think I'm a Lesbian' fell out of her in the following silence.)
"Yeah. Hey."
He smiled. She tried to return the gesture, shoving her hands in her pockets as he dragged her unpacked items across the scanner, but she wasn't sure that it came across the right way.
Carson didn't seem to notice.
"How've you been?"
"I've been... I'm alright. Yourself?"
He shrugged.
"Ask me again when my shift's over." His joke did not land, but he didn't notice that, either. "I would have listened to my old man and done pre-law if I had known I'd still be working here after getting my degree... That'll be ninety-five even, by the way."
Christine, utterly degreeless and (technically) jobless, forced a smile, then, her cheeks bulging with all of the things that she wanted to say but knew she couldn't (and shouldn't) say, and paid.
They bagged her items together in silence and she thought, with great relief, that he'd finally given up on trying to talk to her, but he took a second shot at ruining her day when he opened his mouth one final time.
"Say, uh, do you need help carrying everything?" He asked and she might've laughed if he had just finished his sentence there. "To your car, I mean."
He seemed to realize the gravity of what he'd just said at the same time the words registered with her because, just as she inhaled sharply and snatched the handles of the grocery bags from him.
"I don't drive. Bad things tend to happen when I get in cars, remember?"
"Shit, Chris, I'm sorry——"
"Don't be. It's fine. I'll see you later."
The sliding doors shut behind her with a musical chime, and the walk home felt a lot longer than the walk there.
──────────────────────
Once at home, once she'd calmed down, Christine resigned herself to starting the letter.
They had been pushing her out of the Liberty Kid stuff since she was sixteen. Actresses, perky and happy and entirely un-like her in every way except where it counted, were hired to do most of the public appearances. They did the USo shows for the elderly soldiers, and threw the first pitches at baseball games, and TV interviews. One even got to voice her in Captain America and the Liberty Kid, an animated kids' show where she and Steve Rogers lived and fought crime together in one big Batman parody. Perpetually in the shadow of her own limelight, all Christine got to do was sign memorabilia for resellers online, write letters, and fulfill Make-A-Wishes. (But, then again, it wasn't like she was John Cena when it came to that.)
It was humiliating to fail at the things she was born to do. She'd hated all of it—— the suit was too revealing and incredibly uncomfortable, the routines were strenuous, and baseball was never her thing—— but at least she'd been allowed to do it. To do something. Anything.
At least she'd had the rights to her own name.
And she knew her family thought it was humiliating, too.
(Christine sometimes wondered if it was that or her lesbianism that had blacklisted her from public family outings. Her relationship with her mother had always been wrong, but, in the years since the incident, she couldn't help but feel as though everyone in her life regarded her like she was a problem they couldn't solve. She could imagine the whispers following them around—— How's your daughter? What is she doing nowadays? Has she gotten her life together yet? Has she stood beside the President and embarrassed your whole family on international television again, or was that just a one time thing?)
She was a sentence in—— a Hello followed by a basic I was touched to read your letter—— when it happened. A security alert popped up on every screen in her vicinity, stopping her music and the episode of Law and Order she wasn't really watching all at once, and she fumbled to grab her phone, unlocking it just in time to watch a man in a brown leather jacket ring their doorbell through one of the cameras.
Christine felt both weightless and like a rock had formed in the pit of her stomach. She stared at the man for a moment, rooted in place as her blood rushed in her ears.
The correct thing to do would've been to wait.
That was the plan as they'd always discussed it. Even when she was little and on the road, she was always to wait for confirmation to move, whether it be to hide or answer the door. And Lucas had, undoubtedly, also received the alert. He was her stepdad, the man who raised her, and a SHIELD agent. His judgement was one she trusted.
But, then, the man rang the bell again, and she got a glimpse of his side profile through the camera, and her body moved on its own accord.
When she opened the door, all of the breath seized in her lungs.
Steve Rogers, standing on the other side of the door, inhaled sharply at the sight of her.
He was taller than she thought he'd be. Much broader, too.
Dumbly, she thought that the wax museums hadn't done him justice. But, then again, neither had her own imagination.
How many times had she dreamt of this moment as a child? How many Christmas lists featured his name? How many times had she prayed, begged whatever voice was out there to listen, for him to come back?
Be an angel on her shoulder?
Be something.
Be her father.
Darkening the doorway to her childhood home, Steve was a walking contradiction. His body was rigid. Shoulders squared and feet shoulder width apart, he was standing like a soldier at attention.
But his eyes—— and, by extension, hers—— gave him away.
There was a quiet surrender in them. He looked almost afraid.
Christine swallowed. Her throat was dry.
(She might've been afraid, too.)
"Hello." He said. "Can I come in? I think we need to talk."
Her tongue felt like a rock in her mouth, but she spoke anyway.
"Yeah. Of course."
And she stepped aside to make room for him.
Notes:
Thank you so much for reading!
softunbreakable on Chapter 1 Wed 19 Nov 2025 11:44PM UTC
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