A Girl of the Future Read online

  Steve wonder what had happened to her that she was worried about losing the little family she had seemingly created. But he was afraid that if he pushed too hard for

  answers, that she would close up and become cold once more. Clint, Natasha, and Fury were counting on the answers he could provide. They needed him to determine

  whether or not the remains of HYDRA had ties to anyone in the house and how much of a threat they were. So he chose a much safer line of questioning.

  "What was that? What Hannah was going through?"

  "Hannah has post-traumatic stress disorder. Sometimes, she suffers from flashbacks and disassociation. Bali should tell you about her triggers when she calms down," Nikki

  explained. "A lot of us have scars, Steve. Many of them simply can't be seen."

  "What about yours?" he asked. "Are your scars visible?"

  Nikki gave him an amused smile, though she looked too weary for it to be effective, "Some of them. But the scars don't concern me as much as the demons."

  "The demons?"

  Her eyes turned towards the clock on the wall and she cursed under her breath, "I'm going to be late for work. Remy's going to have to work today, as Bali's not going to leave

  Hannah's side now. That actually may be luckier for you. Remy's liable to trick you a few times."

  She pulled a vest from her open closet and slipped it on as she spoke. With the vest on over the button-down blouse and dress slacks, she looked as if she might work as a

  receptionist or secretary. Steve wondered how much she actually made. From the state of the house and some of the kids' clothes, it was obvious that none of the adults

  within made enough to live comfortably.

  "Do me a favor and put those up when you're done," she said, gesturing towards the manila folder beside him.

  He watched as she stopped right at the door, throwing him one last glance over her shoulder, "Oh, and Steve, I know you're new here, but try not to let the house burn down

  while I'm gone. It may not look like much of anything, but all we have. And it's home."

  She walked out without waiting for his reply. And though he felt as if she had left him with more questions than answers, Steve couldn't help but smile at her words. It

  certainly felt like home despite the place being a little on the dilapidated side.

  His eyes suddenly turned to the folder she had tossed him. It looked rather like one of the many hard copies of files S.H.I.E.L.D. had in their databases, without the typed title,

  of course. But, when he opened it, he found papers filled with sketches inside. They ranged from pen and ink to colored pencil in medium. Between each sketch was a piece of

  thin tracing paper to keep them from smudging. The only thing which linked them all was that the subjects were all people.

  The first one was of a family of four: two young girls standing proudly before their parents. Each and every one had dark hair and eyes, their clothing distinctly western

  European. The style was off, though, at least compared to what he had studied since waking up from the ice. It reminded him of what he had seen when he was still a soldier.

  The word Eisenhardt was scrawled in the bottom corner. If he was being fully truthful with himself, Steve could have sworn the eldest girl looked a bit like a younger Nikki.

  The next was of a young boy with fair hair and sad eyes. He looked no older than ten, but his shoulders were hunched as if he had carried a heavy burden for too long.

  Another was off a man who could have been the same boy on the prior page. But he stood tall and proud in this one. His face was graced by hard lines and strong definition

  and hair cropped short. Only his eyes were colored in a green-tinged grey. The detail put into the man was much more pronounced than the family.

  The fourth was a colored sketch of a young man with a fairly messy crop of mousy brown hair that brushed against his shoulders. He was practically polar opposites of the first man. Where the blonde had been all sharp angles and bold lines, this man had much softer, more delicate features. Parts of the strange white chair he seemed to be sitting in

  were visible behind him. His right hand was lifted towards his face, his forefinger and middle finger pressing into his temple. The man's blue eyes were narrowed in

  concentration.

  Steve flipped back and forth between the two men. He could tell a lot from an artist's work, and the way Nikki had portrayed these two was surprising. The family sketch was

  out of focus and heavily shadowed as if she couldn't quite remember what they all looked like. But there were incredible, almost loving, details on the men. The amount of time

  and focus she had obviously put into them marked how much they had meant to her.

  As he shifted the papers to look at the next sketch, something much smaller fell from between the pages. Steve's eyebrows rose as he peered over the edge of the manila file

  to see what it was that he dropped. It was an old photograph. Not the stiff-edged, digital picture of this new age he had woken up in, but a black and white 1940's

  photograph with faded edges. He hadn't seen one in what felt like forever. Most he came across were either preserved on the internet, worn, or faded past hope.

  Picking up the photograph, he was pleasantly surprised to find it in pristine condition. Had Nikki kept this picture so carefully? Turning it over, Steve nearly froze in shock at the

  subjects.

  The fair-haired man was there, but there was a broad smile on his face as he looked towards the camera. There was a little girl maybe eight years old was in his arms, a gaptoothed

  smile brightening her expression as she waved happily at whoever had been holding the camera at the time. But what caused Steve to pause was the woman beside

  the man, who was drawn towards him by a hand at her waist. In an embroidered shirt and patchwork skirt that Steve had seen occasionally back in his day, looking perhaps

  ten years younger, was Nikki.

  Skye walked stood in the doorway of Coulson's office, knocking softly on the open door. He looked up from the files he was examining as the awoken from a dream. It had been

  a few months since Director Fury had called the entire team on the Bus to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters for the investigation of the Alchemist and the house full of 0-8-4s. The

  idea of more 0-8-4s in the context of people had immediately interested the hacktivist, though she refrained from saying anything.

  "I found something," she said as she walked in. "But it's kind of weird, AC."

  Coulson gave a wan smile, "When isn't it anymore?"

  Giving the holodesk a few taps, Skye managed to pull up the three dimensional digital projector that worked with the glass panel in front of the wall. She stifled a proud smile.

  It had taken less time to master the use of the holotable technology than it had to convince FitzSimmons to teach her. Coulson still had trouble from time to time.

  "I've been looking into the identities of the so-called 'mutants' like you asked," she started, pulling up the files she had recently added. "And I found something you might be

  interested in."

  The first files that popped up were the recently edited lists of anything S.H.I.E.L.D. could find on any of the House's inhabitants. Though all photos were only partials and

  taken from too far of a distance, there were facial portraits that Steve had drawn of them all in ridiculous detail. However, Skye brought her own research to the front of the

  piles.

  "I couldn't find any information on any of the inhabitants at first, which I thought might be because none of them have proper documentation. I was wrong." – Skye pulled up

  several birth certificates that were older than Coulson himself – "Most of them exist, but they're much older than how Steve describes them. One Remy LeBeau, for example, is

  sixty-seven years old now. But, if you look at the picture of when he was in his twenties, he totally matches t
he Cap's drawings."

  A picture of an elderly man popped up onto the display, shortly followed by pictures of when he was younger. Coulson's eyes narrowed on the pictures, his brows furrowing in

  thought as he leaned closer.

  "The same goes for Hannah Whitfield, Kevin Sydney, Danielle Moonstar, Hisako Ichiki, Tandy Bowen, Tyrone Johnson, Douglas Ramsey, Leigh Atkins, Samantha Cooley, and

  Ariana Rodriguez. Now, Kurt Wagner looks a lot more human according to German records, but he still shares the same basic facial structure as the Kurt that Steve told Agents

  Romanoff and Barton about."

  Comparisons of Steve's drawings and current photos of the inhabitants of the House lined up across the glass wall.

  "The youngest of the kids inside the House were born in sixty-three. Not to mention that none of their older doppelgangers have any of the powers they supposedly have,"

  Skye pointed out. "Here's the best part: Nikki Whitfield, Pietro Maximoff, and Wanda Maximoff don't exist. Technically, Bali doesn't exist, either, as the name he gave Steve

  belonged to a dead World War One veteran."

  "What do you mean 'they don't exist'? There has to be some record…"

  Skye shook her head, "The Hannah Whitfield that died at seventy-two was an only child. Bali has several photos with one-hundred percent matches on the facial recognition

  software, but the earliest ones date back to 1936. And, in all the photos, he looks exactly the same as the drawing if you don't pay attention to the changing hairstyles."

  Several dozen photos of Bali filled the glass wall, all of them from different time periods. It was as she had explained. The handsome black-haired man looked no older or

  younger than he did in Steve's drawing. The only thing that was different was the style of his clothes and hair.

  "Now, there is one photo with a eighty-two percent match for Nikki, there's absolutely nothing on the Maximoff twins," Skye added, looking down at the desk. "It's as if they

  were never born."

  "What photo?"

  Skye tapped the last link in her files, causing a washed out color photo to pop up on the screen. A few precise swipes caused it to grow to nearly the size of the glass wall. It

  was a photo from an ancient database in Russia during the Soviet era. At the sight of it, Coulson got to his feet so quickly that the chair he had been sitting in nearly toppled

  over. He gaped at the photograph on the display.

  "AC? Coulson? Hey!"

  The words he spoke next were so low, she nearly missed them.

  "I know who that is."

  He forced the photographs off the display with a wave of his hand. The S.H.I.E.L.D. database pulled up, dismissed easily with his ID login and password. Files from all levels

  filled the glass wall. Skye watched as he pushed past the recent files to the archives of Agent Peggy Carter's time. Much to her surprise, a level four file was the one he

  chose. She winced at the photos that popped up.

  There were images of a bloody corpse mangled on the pavement. A few showed autopsy before and after views of the dead woman. Name, age, ethnicity, occupation, and

  date of death were all listed beside the photos. They were dated 1973.

  "That's not possible," Skye muttered.

  "When is anything we look into possible?"

  She gaped at the agent, though he didn't tear his eyes away from the photos before them, "Yeah, but how could she possibly be alive now if she died in '73? And look younger

  now!"

  "I don't know. But I intend to find out."

  Steve couldn't sleep. Again. He was sure Natasha would reprimand him for it if she ever found out, but he wanted no part of it. So he whiled away the hours doing chores

  around the House as quietly as possible. Mostly, he would paint the walls that had been stripped of their wallpaper. Recently, he had taken to painting vine patterns on the

  kitchen cabinets. Nikki had been impressed.

  She hadn't said anything to him about the night he had carried her up to her room. Though she had not been awake, he knew she knew it was him. He had overheard her

  asking Bali the next morning. It seemed, to him at least, that she was marginally friendlier towards him after that. Whenever she would say something kind or invite him to do

  something with the kids around the House, he would catch a glimpse of Bali or Hannah giving him an encouraging smile. The couple seemed to think it was a good thing if he

  and Nikki got along.

  Steve couldn't help but smile at the thought of Nikki. She was rather like the Rubik's cube Tony had given him for Christmas – something that was a strange mix of irritating

  and intriguing at the same him. With every couple of turns, he saw a new side of her. She was patient with the kids, long-suffering with Bali and his antics, and teasing

  towards Steve from time to time. But what he noticed most since his shopping spree with Kurt and Pietro was just how hard Nikki worked. She couldn't cook for the life of her,

  he had learned, but she would spend any time she could on renovations. It was part of the reasons he helped in the late hours of the night. She worked herself to the bone,

  and he felt as though he should at least help out after what he was doing in her home.

  So when he heard the sound of the floorboards creaking, he immediately stopped what he was doing. He picked up a kitchen knife from the block on the counter and made his

  way out of the kitchen. In the living room was a figure in black. The baggy clothing disguised any sign of what sex the wearer was, but it couldn't hide how lithe he or she

  was. Steve followed the person in black as he or she walked down the hall towards the door to the basement. It didn't much matter what the intruder was doing in the House,

  Steve thought, compared to the fact that they were in the House to begin with. The second he was within reach of the person, he gripped his or her arm and pulled.

  A sharp gasp stopped him from further attacking the intruder as he or she fell to the floor. Hitting the ground, the intruder's hood fell back so Steve could see her face.

  "Heiliger Strohsack!" she exclaimed softly. "What the hell are you doing up this late?"

  Steve blinked in surprise, one half of his mind reeling at the fact that she was, in fact, wearing the same clothes he had seen on the Alchemist while the other half wondered

  at the fact that not only had she spoken flawless German, but that the first thing to come out of her mouth was 'holy sack of straw'. He wasn't sure what to make of it. So,

  unable to come up with anything to ask her, he simply answered in a rather dumbfounded tone.

  "Fixing the pantry door."

  She looked at him as though he was nuts.

  "At midnight?" she hissed, her eyes slowly traveling to the knife in his hand. "You were going to stab me?"

  "I thought you were a burglar or worse."

  "What if I'd had a gun?" she snapped, her tone patronizing.

  He shrugged, "Then I guess I would have taken my chances."

  Her expression softened, changing into one of earnest surprise, "You would do that for us?"

  "I'm not going to let someone hurt any of you. But what are you doing up this late?"

  "This is my house," she replied, dodging the question as she stood up. "I have every right if I want to walk around when I can't sleep."

  "That would be a reasonable answer," he started, "if you weren't wearing combat boots and gloves."

  "Maybe I'm going outside."

  He raised his eyebrows at her, his expression making it clear that he didn't believe her.

  "You know, trust is a two-way street. I have to be able to trust you, too."

  And there it was again. That almost imperceptible softening in her expression that crossed her face every now and then when he was spoke. It was almost as if he reminded

  her of someone she had known and lost, as if his words took her back to
times when she hadn't needed to shield herself from everything.

  "If I let you come with me, can I trust you to keep this between us?"

  "Yes."

  Surprisingly, it wasn't a lie. He had reported most things he saw back to Clint and Natasha. It was expected of him. But right then, watching the half-veiled flicker of hope in

  her eyes, he thought to himself that maybe this once it would be fine not to say anything to either of the agents.

  She narrowed her dark eyes at him before nodding, "Alright. Follow me."

  He barely had time to nod in response before she turned her back to him. The two walked down the hall in silence, only pausing as she opened the door to the basement.

  Steve peered over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of stairs leading down into the cold. Nikki raised her hand before her, flames sparked to life around her fingertips like

  candles, and continued into the darkness.

  "Is that your mutation?" he asked, unable to help himself. "Pyrokinesis?"

  She stopped suddenly, her shoulders going rigid as if she was in pain, "No. This is a simple task of forcing the molecules already in motion to vibrate faster, thus producing fire."

  "A simple task, alright…"

  There was a smile on her face as she glanced over her shoulder at him.

  "It is if you're born with the ability to manipulate energy and matter. I can bend the very fabric of reality, break all the laws of nature. It's why I almost never use my powers."

  Steve thought about that, trying not to let his shock appear in his expression. So she was the Alchemist Fury was so desperately chasing. Not a mysterious woman with

  terrifying powers and dubious morality, he realized, but a mother looking out for the teens she considered to be her kids who happened to make the world a little safer on the

  side. It almost made him feel guilty about tricking her.

  So deep in his thoughts, the ex-soldier very nearly ran into her as she stopped in the empty room. There was nothing around them. No decorations or furnishings of any kind,

  even the floors and walls were simple and unadorned. Another door sat before them.

  "That can't possibly lead anywhere," he remarked.

  "On the contrary," she replied. "It leads to everywhere."