Adopted by the Avengers

Fury

This chapter is dedicated to Katiecatlol  as they were my 100th follower and pinkfraggle as they were the 200th voter on this story! Thank you everyone!

"O-Oh, of course. Sorry, sir." I say, sensing the tension, and begin to shuffle away from the group without knowing where I should go.

"Kid, just hang out downstairs by the windows or something." The man with the eye patch orders firmly, seeming to pick up on my unease.

The others head towards the neat coffee table in the centre of a series of couches, when Bruce appears from behind me. "Remember that leader of the secret government organization who Tony told you about in the car?"

I nod my head and notice how his voice is quiet, intending only for me to hear.

"Bingo, bango, bongo." He whispers as he makes his way to the gathering, being sure to flash me a quick grin before turning back around. I watch Bruce take his seat beside Pepper and strike up a conversation with her. Again, he's the one who has been the nicest so far, despite the kindness shown by them all. Well, all except Clint. Bruce has an approachability about him.

The room grows near silent and my eyes meet the steely glare of the director. I mumble another apology, then see the staircase that must lead to the windows the man had mentioned earlier. Steve waves a small goodbye and I smile nervously back at him.

Taking this as my cue, I stray from the group and change my direction to that of the stairs. The stairs curve down, following the circular angle the basement had been crafted on. With each step, the soft thump of my sock on the tiles echoed through the lower room. For a second I wonder if the tiles are heated, then remember they are warm from basking in the unobstructed sun all day. The wall on the opposite side of the room isn't really a wall at all, and is instead lined with panes of glass from the floor to the ceiling. Fragments of natural light scatter throughout the room, reflecting off of the freshly polished surfaces and metal railings, along with the occasional used shot glass resting on the work bench in the center of the room.

More sunlight blinds me temporarily, then the entire room came into focus; and in all honesty, the room is one of the most unexpectedly depressing rooms I have ever been in.

The room looks empty without actually being empty. It's that type of rich empty where the room is filled with things that don't fill the room properly and likely don't even need to be in there, but are in the room for the sake of not having an empty room. Around the walls are a few tall plants in what are probably overpriced pots and a lone sofa by the massive window, while in the center sits a cluster of tall machines beside desks. The machines appear as though they function as robotic arms, considering they have several joints along their sleek bodies and end with hand-like claws at the tips.

There is a distinct smell of oil near the machines, so I decide to sit far away on the sofa by the window in hopes of avoiding it. The farther away I get from the machines, the stronger the smell of a new car grows. It seems like that's the normal scent of Tony's penthouse. The leather sofa is also warm like the stairs after being left in the sun, and thankfully it isn't hot enough to burn me when I sit on it hesitantly. The sun is back to blinding me, but once I put my hand over my eyes to shield out the light, downtown New York City is visible in all it's glory.

Despite what everyone else seems to think of being taken in by billionaires, I don't suddenly feel like I have a warm, loving home. I don't feel confident or safe. I don't have any friends near here. I don't have anybody, and that's what hurts the most. I feel small and lonely here, and this room, this goddamn rich, empty room, has suddenly become the most accurate representation of how I feel. Everything is foreign here, and though I've finally achieved what I have been hoping for since I first got to Ms. Tyson's house, I feel even lonelier than I did there. My body allows my heart to ache for a few minutes and my brain translates its pained language.