Don't You Worry Child

Big Girls Don't Cry

Chapter Summary: A trip to her old apartment gives Samantha the evidence she needs to decide for herself who her mother really was.

Soundtrack: Big Girls Don't Cry by Fergie

A couple of days later, Samantha was discharged from hospital and immediately requested to go to her mother's apartment. She knew everything in the S.H.I.E.L.D. folder added up, particularly when combined with her childhood, but she still wanted some form of tangible, concrete evidence that wasn't the file. There had to be something within the walls of that apartment that proved that the woman Samantha knew as her mother and the HYDRA agent the S.H.I.E.L.D. file tried to paint her as were the same person.

She made her father stay in the car, despite his many arguments. This was something she had to do on her own, she didn't want – nor did she need – her father to baby her as she tried to find what she needed. Using the silver, round headed key she'd had since the age of twelve, she unlocked the old, black door she'd known since childhood. She climbed the stairs, skipping the bottom two steps out of both habit and superstition. As she reached the door of her former home, apartment 14B, she was stopped by a familiar voice "Hello dear," it said. It was Mrs Buckley from 14D, an old lady whose staunch rules were only superseded by her even stauncher religious values.

"Hi Mrs Buckley, how are you?" the young brunette asked with a fake politeness she'd learnt at a young age as she turned around reluctantly. The old lady had always looked down on Samantha because she was born out of wedlock but the young brunette had always maintained an aloof and polite demeanour around her just so she didn't have more reason to dislike her.

"I'm fine dear. You've been away for a while haven't you?"

Samantha had to suppress a laugh before answering. A while was an understatement. She hadn't been back to the apartment in nearly three months but then, she supposed, if you've lived your life into your 90s then three months really only was a while "Yes I have," she replied with a smile.

"And I haven't seen your mother either,"

That felt like a low blow to Samantha. She had made especially sure that Mrs Buckley had received an invitation (could you call it an invitation?) to the funeral but then again maybe the woman was going senile. "No... she-I'm afraid she died,"

"Oh I'm sorry dear," the old woman said with an uncomfortable fake sympathy. She seemed to be searching for an excuse to leave, something which resulted in the line "Well I must be off. You see my niece is coming for tea tomorrow and my apartment isn't in a particularly nice state,"

It was a lie and Samantha knew it. Everyone in the building knew Mrs Buckley was one of those fortunate enough to have a maid who cleaned her apartment on a daily basis. Did Samantha care that she'd just been lied to? Not really, she had more pressing matters to attend to and so she turned back to the door and unlocked it. As she stepped inside, she had to take a deep breath. She'd completely forgotten how bare she'd left the place after packing it up that July afternoon. She still hadn't gotten round to clearing out her mother's room since that last visit, everything else had gotten in the way. She didn't know why – maybe it was a habit yet to be broken; it could have been a paranoid fear – but she tiptoed into her mother's bedroom and started searching through it. She had no idea what she was looking for but the first place she checked was the safe in her mother's wardrobe. When she was thirteen, she had tried to unlock it in some desperate attempt to find out who her father was. She never found out but she had been banned from trying to get in the safe ever again. Now, who cared whether she broke her mother's stupid rule or not. In her brain, she cancelled out as many of the passcodes she could remember attempting and worked with any other relevant potential passcodes. The safe was one with a simple four number passcode and a metal door. She had to remember as many possible passwords that could be used. Old pin numbers from credit cards, specific dates, numbers that translated to words were all used but to no avail.