𝑭𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒏 𝑨𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍𝒔 𝑫𝒐𝒏❜𝒕 𝑷𝒓𝒂𝒚 |An Avenger/X-Men Crossover|ON HOLD

IX - A Gift From Hank

I was lying on my bed, reading the newspaper when I heard a soft knock on the door. I knew it wasn't Jean because she never knocked, so I was a bit wary when I answered.

I opened the door to see Hank standing there in all his blue glory. "Hey, I've been working on something for you in the lab. Would you mind coming down?" he asked, getting straight to the point.

Finding myself with nothing better to do, I agreed. If it was some kind of a trap, I knew I would be able to defend myself. I healed fast and most of my injuries were gone. My wings were still sore, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. I followed him down into his lab, easily matching his pace. As we passed by the living room, I saw some kids having a competition on who could fit the most marshmallows in their mouth, which made me roll my eyes. 

We neared the lab and I began to worry. Why was Hank even thinking about me, even less making something for me? I wanted to attract as little attention as I possibly could, but if he was making something for me, I guess I wasn't doing a very good job.

Hank opened the door for me and I stepped in. Immediately I noted the window I could use as an escape route, and the chair leg I could easily break off to use as a weapon. Once I realized there were all kinds of metal tools laying on the table, I visibly relaxed. I could easily defend myself.

Hank stared at me strangely but didn't mention whatever it was that bothered him. Instead, he led me to a table where what looked like a pile of tangled straps were on display.

Seeing that I didn't understand what it was, he held the straps up and untangled them a bit. "It's a kind of... let's call it a brace. It should allow you to go out in public without worrying about your wings showing. The brace will keep them tucked in tight, so as long as you don't wear too tight clothes, they won't show."

I nodded slowly. That was nice and all, but what if I needed to use them to get away from something? Or to fight?

As if he was another mind reader, he answered my question. "If ever you need to take it off quickly, there's a button on the side you can press." He paused, then continued. "Do you want to try it on?"

"Sure."

He nodded, then looked down, his face flushing rapidly. "You, um, it goes under your shirt so... you-"

I understood what he meant and pulled my hand-me-down oversized t-shirt off, leaving me in the old bra Jean lent me (which I still found really uncomfortable) and some sweatpants. I placed the shirt on the table beside me and waited. Hank reddened even more, to my confusion. I was often required to strip for the scientists and my handlers to either assess and treat injuries or simply for some scientific experiment I didn't understand, so what was the difference here?

I was a bit wary though, given my previous experiences with scientists. As he adjusted the brace on me, Hank explained that nudity and partial nudity weren't a common public sight and that it wasn't really socially acceptable. I didn't quite understand the logic behind this, but I didn't question it either.

He finished and asked me how it felt. "Is it too tight? Does it hurt you in any way?"

I took a moment to feel the brace. The straps wrapped around my wings and body like snakes, and it wasn't overly comfortable. I felt a bit claustrophobic, but it didn't hurt at all. In fact, the brace kind of diminished the ever-lasting ache in my wings. I was optimistic that I could get used to wearing this.

After I gave Hank my assessment of his work, I put my shirt back on and I was glad to see that the brace was barely visible underneath.

Hank looked pleased and told me to come to him if ever there was a problem. Then his expression fell and all of a sudden he seemed uncomfortable.

He'd been nice to me today, and he spent lots of his time making the brace so I could live easier, so I thought the least I could do was ask him what was wrong.

"It's just... When you had your shirt off, I- Well I saw your scars and I..."

I honestly didn't really know how many scars I had, or what they looked like. If I tried to look behind me, my wings would just block my view. As for the front of my body, I had a couple of really obvious ones, but I never dwell on them. They're just proof that I survived being shot. Or stabbed. Once, it was both at the same time. There were also some burns and other types of marks permanently etched onto my skin, and even I didn't even know where they came from.

"I know I have scars. What is your point?" I said, realizing too late that I might've sounded too aggressive.

Hank frowned. "I'm just really sorry that happened to you. I know we don't know each other very well, but if ever you need to talk about it, I'm here. Especially after you read what I'm about to give you."

"Oh. Thanks," I said, offering him a soft but grateful smile.

 He smiled back, then walked to a desk in the corner of the room, opening a drawer and pulling a stack of files out. When he handed them to me, I furrowed my brows, puzzled as to why he was giving me these. I grabbed them anyway, not wanting to annoy him with my ignorance.

"These are the files the others picked up when they rescued you from the facility," he explained. I wasn't fond of the term 'rescued', but it was fair enough. "Scott gave them to me since he thought I would be better qualified to go through them. I have to admit, there are some horrible things in here. I can't read much of it, but there are some... pictures. Most of the files are about you, but there's a couple about who I'm pretty sure is your father. I don't know much Russian and this is a weird kind of coded dialect, so you can probably read it better than me."

"You want me to translate for you?" I asked uncertainly. I would do it, but if people found out about the things I did, and how cruel I did them, they would kick me out of school. Of course, the Professor knew and he didn't mention it, but there was no telling how others would react. I didn't even remember most of what happened during my time with HYDRA, so I wasn't sure I wanted to open any of the files.

"No, no. I think you have the right to read whatever is in those files, and you don't have to tell anyone if you don't want to," Hank reassured me.

I nodded, thanked him again and took my leave. 

As I headed towards my room, I pondered seriously whether or not I was going to read the files once I got back to my dorm. I was curious, especially to know more about my father, but I was also really scared of what I could find—on both myself and my father.

The kids who had been having a competition on who could fit the most marshmallows in their mouth earlier were now watching the television box as it played some weird animated show. I couldn't figure out how that thing worked. It was like a surveillance camera, except it wasn't live? And, how could they animated drawings like that? I would have to ask Hank about it later. Surely a smart scientist like him could understand such a confusing subject?

Finally, I was in front of the door leading to my room. The moment my hand touched the doorknob, I knew I'd made a decision.

I wasn't ready.

I placed the files in the small space under a loose floorboard, conveniently placed underneath my bed. That way, I knew they were safe even when I wasn't there. Very few people were smart enough to look for a hiding space under the floor under the bed. Why this was, I didn't know, but it was working to my advantage, so I wouldn't complain about people's stupidity.

I spent the rest of the day getting used to wearing the brace. Eventually, I began liking the feeling of wearing it more and more.

A/N: This is UNEDITED because it's the first chapter I've managed to write in like a month (thank you writer's block) and I need to post so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯