Frost In Fire | S.Rogers

✪ CHAPTER SEVEN ✪

"I wouldn't change a thing about it, this is the best feeling"
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Chapter 7: A jolly old time.
S.H.I.E.L.D would never be the same again.

Gone had the once completely controlled, mostly ordinary, boring old human facilities that were meant for agents of talents that had limits to what the human body could do.

There were new facilities installed over the few months that followed Brooklyn's first ever training session in the vast gym that day.

Facilities meant to withstand temperatures colder than the artic snowstorms, meant for freezing tendrils of ice to curl over and encase. Meant to never even crack the smallest spiders web at the strain of those icicles, each as long as a small dagger, as they hung off the high ceilings, glittering through the biting fog.

Brooklyn loved it all. While most her guests-as only those she wanted were allowed in- would walk in with coats and gloves thicker than glass, the cold never touched Brooklyn. She could run around the room, and she'd get hot and sweaty, turning pink not from the sudden rush of blood for heat, but because of her heart pumping from the frantic movements of a hyped up 4-year old.

She'd sneak Nathan in while they were supposed to be fast asleep, sliding down the ladder of their conjoined beds and shake the poor child awake, dragging his still half-asleep self off to the room, slipper-clad feet making soft rustling noises against the polished floors.

She'd slip on his coat they stole from his locker in the small room before the facility (the one the agents used to change and wash unless they had their own bathrooms in their rooms, like Nat and Clint when they both stayed over), and drag him to sit on the bouncy mats she loved, and she'd cup her hands into a small circle, blowing softly at the fingertips till they looked blue.

While she loved chasing Nathan around, trying to swipe one of those ice-cream cold fingers under his shirt or along his nape, she knew his screams and shrieks would get them in more trouble than it was worth, so Brooklyn would opt to walk over to the fountains they kept for drinking from.

She'd touch the water, watching it break it's single stream and run over her hands like a snake free of it's cage.

Only for the droplets to freeze along her fingers, clumps forming along her nails, till they looked like freshly grown cotton puffs, waiting to be harvested by the huge green and red machines that farmers used.

She'd walk back over to Nathan (who would have been bright eyed as the cold would have woken him by then), who would pluck off four or five of those ice-balls, and the two would play for hours, ranging through simple games such as a far more deadlier version of a snowball fight, through to makeshift training sessions, seeing who could smash the balls on the super-high ceilings, and even attaching them to arrow tips and sword fighting with them, arrows that they had gotten from the locked weapons cupboard that Brooklyn would freeze the locks of till they turned brittle and snapped.

They both knew they were too small for weapons training, the cupboard had been made for future use, but the temptation was almost always too strong to resist, especially as it shined for the two like a bar of chocolate did to any other child.

Clint or Mariah would find out before Natasha did and try to scold the children, a far more merciful consequence than Natasha's words and glares that would make even little Brooklyn cold.

But still, they were happy and they were training, the children getting stronger and stronger each and every day.

Years passed until they were allowed to go on their first mission, Brooklyn at the age of nine while Nathan had turned his first decade old, and the two were nearly giddy with excitement when Fury had announced it to the rest of the directors during a meeting they had been invited to.