"I can't believe you're making me do this."

          "I can't believe you're not letting me design your new suit."

          I shrug, appearing helpless when I'm everything but that. "They owe me more favours than you have dollars in your bank account. Besides, you're used to designing Iron man suits, not proper fighting gear that can withstand my abilities. I don't exactly pitch you as an excellent seamstress either. And you gotta admit, their suits are pretty freaking awesome."

          Stark pouts, and if it wasn't for the goatee and the fact he's a forty something year old man, I would've pinned him as a child right there and then. Hell, I still do. "You have just dealt a powerful blow to my overwhelming ego and insulted my sewing expertise in one go. You, my dear Lillian, have just made an enemy."

          I snort, containing my amusement. "Well I fell for my last one, so let's hope that doesn't happen this time."

          "Are they always like this?" Adelaide lowly asks Sam, her shoulder length amber hair delicately brushing in front of her face like a silky curtain.

          Even without sparing another glance over my shoulder, I can hear and feel the amusement laced in Samuel Hemmings' voice. "It's actually an off day for them at the moment. They're usually a bit more savage."

          After much debacle and relentless pestering, I eventually acquiesced to Tony's suggestion to join SHIELD once more. A part of me – and it's no small part, let me tell you that – felt a refreshing rush of adrenalin and euphoria when I agreed. To be able to return to the way of life that I know, the way of life that I've been secretly pining for ever since I was snatched away to Asgard..... It's as if a part of me is beginning to be restored. Like SHIELD and Tony and my old lifestyle are enough to fill the dark abysses that had taken a hold of me ever since two of the elements were ripped from my grasp.

          Of course, another part of me is somewhat dismal and mournful. I had begun building up a normal, quiet life here with Sam and Addie. I had a good job, I wasn't being pursued, no one was trying to kill me, I had good friends – like Danny at the coffee shop and Rob, Brian, Andy and Mark from the bar – and for once in my lifetime, I could relax. I could breathe. Yet in the midst of my quarrel with Tony about this, he pulled a dick move and brought up him.

          Steven Grant Rogers.

          He knew that I would cave in helplessly then. And begrudgingly, I had to admit that yes, it pained me to have been away from him so long. It still pains me. After everything we have been through, a life without that Star Spangled, Fourth of July stripper seems like a pretty bleak life to me. If I had the ability to go back in time and see my past self, past Lilly would bitch slap me harder than Green Machine for admitting that I needed someone in my life that wasn't Ally or Nick. And even now, there's still a pretty damn large chance that he won't be in my life. Just because I'm joining SHIELD, doesn't mean that I'm going to be working alongside him. Heck, the chance that I would even pass him in the hallway is unbelievably slim. He's Captain America, the first Avenger and superhero, not some low level, freshman SHEILD agent.

          But hope is a powerful tool, and Tony Stark knows how to wield it well.

          Three days have passed, and within those three days I have not only called up all my clients and regretfully informed them of my early retirement, but given Stella and the boys a friendly phone call as well. If I'm going in, then I'm going to need a suit, and they have more than enough resources to make me one. After all, they still owe me quite a few favours.

          Adelaide and Sam were hesitant upon departing with their apple pie lives, and even though I told them they didn't need to follow me, do you think that they listened?

          Which, dear readers, brings us to present. The four of us trailing behind Stella as she guides us through the various hallways of the Parkcorp underground complex, until we reach a very heavily guarded door with various security identification devices attached to it. She scans her hand, her eyes, types in a passcode and then pricks her finger for a DNA test.

          "G'day Ellie."

          "Hey Aidan, just got the Nightshades, Mr. Stark and Hemmings here with me today," she kindly greets her AI, patiently waiting for each layer of doors to open up.

          "Here for the suits?"

          "What else?" Stella lightly smiles as the last door trudges open, revealing a largely expanse room with a lounging area, a workshop, a gym, a small library and a training area. Even Tony gives a low, appreciative whistle at the awing sight. "I want one," he quietly pouts, undoubtedly planning improvements for the new Avengers tower finishing construction.

          The four of us follow her until we reach the cluttered workshop, where the three boys are already awaiting our arrival. But not quite placidly...

          "Jordan, your implacable blabbering does not do any favours for my demanding migraine," Lucas nearly whines, running a haggard hand through his chestnut hair that sweeps over his eyes.

          Chase snickers as Jordan continues to chatter, blissfully unaware. "You may be able to read people like a book Lucius, but you sure as hell can't shut 'em like one."

          Lucas' sharp stare cuts through the air and pins on Chase. "As always Chase, your vexatious input merely adds to the predicament at hand."

          "Alright ladies, we're all friends here," I intervene, catching the attention of the three. "We can gossip and do each other's nails another time. Although I personally pitch Jordan as a pink kinda guy—"

           "These," Stella presses through, disregarding the incoherent albeit unimpressed protests and growls from Jordan and Chase, who voice their displeasure at my remark yet they refrain from intervening. "Are your new suits."

          Her fingers swipe and dance across the iPad that seemingly materialised in her hand, and once her hand falls away, a large panel slides open in the wall to reveal Adelaide's, Sam's and my suits, as well as the Four Horsemen's. They're immaculately presented on mannequins that seem to perfectly mimic the body shape and structure of our own.

          A diva gasp can be heard from Tony behind us.

          "I knew Jordan Parks was one of the Four Horsemen," he proudly boasts, the rest of us collectively rolling our eyes at the proud statement. "Well, I narrowed it down to a list of one hundred and twenty four suspects, but your, Parks, were one of them."

          "Mm hmm," Stella hums unconvinced, turning her attention back to the suits. "We didn't have much time to throw something together – only three days thanks to the late notice – but luckily we had the right materials lying around from our own suits and didn't need to have much imported at all."

          Lucas steps up to begin his undoubtedly smartass, scientific explanation, strolling in front of Adelaide's alarmingly white suit first. "Devising suits for the three of you was quite the arduous task, because unlike us, you three possess what society so creatively identifies as 'super powers'. Because of your capabilities, constructing a suit that can withstand each of your individual abilities proved to be quit—"

          "Just cut to the chase Luey, we've all got places to be," Jordan interjects as politely as he can, fidgeting profusely and regularly checking his golden Patek Philippe & Co. wrist watch.

          Lucas sighs his annoyance, yet nonetheless complies. Turning back to the white two piece suit, he swiftly brushes the fabric of it and announces "All three of your suits comprise of identical materials, all of which allows them to breathe like Egyptian cotton. They're fashioned with a reinforced tri-polymer and lined with a polymer Kevlar weave to create resistance to extreme temperatures. Thanks to the DNA samples the three of you sent over, they are able to adapt to your individual molecular structures for when you utilize your 'powers'. They are also impervious to bullets, blades, chemicals, abrasions and scars, all things I am positive you will encounter. The material makes it 30% lighter than your old suit Lillian, and with a 15% increase in gear capacity, should you favour more tools and weapons over your abilities. It absorbs 65% of impacts to buffer and lessen the forces, and can withstand enormous friction."

          "They can also stretch while retaining shape, are quite aerodynamic, have enhanced durability and possess a sensor system for overseeing your health. That means your vitals and overall condition can be monitored due to the telemetry that can be sent to whatever computer you choose to connect it to," Stella attempts to elaborate, but by the perplexed expression on Sam's face, it wasn't done nearly as well as it could've been.

          They are very impressive suits. I can even detect a flare of admiration in the great Tony Stark's eyes. Adelaide and I share nearly identical suits, the only difference proving to be the colouring. While hers is predominantly white with highlights of light grey here and there, mine is predominantly black with highlights of dark grey in the same spots of her light grey. They're two piece suits, the first piece being sleeveless catsuits with halter necks that are skin tight until they end halfway up our necks. A belt can be wrapped around the waist with whatever gear should we deem fit to fill it with, and sturdy combat boots that reach just below our knees look more than durable for any terrain are paired with it.

          The second piece of the suit almost makes me giggle, because it's practically a duplicate of Nicky's trench coat, only with a more feminine pull at the waist. It can be fastened at the chest, but after the fastening it flares out a bit where our hips would be. I presume they chose to fasten it there to make it tighter at the top, where without the coat, our shoulders, some of our backs and our arms would be bare. The collar is big, and offers a choice to either cock it up like Sherlock Holmes or allow it to remain flat. Well, I know that I'm gonna have it cocked up. I'll look like a badass bitch if I do.

          All in all though, I'm impressed. Sam's suit is essentially a male version of ours, but instead of being black or white, it's an assortment of different greys, making us look like a trio of shades.

          "We devised these with a little help from the Stark tech you lent us over the years," Jordan inputs, gesturing to the skin tight, slightly clunky, elbow length finger less gloves that come with each suit. He winks at Tony teasingly. "Thanks for that by the way."

          Tony scoffs, most likely about to offhandedly make a quip about copyright laws, but Stella beats him to the punchline. "We took a page not only out of Tony's book with these, but mainly Black Widow's. They're electro-shock gloves that will be primarily charged by Sam's abilities."

          "And the last piece to add to this fabulous ensemble is this," Chase mockingly yet playfully finalises, holding in his hands what is most likely my mask due to the dark colourings. "It's made of a sturdy material, like ours is. As you can see, it's the half styled ski-mask, but it does much more than make you look like a badass. It also acts as a gas filter and voice synthesizer."

          "What's a voice synthesizer?" Sam curiously asks.

          "It's a voice changer or enhancer," Stella explains tenderly. "So it makes your voice sound different when you talk. Or, if you program it with what voice you desire, you can mimic the voice of whomever you choose, from me to Beyoncé or even the president if you want. It's already programmed with one hundred different voices, as well as the default voice that merely jumbles our own tone."

          My exhale is mingled with an astounded, shaky laugh. I run a hand through my short hair and wince when my bullet wound screams because of it. It seems ever since I left Asgard, the rate at which I heal has gone back to normal, which is just brilliant. The one pro of my entire stay at that hellhole has up and gone. Do you know how frustrating that is?

          Swerving my train of internal ranting to a standstill, I offer the Horsemen the biggest semblance of a grateful grin I can muster amongst my awe and emotional turmoil. "This is absolutely amazing. How the hell did you manage this in three days? Did you have the magic mice and birds from Cinderella help you or something?"

          Jordan snorts. "Yes, but they wouldn't stop chanting 'Cinderelly, Cinderelly! Night and day, it's Cinderelly!' so Chase took them out back and—"

         "Don't ruin my childhood," I whine, slamming my hands over my ears, much to the protest of my healing wound.

         "What about weapons?" Adelaide pipes up for the first time in a while, her arms crossed over her chest and eyeing Jordan warily for how close he seems to have gotten to her.

          Jordan smirks down at her. "We didn't know your preferences, so we've got a couple essentials like two Gerber Mark II daggers, one in each of your combat boots, and strapped to your belts is a disruptor which – as its name may suggest – overrides and 'disrupts' the proper functioning of guns, particular pieces of equipment and mines."

          "Doesn't last long though, so don't rely too heavily on it," Stella warns, eyes flickering along with mine towards Jordan in a 'back off' gesture for his proximity with Adelaide.

          Sam swoops in, picking up on the cautionary glances that Jordan is oblivious to. He drapes a masculine arm around Adelaide, 'innocently' barging in between Jordan and Addie. "I'll make sure they don't. I think I'll spend most of my time behind the computer anyway. I'll be more useful there, watching over them."

          "That's what Jarvis is for," Tony points out, a bag of blueberries having materialised out of thin air and appeared in his hand when we weren't looking. How the hell did he manage that?

          "An AI can't do everything," Sam justifies, stirring a fresh dispute with Tony as they begin to go off, the others jumping in from time to time with their own inputs. Mainly though, they all begin to idly chatter amongst themselves, and I consider jumping into a conversation when a light tug pulls at my uninjured arm.

          I peer at Stella through my lashes, one eyebrow rising in silent questioning. She gestures for me to follow her, which I soundlessly do, until we arrive in a desolate corner with a wall comprising entirely of computer screens. I wait patiently, expecting that whatever she's doing must be somewhat important, until a handful of screens light up and cause my stomach to drop several feet and my heart to leap into the very top of my throat.

          Stella's smile is soft, like being enveloped in a warm, comforting hug. "I did that thing you asked about. But... if I'm being honest, I don't know if you should act on this information or not –"

          "I don't plan to," I choke out, yet manage to refrain from allowing any tears to well up or spill at will eyes locked firmly on the screens. "I ruined her life once, I don't plan on doing so again."

          I stare at the photos of a blissful, happy Allison Renegade for a few more moments, commemorating them and her personal details sprawled out on one screen to memory. For one, fleeting second I allow myself to imagine a life with my best friend again, but that second doesn't last forever. With what little self-restraint and will power I have left, I urge myself to turn abruptly on my heel, and walk away.

          And walking away hurt a lot more than anything Thanos ever did to me on Asgard.

******

          I sigh again, slamming the back of my head onto the metal elevator wall behind me. If I had a dollar for every damn time I've sighed in the past four hours, I could buy Parkcorp and Stark Industries. Ironically enough however, the perpetrator behind my onslaught of sighs happens to be the man who owns one of those companies.

          "I'm just saying that if given a little more time, I would've easily been able to predict the four of them to be the Four Horsemen."

          "Mm hmm," I disinterestedly hum in agreement, in spite of being totally unconvinced by Stark's enthralling argument.

          "I always thought Parks had this look about him, the look of a 'hey, I'm secretly a highly wanted and feared antihero that even the big boys at SHIELD wet their pants at the sight of – Shady? Are you even listening to me?"

          "Of course Tony," I condescendingly quip, wishing the elevator would move faster. "How could I not worship every word that falls from your mouth? I dare say that every night, when I fall asleep, I dream and pine for the sound of Anthony Edward Stark's alluring voice to fill my ears like beautiful melodies that would never ever ever ever stop."

          He frowns, most likely displeased by my sarcasm. "Having naughty dreams about me, are we Shady? I've told you once and I'll tell you again, I like you, but not like that – I leave that kind of loving to old man Spangles, who I'm sure gives you enough of it after all his patriotic preaching. I'm curious, does he sing the Star Spangled Banner when you two are about to reach—"

          "Don't finish that sentence," I warn, my eyes lidded slits like a jungle cat narrowing down on its prey.

         The elevator finally decides to arrive at our desired floor, smoothly sliding open to reveal a flurry of SHIELD agents hustling back and forth. I stick by Tony's side for the better part of our trip to the interview/interrogation room, momentarily glimpsing at the glass wall to my left to see an entire room of computers with a large tech team furiously working away.

         "Thanks for helping us create dossiers for ourselves, and for putting a good word in for us by the way Tony," I address him, ripping my attention away from the bustle around us and pinning it on Stark. "I know Nicky considers you volatile, self-obsessed and not very cooperative at the best of times, but he does still value your input. He knows you're smart man, with a good judgment. Having you as a reference really helps when applying for this job. You're a good guy Stark, and I'm lucky to have you."

          His hand rests atop the breast pocket of his immaculate blazer, half-serious and half-mocking when he responds "Aw Shady, I knew you cared."

          I snort, scowling at him lightly for ruining the moment. "Go shove an arc reactor up your ass."

          "Miss Lillian Nightshade?"

          Tony and I pull to a halt when a man who looks way too serious steps out of the interview room a few meters away, holding the door open for Adelaide who assuredly steps out and throws us a confident wink.

          "Yep?" I respond, having to slap my own hand away from fiddling with the hem of my white, long sleeve blouse out of a small case of anxiety and nerves.

          "You're next."

          Addie strolls past me, playfully bumping me shoulder as she does so. "Give 'em what for sis – but behave."

         "Yeah mum, I got ya," I tease, briefly staring at the billionaire super hero standing closely beside me. "Wish me luck Tinman."

          "If anything I'm wishing him luck," he jerks his head to the stiff interviewer, stepping closer to me to whisper in my ear. "He looks like he's got a flagpole stuck up his ass, and he's about to be locked in a room with you for over half an hour."

          "Can't argue with that," I chuckle, waltzing forward and towards the unnamed man. I wink at the guy as I pass him, who barely even blinks at the friendly act. However, upon entering the room, I do hear a brief sigh escape his lips from behind me, and smirk silently to myself.

          It may be the first sigh from him for this interview, but if he keeps up the emotionless Batman-like facade, it certainly won't be the last.

******

          "Name."

          "This is stupid, I don't see why—"

          "Name."

          Glaring down the man seated opposite to me, a lock of my freshly cut hair falls from place to obscure my vision in one eye. Huffing irritably and blowing the strand from my sight, I offer a frustrated sigh before answering "Chuck Norris."

          The man throws me a look.

          "Fine.... Lillian Veronica Nightshade."

          Returning his gaze to the clipboard, a barren expression remains on his face as he flicks through various sheets of paper, fine print covering them. Unblinking, he drones "Date of Birth."

          "Five hundred BC."

          "Date of Birth."

          Rolling my eyes at his lack of humour, I disinterestedly answer "March 16th, 1989."

          His fingers skim through my dossier again, still refusing to make eye contact with me. "Says here you are experienced in over 12 forms of martial arts, followed by various weapons training and a vast amount of experience in actual combat. Care to elaborate?"

          I snort. "Pretty self-explanatory, don't you think?"

          When I am met – yet gain – with the man's humourless silence, I internally groan and stoically explain my made up backstory. "Started at the age of six. Obviously a six year old can't do much, but it helped me get a feel of how a weapon should be held – or not held – and the general idea of what it's supposed to do. Real training was further initiated at the age of seven, and I soon figured out that I'm quick to pick up hand to hand combat techniques from numerous martial arts. Weapons took more time and patience to master. I'm sorry, but everything I'm saying is written down on that file you've got in hand and quite frankly I'm wasting precious oxygen re-telling everything you already know—"

           "Continue."

           My nostrils flare in somewhat contained annoyance. "Education was taught along with my fighting skills, and it turns out I was quick to pick up on school subjects such as science, maths, history, geography and so and so forth." Because I'm a demi-God surrounded by mortal knowledge. "I've had my fair share of up front and personal experiences involving combat. That of which can be found within my dossier which you're currently holding. I'm not exactly going to attempt to squeeze twenty five years of my life into what should be a less than five minute question so I'll just say that yes I know the stresses of battle, yes I know how to co-operate and work in a team, yes I can work alone – quite well – and yes, I work just as well under pressure as I do when I'm not."

          Appearing satisfied with the answer, his gaze returns to the clipboard – shocker – before the next question falls from his inscrutable lips "You have apparently encountered HYDRA on numerous occasions, as well as SHIELD. Which side appeals to you more?"

          "Are you being forced to ask these as a joke? Or are you really this stupid?"

          "Which side appeals to you more?"

          "SHIELD. HYDRA tried to kill me on said numerous occasions and funny enough I tend to disagree with people who make an attempt on my life," I rush out impatiently, my fingers tapping on the metal desk in hope to marginally distract myself from the thoughts of punching this man in the face.

          He pauses for a moment. "What is your specialty?"

          "Katanas – you know, swords. Although I work excellently with double daggers as well, or a staff."

          "But you can use an assortment of other weapons as well?"

          I snort. "So you're not only stupid but deaf. I said so beforehand."

          He stares impassively again.

          My eye almost twitches in aggravation. "Yes! I am able to utilise an assortment and range of weapons from tridents and bows to guns and erasers. I actually hit a guy in the eye twice with an eraser."

          "You named yourself Nightingale, why?"

          I repress a flinch. "Sentimental and personal reasons."

          "Why?"

          "You really offer no privacy whatsoever don't you?"

          "Why?"

          Glaring at him with a newfound vengeance, I hold the venom at bay as I reply "Part of a poem or lullaby if you want that I grew up with, and I for a strange unknown reason can relate to a Greek myth about a Nightingale and a Swallow. We done?"

          "One more question."

          My foot taps up and down erratically from where it is crossed over my leg, my mouth and throat feeling abnormally dry no matter how much saliva I swallow. My breaths, although steady, are taken uneasily, my fingers unable to stop their twitching. I'm sure I'm passing this with flying colours at the moment – please note the sarcasm in that sentence, because I'm too occupied to do so myself.

          The clipboard creates an emanating clack as he plops it down on the steel table separating us, his eyes inflexible and unblinking as they try to pin me to the spot. No doubt he thinks he's tough, if only he knew of what I'm fully capable of.

          "Let's be blunt—"

          "Oh, so we haven't been doing that this entire time? My mistake."

          He neglects my interruption. "Let's be blunt here. Why do you want to become a SHIELD agent?"

          Ah yes, the big question I've been awaiting this entire interview... or could you classify it as an interrogation? Bit of both maybe.

          "I'm on a spiritual journey, in hope of finding my inner self and—"

          "Why do you want to become a SHIELD agent?"

          The unimpressed and irked feeling between us right now is mutual, of that I'm sure.

          Sighing, I allow myself the pleasure of closing my eyes and imagining that none of this was real, and that everything I've endured the past eight months was all some sick ploy created by my father or Thanos in hopes of breaking me. But that too soon came to an end.

          Gazing up at him, stare hardened to stone and frightening enough for the man to break his character and slightly gape at me in minimal fear, my lips part and offer the answer "Because being here is like being at home, which is something I can't do right now, nor ever again."

          He has the audacity to question "Why?"

          I glower. "Because everyone I've ever cared and loved.... They don't know who I am."

          His brows furrow. "Care to elaborate?"

          "No, I don't," I hold myself from snapping, yet the words still aren't as kindly nor politely spoken as they could have been. "Look," I exhale, running a tired hand through my hair. "I'm good at what I do. I'm loyal to a fault. And the only physical weaknesses I have are the two people joining me and the genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist who helped me land the chance for this job. They're the only people who remember me, and the only people that can be used against me." Besides Steve, Bucky and Ally. "I'm not afraid to get things done, no matter the cost. I've gotten my hands dirty for people in the past, and I'll be fine with being the fallback girl should you need one. Like I said, my hands are stained with dirt, and they always will be."

          He scrutinises me, and judging by the analytical flicker that is woven into his gaze, he's trying to solve the conundrum that I am, but I'm a Rubik's cube that constantly fights back. So even though I still have a strong desire to toss him into a vat of chemicals or douse him in Scarecrow's fear gas, I have to admit I have a pinch of admiration flaring through me at his dedication.

          His smile is thin, but it's the first sign of any even slightly tender human emotions from him. "Thank you for your time Miss Nightshade. If you would please just wait here for a few moments while I discuss with my superiors about a few things, that would be greatly appreciated." He stands up rigidly, back so straight you would think a pole is welded to his spine.

          "Now worries," I brush off, leaning back and kicking my feet up onto the table, mischievously smirking when he winces at the act. "I've got all the time in the world Smiles."

          He sighs for the thirty eighth time – I've been counting – and moves for the door. Without another word, he jerks the door open and almost slams it shut behind him, doing it so quickly you would think he's trying to run away from me. Me. The most loveable, cuddly teddy bear out there.

          Yeah, I don't blame him for running away. But there's this thing about everyone who has ever ran away from me –

          They always come running back.

3rd Person POV

          "I can see why you two get along," Nicky Fury drawls, observing the twenty five year old woman through the one-way viewing window. "Have a fondness for sarcasm and not taking much seriously. You sure she's not your daughter Stark?"

          Tony Stark almost growls in offence. "I am not that old. A more accurate description would be to ask if she was my sister."

          "You're not that young Tony," Fury grins, entertained by the eye roll and low grumbling from the famous Iron Man afterwards. "I'm curious as to how she got that bullet wound though. You wouldn't happen to know, would you Tony?"

          "She knows how to spend a Friday night," the super hero offers as comic relief. "Booze, bullets and bucks. Who am I to question her free time?"

          Fury offers a single, empty huff that's supposed to act as a chuckle, but he drops the subject. "You know, she wouldn't have needed you to give me a call. I already offered her a job a few months back, but she turned me down. So did her friends. She seemed pretty adamant about being normal as well. So I wonder..." The director of SHIELD treads closer to Tony Stark, his one eye bearing down on the Avenger like an anvil. "What made her change her mind?"

          "I don't know, maybe a fortune cookies told her to do so," Tony side steps Nicholas Fury's own interrogative questions, his eyes still pinned on his assassin friend in the other room.

          Fury bites back another question on the matter, storing it for another time when Tony seems more willing to share. "Hmm, well, at least we know the truth about her now. I had a feeling she wasn't being entirely honest during my little hospital visit three months ago."

          "She doesn't trust people easily," Tony jumps in to defend his friend, managing to tear his attention away from her momentarily to do so. "Can't blame her, after everything she's been through."

          "A lot of which she still hasn't shared," Fury points out, taking his turn to eye Lillian Nightshade who's currently trying to do a handstand in the interview room. "I have a hard time trusting people who keep secrets from me Stark."

          "She'll be worth it, I promise," Tony presses on, appearing the most sincere Director Fury has ever seen him.

          "She better be Stark, or it's both our heads that'll be on a stick," Fury dishes out as a last warning, manoeuvring to the door and resting his calloused hand on the knob.

          Tony jolts with a start, remembering another favour he wanted to inquire of Fury. "Oh, by the way, I have one last thing to ask."

          Fury's eye slides over to Stark, his entire demeanour appearing exhausted. "Yes, Stark?"

          The billionaire grins. He doesn't like asking Fury of favours often, but this is simply something he can't pass up.

******

Lillian's POV

          "Well, Miss Nightshade, Nightshade and Mr Hemmings, you still require to undergo a few more examinations such as the physicals, the psyche test, the PolyGram and a couple skill tests, but all three of you have otherwise passed the interview stage," Nick Fury declares to the trio in the hallways, monotonously adding on "Congratulations."

          "What did I tell you, easy," Tony remarks, slinging an arm around my shoulders nonchalantly.

          I chuckle up at him, lightly jabbing him in the ribs as I do. "Alright hot shot, thanks for the vote of confidence."

          "We'll have men pick you three up tomorrow morning at 8:30am to begin your first day of testing. We already know your address. Just be ready for them when they arrive. You won't need your gear, because there'll be no physical tests tomorrow," Nicky informs us earnestly, dark trench coat stretching and creasing as he clasps his hands securely behind his back.

          "We'll see you then sir," Adelaide courteously confirms, grabbing Sam's and my arm to begin to tug us along.

          Fury's lips quirk up into a ghost of a grin. "See you then."

          The four of us commence our journey back to the elevator, when a sudden "Wait," from Tony stops Addie's pulling after Fury has already meandered down another hallway. "You and Sparky go ahead; I have to discuss something with Shady."

          Both Sam and Addie exchange inquisitive looks at his announcement, eventually directing their questioning on me, which I only answer with a clueless shrug. "Alright then," Addie slowly concedes, nodding her head at me and throwing me a lopsided smile. "Catch you back home."

          After they've vanished around one of the thousands of corners in this never ending labyrinth, I spin to Tony and cross my arms. "Is something wrong—?"

          "Follow me."

          I barely blink and the man has almost disappeared around another corner. I have to jog to catch up to him, and even then I'm struggling to walk by his side and keep up with him. You know, for a short man, he sure can move.

          A lot of dizzying hallways, a couple staircases and an elevator ride later, I'm just about giving up with this entire endeavour when so very suddenly, Tony pivots on his heel and turns to face me outside two automatic, sliding doors. I almost barrel into his chest from the abrupt halt, exasperatedly whining "What the hell is all this about—"

         "You'll thank me later."

          And off he goes again, waltzing through the doors and into the next room like he owns the place. I huff one of my amber strands that was obscuring my vision, nearly stomping in after him. "I don't know what kind of joke you're trying to pull here Tin can man, but it's already getting old—"

          I stop. No, no I don't stop. Everything else stops. There's only one thing that matters, and that one thing is currently five meters away from me.

          "Shady, I want to introduce you to a friend of mine," Tony smartly announces, gesturing to blonde haired, baby blue eyed man five meters away from me. Five meters. "Shady, meet Cap. Cap, meet Lillian Nightshade."

I thought that after such a long and patient wait, y'all deserved something special ;) And what's better than a reunion with everyone's favourite star spangled Avenger?

Final examinations for year 11 will be in seven weeks time, which means LOTS of studying and preparation (yay -_-) but I hope to update that this story at least three or four times before that begins.

QOTD: Favourite season of the year?

AOTD: Autumn. Still nice and warm and quite sunny, but it can also be chilly and rainy towards the end, which is nice for lazy days in (which is how I like to spend almost every free day I get).

Thanks for reading and that's all for now, bye! :) xxx

~ T.L