Avengers One-Shots

Hack My Past (1)

"Come on, come on, come on."

"Stupid fucking computer."

"Need faster servers."

"What the hell? A fifth grader could've done that, Jessica."

"You're so fucking close."

"Yes!"

My not-so-inner monologue was rampant as I tried hacking into a supposedly 'non-hackable' database. Once I got the file I wanted, I quickly packed up my stuff and, quicker yet, left the library from which I was stealing the internet. This could get me in a lot of trouble, and I've got to leave before anyone finds out about what I was doing and where I was doing it. There's no doubt in my mind that they're gonna figure out that someone hacked into their system. I just have to make sure they don't find out who.

As I left the library, I lifted the hood over my head and thanked God for the rain. With the jammer in my pocket, I blocked all signals directly around me until I reached the train station entrance. I walked over to a trashcan a few feet from the entrance and threw it before entering the station. Peak traffic time was the perfect escape as I took off the sweater and dropped it, leaving me in a hoodie and black leggings. I was quick to jump on the first train that showed up, smiling as I saw a few men in black suits walk onto the platform.

Shield agents. Quicker than I thought but still not quick enough. Most of the commuters were watching them walk around, talking into small radios, searching for something, someone. I did good work. Now, that's not to say that I would be surprised if someone showed up at my place. I hacked into Shield files in the Avengers Tower. It'll be a miracle if I completely get away with it. They have the information I want ... information that I need.

It's stupid, really. Wanting information on a man ... on someone that walked away from me. Someone who didn't care about the family that he left behind. I don't have anything from him, nothing at all. My mother all but prohibited me from asking about him. I was hurt. I was confused. I was angry. And I had to hold it all inside because my mother didn't want to hear about it, my grandmother didn't want to hear about it. I had no one to talk to, and I had to work my way through all that anger and pain alone. I worked through the anger; the pain comes and goes, and I can't get rid of the resentment.

As I got older, I asked more questions and had a right to know. My curiosity slammed a huge wedge between me and my mother. I resented her for not telling me more, and she resented for asking. We haven't had much contact since she threw me out when I turned 17. We had a nasty argument, and she was tired of me, of the living reminder of the man who had walked away. I got a lot of that growing up, she would look at me, and I could see the anger brewing in her eyes. When she drank, which was a lot, she'd tell me how much she hated the fact that I looked so much like my father.

His career was so fucking important that he walked away from his girlfriend and the child they had together. That wasn't fair to my mother, it wasn't fair to me, and it wasn't fair to my grandmother, who took on so much more than she needed to - to help her daughter. I tried to put it all behind me, but I couldn't ... especially not now.

The colors of the daycare mocked me with their brightness. With the fathers picking up their children. The world is a very cruel place. My baby doesn't have a father either ... he was killed before I found out I was pregnant. Two weeks later, I found out, and I lost it. I was not well for a long time, but I was pregnant, and I had to get myself together. This is not the life I pictured for myself. I didn't want my child to grow up like I did, wondering about why they don't get to have the same experiences as their friends with fathers.

"Hey, Jess." one of the employees said as soon as she saw me walk in.

"How was she?" I replied.

"She was a bit fussy, but nothing out of the normal, though."