I Thought You Were Different: Part 4

Surge

Brooklyn was just the beginning; at the delicate age of eleven, just on the verge of twelve, her hormones had decided to take her on a wild trip into puberty. It didn't take long for you and Steve to get the hang of talking to her when she was feeling overly emotional, and it wasn't unheard of for her to run to Wanda or Nat when she felt like you weren't giving her the answers or advice that she wanted to hear. In her hormonal swings, she often took most of what you said in incorrect ways, but you did your best to not let it get to you, because that would only make it worse; you had never been more thankful for the other women in the compound until right now.

But then, the inevitable happened; Anthony and Grant were soon behind in hormonal surges, and Steve was doing worse with his sons than when Brooklyn had her changes begin, but it wasn't the mood swings that he found the most challenging. No, Steve could handle that, given his years working with the likes of Tony. What he couldn't deal with was the eruption of fires around the grounds at any given moment when Grant would lose his temper, or when Anthony would project his mood outward and make his dad cry at the drop of a hat in the most inconvenient times during mission debriefings or conference calls with Secretary Ross. Steve had finally reached his breaking point when Brooklyn too began to lose control of her abilities, sending his breakfast plate shooting out from under his fork and into the far wall of the kitchen during one of her angry outbursts; the terrifying thing was that she was in a completely different building when it happened. Without missing a beat, Steve stood and stepped over the shattered glass, making his way to you without allowing anything to get in his way.

"Honey, we have a problem," he began, even before the door to your room was fully open, "the kids are out of control. Literally out of control. I'm scared to eat breakfast anymore."

"Why?"

"There's a nice mix of eggs and broken glass on the kitchen floor. I don't know if Brooke realized that she did it because she was nowhere in sight when the thing just flew across the room right out from under my hand."

"Likely not," you sighed, "because Anthony's projecting stronger than ever too. Maybe I'm just an easy target with our link to each other, but I'm feeling his emotions more than my own anymore."

Steve nodded with a welcome understanding, pushing the door shut with a quiet click. He didn't move further into the room however, instead leaning back against it as he thought about what the two of you could do to help your kids. Neither of you had any experience with this, and when he had spoken to Wanda right after Brooklyn began to have her troubles, she only worsened his worry when she couldn't offer any more help either. "So," he finally offered softly, "I'm open to ideas."

"Well, crap. I was just about to say that to you," you answered with a humorless chuckle. Taking a seat on the edge of your bed, you patted your hand gently on the spot next to you to summon him over, waiting until he was settled before beginning again. His posture wasn't that of the strong version of your husband that you were so used to having next to you; he was hunched and tired, resting his forearms on his legs as his hands wrung together tightly. It only fed into your own uncertainties, and did nothing to soothe you. "Hey, we'll figure it out. If not, at least puberty doesn't last forever, right?"

"Ha!" he scoffed, but his expression didn't brighten. "It feels like forever. You forget already?"

"Selective memory. But you know, now that you brought it up, what was your puberty like? I mean, you pretty much stopped growing at what, ten?"

"Okay, that's just mean!" he finally perked up, turning to look at you as if you had just slapped him across the face. He sat silently for a moment until his expression relaxed into just the hint of a smile at the corners of his lips, realizing that you actually weren't that far from the truth. "I stopped at twelve."