MALICIOUS, hydra

01. MUNDANE

2012

The decision to leave S.H.I.E.L.D. was not one that Alina had come to on a whim. It had been brewing for months, taking different forms and iterations until she had finally worked up the gall to follow through on one a dozen escape plots.

The Battle of New York had left her one among hundreds of orphaned children. Children of S.H.I.E.L.D., they were called. An adoption and rehabilitation facility had been established in the same name. Alina was not among the children who were easily taken in by aunts, uncles, grandparents, or family friends. Alina was not among the children who were easily taken in by anyone.

Her parents had taken their jobs as agents of a subversive government agency so seriously—too seriously, she had always thought—that it had driven away anything resembling family or friends. All of her grandparents were long-since dead and any "family friends" left were ones that also worked with S.H.I.E.L.D. as well, usually hung up taking care of other children. Alina was hardly considered a child to most of the folks that came through the facility, looking at the tired, young faces as if they were looking for a new puppy to adopt. At the age of sixteen with a track record of causing problems, her room was one that was often advised to steer clear of.

Earlier in the week, she had been returned to Children of S.H.I.E.L.D. from her fourth foster home in six months.

This translated to stacks of paperwork, intensive 90-minute therapy twice a week, a room with windows and a real bed, and an uncomfortably close relationship with Phil Coulson, who had taken upon himself to try to make her feel as "at home" as he could. His gestures were always kind and never purposefully intrusive, but they quickly became unbearable. A knock came at the door. Alina glanced at the clock, even though she knew he was right on schedule.

"Hey, Alina," he said. "I know this week has been... exhausting. But you've got to eat."

"I'll come down soon," she said. She sat at her desk with her back to her bedroom door, picking at her cuticles. She lifted her head slightly upon realizing that her first comment hadn't dismissed Coulson. "Go away."

"No need," he said and took a few steps into the room. Alina didn't want to turn around, but the smell of her favorite soup from the cafeteria pulled her attention away from her chipped nail polish. As much as she wanted to be angry with him for invading her space, it did smell delicious. "I'll be around when you decide you want to talk about this, Alina. You know that."

"Yeah," she said, reaching for the tray in his hands. "Thanks."

He left her at that, with the door slightly cracked, as always.

Alina cupped her hands around the hot mug of tomato soup. As she slurped it down, it seemed to fill the hole inside her, at least a bit. However, when its warmth waned and she was left with an empty dish, her thoughts returned to her course of action. It wasn't an entirely difficult task. She'd been in, out, and around so much of the facility in the few months that memorizing its layout had become second nature.

She didn't have very many belongings, which made it easy to pack them all away into the standard-issue backpack that all of the kids received from the S.H.I.E.LD. upon arrival to the program. Originally, it had been filled with clean clothes, a blanket, a journal, and some food to hold them over during the few days that they inevitably isolated themselves and refused to eat at the cafeteria.

Alina's bag contained very similar contents as she crept around corners and slid through doors marked "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL" before they swung shut behind distracted agents. She'd taken her pillow, a blanket, clothes, some granola, and the bit of cash she'd been stowing and stealing as she moved through different foster homes.

"Alina," a gentle voice called out from behind her. She didn't stop moving. "Alina Malveaux."

She'd just made it to the hallway that would take her to the back exit, a place she thought would be deserted on account of it being lunchtime.

"Alina," he said again.

She heard his quick footsteps approach and turned to face him before he had the chance to grab her by the arm. It was an agent she vaguely recognized. She definitely felt like she should've remembered his name. It might've helped her out of the encounter if she had.

"Alina, you're not trapped here. You're more than free to come and go as you please—"

"I know that," she said. "I'm going as I please."

He snorted a laugh and scanned over her. Overfilled backpack, pillowcase stuffed with a blanket, her hair surely a mess.

"You're free to come and go as you please, as long as you let someone know where you're going—"

"I'm going out."

"—and as long as you come back."

Alina bit the inside of her cheek and assessed how much of a threat this man really posed. She didn't want to hurt him, she didn't want to hurt anyone. But if he or anyone else was going to stand in her way, she would run out of options fast. He was unarmed, relaxed, one hand still partially outstretched to her. His eyebrows were furrowed slightly, but the rest of his expression was open and soft. He really thought he could reach her, as if she wasn't already gone.

"No promises about that one," she said.

The agent recognized the calculating look in her eyes, but he was ultimately too slow to react before Alina had dropped her pillow, wrapped her hands around the back of his neck, and delivered a sharp blow with her knee to his nose. He fell onto the cold, concrete floor with a groan. Not quite unconscious, but debilitated enough for her to get a head start.

She tucked her pillow under her arm and sprinted to the end of the hall, through the door, and out into the cool, autumn breeze. The smell of the dirt and leaves gave her pause. It wasn't that she hadn't been outside in a while. She'd eaten lunch in the courtyard earlier that day. No, it wasn't that. It was the realization that it was the last time she would walk through those doors and into the world.

Never again, she told herself. She'd never go back there again. She'd never see Phil Coulson or another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent again. She'd live on the streets until she could find a job, a place, a normal life. Something normal, simple, mundane.

Somewhere far removed and distant from government agencies and "Enhanced individuals." Alina Malveaux would be a normal human being, even if it killed her to do it.