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"You got a minute?"
Celeste glances up slowly from where she sits in one of previously empty barracks, having been lost in thought. Since getting back on board the ship and learning of Phil's death, she had secluded herself for the past few hours, claiming she needed time to recover from her near death experience, which isn't entirely a lie.
Dr. Bolton stands in front of her, gesturing for her to join him. She stands up, stretching her aching muscles before following the doctor into the lab she gave blood in. Now, instead of syringes sitting out, several files are.
"Your mother, Darlene Wilson, is of English descent, while your father, Paul Wilson is of African descent," he states without any sort of preamble, throwing her off. "Neither appear to have any genetic mutation such as yours though."
Celeste grows still, her eyes scanning over the papers before her, unable to wrap her mind around that tiny piece of information after going so long without any of it.
"Where are they?"
"They're deceased. But, they have three other children, none of which were placed into different homes. I can obtain their locations, if you'd like."
Celeste's breathing hitches in her throat, an overwhelming sadness hitting her. Not for the loss of parents she never knew, but for the fact that they had other kids they didn't leave behind. She had always imagined them to be heartless people that didn't want children; not the kind of people that wanted every child but her.
Dr. Bolton hands her a picture and the sight of it makes her knees nearly buckle. A woman with blonde curls sits in a chair with two children in her lap - a boy no older than three and a girl with pigtails who looks to be old enough for kindergarten. The woman stares adoringly up at the man with kind, brown eyes standing next to them, a genuine smile lighting up his features as though the camera caught him mid-laugh. A third child - this one being another boy, although slightly older than the other two - dangles off of his back, laughing. The image practically radiates a loving environment and Celeste would be worried about getting sick if she hadn't already lost her breakfast earlier.
"I need to go," she murmurs, absentmindedly allowing the picture to fall from her fingertips as she spins on her heel. "Thank you for doing this for me, but I- uh, promised Fury I'd keep an eye on Agent Barton as he recovers."
Hurrying down the hallway, she nearly crashes into Natasha, who had been on her way to find the woman.
