Chapter 1—1992—In The Air, As Always

Author's Note: Saw Ant-Man and the Wasp, this idea just stuck with me. I'm screwing quite a bit with timelines here, but the MCU generally is pretty screwy with ages and times. Also, some things clearly happened very differently in the MCU than in the real world, what with Hydra, aliens, inhumans and the UN/"World Council" having a massive military/espionage wing capable of operating around the world (of all those, I find the last one the most implausible, by the way).

Melinda Qiaolin May was distracted piloting the plane, so Coulson put his feet up on a carefully selected clear spot. The other agent would knock them off her console the moment she had a hand free and he'd put them back the moment she was distracted. Their conversation however, continued uninterrupted.

"So one of Pym's victims turned out to be a traitor?" May asked, tone amused.

"Chief Pym, and yes."

"Did Chief Pym know when he fired the poor bastard that he was a traitor?"

"We don't even know if he was a traitor at the time. All Operations Division would say is that he's working for a weird alliance of Russian Mafia and Chechen Rebels, with the former providing funding and the later providing a base of operations."

"Good briefing, boss," she put that special inflection on it which made it a joke, "Do we have some actual intel on what we'll be facing on the ground?"

"You could have read the briefing packet."

"That's what you're for."

"Saving you from paperwork for almost a decade!"

"Ten years next week, yes, I haven't forgotten. Andrew's making the fancy thing you said you wanted, I trust you're working on my gift too?"

"Yes, I am, but I gotta say, having Andrew make my gift sounds like cheating, especially since the whole reason I chose it was so I could mock you as I ate the mangled version of it you managed."

"Hey! I can cook."

"You can cook exactly one dish. It's a little weird, May."

"See, now I'm looking forward to hitting someone. What're we in for?"

"A smoking crater and a ghost girl."

"Seriously?"

"The lab blew up. Fortunately some SHIELD peacekeepers got there before the rebels or the military did. They found no data, a few fragments, some creepy radiation and a girl who they couldn't touch. But who isn't radioactive herself, thankfully. Fortunately she could walk out. I couldn't get Pym—" he frowned to himself, then continued hoping she wouldn't notice, "his secretary wouldn't even put in the request, but I got one of his former partners, a Bill Foster, to join us out there."

"Ghost girl, eh? Just when you think you've seen everything. They say Chief," her eyes flicked towards hi and she smiled, knocking his feet to the deck with a wave of her hand, "Pym was working on some new power source, not infiltration tech."

"They say," Coulson agreed.

They smirked at one another, then May's eyes went back to the horizon and her controls and Coulson's feet rose back to their resting spot.

"Still, surprising Starr could get it to work, even with explosions where Chief Pym couldn't. Don't think the Council would keep him around if he weren't delivering. Fury certainly wouldn't."

Coulson smiled, "Starr?" he hadn't said the man's name, she'd read the briefing packet, of course. Talking it through helped him process, so she did that. For him. Which wasn't going to stop him from mocking her for failing to successfully cover it up.

"Not going to insist on a rank for him?"

"As he's dead and can't get us reprimanded for forgetting to use his title, no."

The radio blared at them for a moment, conveying the results of the search for the girl's relatives, maternal or paternal. Their complete absence rather killed the mood.

Coulson went back into the body of the plane and checked his gear, then checked May's gear, then shook the pilot awake and sent him to relieve the specialist. The pilot hadn't been thrilled to hand over the plane he was responsible for to May, but decided that arguing with an Operation's Division Specialist was just asking for either pain, or humiliation and that taking the copilot's seat was the better part of valor. When the mission commander took the copilot's seat, he decided that everyone above a Level 2 was clearly a power mad pain in his ass and went to take a nap.

The body armor under Coulson's suit was worn because it was regulation, rather than because he believed it would be needed at a SHIELD base, or because he believed it would be useful against a girl who was apparently selectively incorporeal. The pistol at his waist and the backup under his arm were more for instinct and comfort than use on a mission like this one. Besides, he had Melinda if someone needed hurting, or killing.

Unfortunately, he couldn't offload the responsibility for dealing with a traumatized child onto her, or onto anyone else, at least until he could say that she wasn't a threat. After a moment of thought he swapped the pistol in the shoulder holster out for a taser. Shocking a child into unconsciousness was high on the list of things he didn't want to have to do, but lower than shooting a child with a pistol.

May got the standard SHIELD uniform, weapons and tactical gear, though she went with the lightest allowed loadout, as always. It annoyed him less than usual as they were going to a base full of SHIELD personnel and equipment they could borrow if they needed it and personnel who they could command. With the ease of long practice they assisted each other, tightening the hard to reach armor straps and confirming each of them was fully equipped and that Coulson's tie was straight.

They stepped out into the dusk light and Coulson silently slipped his sunglasses into his pocket. The short runway outside the former Soviet base which SHIELD had requisitioned after the World Security Council had chosen to get involved in the new Russian government's conflict with the Chechen rebels had had all its lights either stolen, or destroyed before their arrival and the repair crews had focused on the lights needed for planes and helicopters to land, not for pedestrians. Fortunately, a pair of escorts sent by the local commander showed up, wearing the heavier kit most commanders preferred for operations with the potential to end in shooting. Both were carrying large guns, with mounted flashlights.

An exchange of pleasantries, code-phrases and badges later, they were all convinced that they were all either members of SHIELD, or so well disguised as members of SHIELD that they should be treated as such and they were into the main body of the base. It was bog-standard Soviet architecture and unsurprisingly ugly, but someone had mounted the SHIELD insignia on one wall in a comforting fashion and a variety of ironically mocking posters were visible in the barracks they passed through on the way to the room the girl was housed in.

Bill Foster bustled up to them, a massive black man in a rumpled suit, who clearly was not concerned about appearances, his glasses flashing in the fluorescent lights, his short beard and shorter hair were black as his mood. It was hard to look intimidating while holding a small fluffy teddy bear, but the man had the attitude and the size (even if time in the lab was softening what once must have been impressive muscles) to make the attempt unamusing. "Are you the reason I haven't been allowed in to see her?"

Coulson had read the man's file, but he hadn't noticed the height and weight on there, being focused more on his academic qualifications. "Protocol is the reason you haven't been allowed in to see her, Dr. Foster. As you know. We need to make sure she's not a threat."

May slid half a step forward, between the two of them, in a manner which looked like peacemaking to someone who didn't know enough to recognize it as protective and threatening.

"She's nine years old."

"And was the sole survivor of a massive explosion at a lab researching an unknown subject, as you know, Dr. Foster. If you want someone to be angry at, I'm sure I can find an agent who's been a bit slack recently. If you want to get in to see Ms. Starr, move so I can complete the evaluation. If you wanted to help her, you might go figure out what happened at the lab," Coulson said.

Foster stared down at the shorter agent for a long moment, hands resting on his belt. They tightened and Coulson could see a single muscle slowly tighten under May's uniform jacket as she prepared to move, then Foster's hands slid away from his belt, but not under the suit jacket he wore, nor near any of his pockets and the scientist walked away, trailed by his own escort, who was doing his best impression of May at her most stonefaced, rather than get drawn into the discussion.

Coulson waved their own escorts forward to lead them the rest of the way to the girl as May fell back, giving him a single raised eyebrow look as she passed. He acknowledged the silent statement that Dr. Foster was not going to be easy to handle with a flicker of a smile, then May was past him and back in position to watch his back. A moment later they were in the room next to where the girl was being kept and checking up on her on the closed circuit camera. She was sitting on the bed, arms wrapped around her legs.

"She's been like that for hours, sir," one of the techs said.

"Since we got her here," one of the others corrected him.

Coulson considered for a moment, "Has she eaten anything?"

"We offered food," one of the techs tapped the screen which showed a tray with a standard SHIELD field meal (repurposed US Army MREs, with a chocolate bar).

Coulson nodded, taking off his jacket, taser and pistol, placing them on a chair and gave May a slight nod and jerked his head towards the screen. A moment later, she took up position near the door, with a clean line of sight to the cameras, pulling the chair with his gear with her. His escorts tried to follow him out the door, but a quiet word stopped them. A few more words explained her view of escorts who completely failed to either protect or control the person they were escorting. Foster's escort wasn't present, but she was confident the message would be conveyed to the man, word for word.

XXXXX

Coulson knocked on the door and waited. Then he knocked again. Then he called through the door asking permission to come in. Ava Starr finally responded, in a whimpering voice, with just a whisper of a British accent, told him he could come in.

"Hello, Ms. Starr," Coulson said as he came in. Though still wrapped around herself, she was looking up and had spoken. The room was some officer's repurposed quarters, with a single cot, a dresser, a desk and a desk chair, with the food she'd been brought sitting on the desk.

"'llo," she said to her knees, eyes going back down.

"May I sit down?" Coulson asked, carefully waiting for her to agree before taking the seat and moving the food onto the bed next to her. Dark eyes flicked over her while hers were down. The girl was slight, even for a nine year old, skin a lighter brown than in the last picture he'd seen of her, she probably hadn't seen the sun since her father was fired from SHIELD. Despite her reported abilities (and the video he'd seen of her initial recovery) she hadn't fallen through the bed, or the floor, so there was some limitation on either her abilities or on whatever was doing this to her.

"My name is Phillip Coulson, but you can call me Phil. May I call you Ava?"

She nodded against her knees.

"Ava. I'm here to help. How can I help?" he waited.

Silence stretched. It felt like an eternity and he had some difficulty resisting the urge to offer solutions, but a silent count in his head said it was only twenty seconds before she whispered that she wanted her parents.

As Coulson had seen the photographs of her parents' bodies, he was pretty sure that was not an option.

"I'm sorry Ava. Your mother and father are dead. They died in the explosion. But you are not alone."

"'s my fault," she whispered even more quietly, still talking to her knees.

Coulson ruthlessly suppressed the human part of him which wanted to assure the child in front of him that it wasn't her fault, it couldn't be her fault. "What makes you think that, Ava?"

She looked up at him, "I'm here."

"Ava, about a year ago, I was part of a convey on a way to a location, do you know what a convoy is?"

She'd started to look down again, but the question brought her eyes back up. "No."

"A group of cars. Anyway a bad man used a bomb to destroy one of the cars. Some friends of mine were killed. I wasn't. Was that my fault?"

She didn't have the information to answer that question, but she did have the same human instincts he did and they weren't being suppressed by SHIELD training. "No!"

Coulson cocked his head. "If that wasn't my fault, then what makes you think this was your fault?"

She shook, then came off the bed in a lunge, which almost provoked an unfortunate, combat trained, reaction from the agent, but he managed to control it as she wrapped her arms around him. A quick hug, substantial for a moment, then she passed through him and fell to the floor, whimpering.

Carefully controlling his face, Coulson slid the chair back and knelt by her, carefully not touching her until she reached out for him again and then he just held her while she cried, slowly stroking her back and her hair.

Tears wracked her tiny body as she shook against him. The fact that she wasn't passing through him was interesting as well. It couldn't simply be a matter of failure to concentrate on the action she was taking, as he'd originally supposed (given the lack of phasing through the bed and floor) as she certainly hadn't been concentrating on any movement at this moment. Perhaps an emotional reaction? Fear of first responders, fear of his reaction, that might explain it, or it might be random, impossible to know given what information he had. Still, he pondered the options as he continued to murmur the most comforting things he could think of into her hair.

The moment she pulled away he released her. A moment later she was back on the bed, looking at the food. She took one bite, then another, then before hunger could make her descend on it like a ravenous wolverine, she stopped and looked up at him, speaking clearly to him, voice flat with forced, temporary control, tear-soaked face locked on his as she gave her confession, "It's my fault because I went back. Daddy said to run, Mommy pulled me away, but I went back. If I hadn't we'd have got away."

"No, Ava, you wouldn't have," Coulson's voice was certain, because he'd seen the photographs of the devastation. "The entire complex was destroyed, no one on that floor made it out. Unless your return took ten minutes, there was never any chance of escape."

She was too cried out to fully respond to that, instead turning away and wolfing down the entire tray, though it occasionally took her two or three tries to get the food off the tray. After an impressive burp, she stared at him nervously.

"Is there something you would like to ask, Ava?"

"What's wrong with me?"

"I'm not sure anything is wrong with you, but can I ask, were you able to pass through things like this before the incident?"

"NO!" Her hands closed on her hair. "I wasn't!"

"Then what makes you think it's something wrong with you, instead of just something different about you now?"

"It hurts, idiot," that last word was muttered, but still he took it as a good sign, most children didn't attack unless they felt generally safe.

"I'm sorry for your pain. Can you tell me, does it hurt all the time? Or when you phase through things? Or when you interact with things without phasing through them?"

She glared at him, "It just hurts."

"And we need to understand why in order to make it stop hurting," Coulson explained calmly.

"Can you do that?"

"I won't make you promises I don't know if I can keep. So here's what I can promise, I will try to make the pain stop."

She looked down and brought her legs back up, "Okay," she whispered, disbelievingly. A little more discussion clarified that it hurt all the time, but worse when she passed through things. At that point, Coulson needed to extract himself, which was a bit difficult, as abandoning a scared child who was in pain was not actually something he was wired for.

"Ava," he reached into his pocket and pulled out the leather wallet containing his SHIELD badge and ID. "I work for SHIELD, do you know what that is?"

"Police?" she asked.

"Of a sort," he passed over the badge, placing it on the bed where she could reach it if she wanted, it was open to reveal the actual metal badge and the laminated plastic of his ID, proclaiming him to be Phillip J. Coulson, Level 6, Agent of SHIELD. "SHIELD is many things to many people. But to me, it's home, it's family, it's purpose," her eyes glazed over a bit at the speechifying. "That," he pointed at the badge, "means I'll never be alone. I'll always have a team, a family, a home."

The look she gave him was defiant, but he could see fear under it.

"You're welcome in that home, for as long as you like," he said, glancing at his watch and rising. "Bedtime, Ava, good night."

Coulson rose and headed for the door, "You forgot your badge," she said.

"Can you hold onto it for me?"

She nodded to his back, then spoke when she realized he couldn't hear her, "Yes."

"Thank you. If you need me before I return, just knock on the door, or go through and ask the guard to come get me, okay? The guard's there to protect you," he said, which was mostly true, "you're not a prisoner," he continued, which was mostly false.

"'kay," she mumbled.

"Goodnight, Ava," he said again, turning out the lights as he left the room.

"'Night," she muttered. She probably didn't intend him to hear the whispered complaint that he wasn't the boss of her, or her father, but the microphones on the security cameras were very good.

Five minutes of whimpering later, exhaustion won out over pain and she was wrapped around one of the pillows, snoring quietly enough that it was adorable, rather than irritating, one hand clutched Coulson's badge.

Author's Note: Adorable child in agony is a good place to end this chapter, right? Let me know in the reviews.