jude !

Mickey could get over dying, been there done that, but seeing your face as he died? That was something that haunted him. You both knew he'd be back of course, but it's difficult to see past that when you watch someone die before your eyes. As much as he could put on a brave face over dying, he knew you'd be struggling to put one on over watching him die. Needless to say, Mickey was longing to see you after this reprint more than he ever had before.

He knew you needed to see him too and knew exactly where he could find you. You had wandered your way to his bunk not long after the death, mind numb and running on autopilot. You knew you didn't need to mourn, he would be back in a few hours just like always, but actually watching him die rather than hearing about it made everything feel too real, it awakened a new fear within you... What if one day they didn't reprint him? The thought was distressing, one you wished you could shake but it clung to you like a thick smog blocking anything else from your mind. He enters his room quietly, eyes landing on you laying on his bed back flat against the mattress and eyes glue to the ceiling, you don't react to him coming in, only looking away once his voice fills the air.

It's soft, hesitant as if he doesn't know if he should say anything, and all he simply says is, "Y/N..." But it's enough, enough for you to know he's there, enough to make you look up.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, staying in his bed, cold expression softening and Mickey doesn't miss the way your face is puffy and eyes red, heart straining at the thought of you crying for him. And with your voice hoarse, a slight quiver to it like you don't really believe he's there, you murmur out,

".. Mickey?"

That's all it takes to get him by your side, almost stumbling with how eager he is to reach you on the bed. He crawls over you, resting his head on your chest and his long legs awkwardly tangling in yours. Instinctively your hands fall to his body, one in his hair and the other around his torso pulling him close like you'll never let go.

For a while neither of you speak the only sound in the room your overlapping breathing. It isn't awkward though, it says everything and nothing the two of you want to say. Mickey can feel your stress slowly melting off of you as you lay entwined together, your fingers curling to brush through his hair, resulting in a satisfied sigh from him that lets his walls fall down, words tumbling from his mouth.

"you shouldn't have seen that," he mutters, face buried in your chest muffling his words, "i don't want you to think of me... Dying.."

There's a pause before he says it, he doesn't want to mention the elephant in the room, and he practically spits the word out. For a second he thinks he's said the wrong thing, a flash of panic crossing him as your fingers movements pause in his hair.

"I did though." You say plainly, trying to keep your voice steady. You had accepted long ago that Mickey's job was to die, you knew that, but knowing and seeing were two entirely different things.

He finds himself at a loss for what to say, an ache forming in his chest as he longs to comfort you, everything about being an expendable was strange. It was unprecedented territory, not something he could simply pick up a life advice book on and use to fix all his worries and yours. Luckily, it's you who breaks the silence and rips Mickey from his thoughts that were starting to become existential.

"I don't regret it," you inhale deeply, the exhale shaky, "I was going to see it happen at some point, we both knew that.."

Mickey shuffles in your hold, resting his chin on your sternum to glance up at you.

"I knew you'd be back, you always are... It just.. shook me."

Your words are followed by silence, wide eyes staring up at you as they compute your words a fear flashing in them like he doesn't know what to say. Maybe, he doesn't need to say anything.

The look of his face says everything he wants to, he knows it was bound to happen but that doesn't mean he wanted it to. You both know what you're thinking too, about the uncertainty, about how one day the ship could decide there's no need for expendables anymore and just like that Mickey's gone. It's nothing holding each other can change, it's like a cut that never stops bleeding, a worry that won't go away. Your hand gives his hair one final ruffle before falling to your side and that's Mickey's sign to make a move, shuffling up to now burrow his head in the crook of your neck and let his chapped lips skim over the tender skin.

"I can hold you still." He murmurs after a while, and you can feel the smirk that pulls at his lips, his tone is cheeky despite the solemn atmosphere, and although he doesn't need to say it he still does, "to stop you shaking."

It's so stupid, and you both know you didn't mean you were shook like that... It's what makes it all the more ridiculous, but it has the effect he intended as you crack a smile, pushing his head from your neck. He's pliable, he always is to an extent but especially when freshly printed, head following your movement willingly and leaning into your hand as he doesn't even try to hide his dopey expression.

Despite the cheesy response you can't help but indulge him, pulling your hand from his face and waving it with a slight shake in front of him as if to test his promise. He lets out a boyish laugh at the action, quickly lacing his fingers with yours, driving to kiss at your knuckles. The way he glances up at you, like he's looking for approval, the look is intoxicating and it's difficult to keep a straight mind when his dark eyes watch you through those thick lashes. It's enough to make you forget your worries, at least for now.

He seems to notice some of your tension easing, beginning to trail his kisses down your arm with those stupid exaggerated wet 'muah' sounds he knows make you laugh, and when you let out a groaned 'hey!' embarrassed by his teasing he responds by giving you a peck on the lips.

You hear the front door slam before you see her, the sound reverberating through your shared apartment like a gunshot. Ava's home, and from the force behind that door, you can already tell how the mission went. 

The soft phasing sound reaches your ears first, that distinctive quantum buzz that accompanies her powers when her emotions run high. She's flickering in and out of phase involuntarily, a telltale sign that she's barely keeping herself together. You set down your book and turn toward the living room just as she materializes fully, her Ghost suit still clinging to her curves, the black and gray tactical gear pristine despite whatever chaos she's just emerged from.

"Fucking Walker," she snarls, not even acknowledging your presence yet as she paces like a caged animal. Her dark hair is disheveled, and you can see the tension radiating from every line of her body. "That self-righteous piece of shit nearly got us all killed because he couldn't follow a simple goddamn plan."

You know better than to interrupt when she's like this. Ava needs to vent, needs to let the poison of her frustration leak out before it consumes her from the inside. Her powers make her dangerous when she's emotional, not to you, never to you, but to herself. 

"Three civilians almost died because Captain fucking America's knock-off wanted to play hero instead of doing his job," she continues, her fists clenching and unclenching. "And then he has the audacity to blame me for the collateral damage. Me!"

She finally notices you watching her, and something shifts in her dark eyes. The fury is still there, burning bright and hot, but it's mixing with something else now. Something hungrier. You recognize that look, you've seen it before after particularly difficult missions, when the adrenaline and anger need an outlet and you're the only person she trusts enough to let herself be vulnerable with.

"Come here," she says, her voice dropping to that dangerous low register that makes heat pool between your thighs. It's not a request.

You rise from the couch slowly, deliberately, knowing that building the tension will only make what comes next more intense. Ava's eyes track your every movement like a predator watching prey, and you can see her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths beneath the tactical gear.

When you're close enough to touch, she reaches out and cups your face with hands that are still trembling with residual anger. For a moment, she just stares at you, and you can see her fighting to center herself, to find her anchor in the storm of her emotions.

"I need you," she whispers, and there's something almost broken in her voice. "I need to forget about all of it. About Walker, about the mission, about everything except you."

You nod, understanding. Her lips crash against yours with desperate intensity, all teeth and tongue and barely restrained need. You can taste the adrenaline on her breath, can feel the quantum energy crackling just beneath her skin like static electricity. When she's emotional like this, touching her is like touching a live wire - dangerous and exhilarating and absolutely addictive.

She backs you toward the bedroom without breaking the kiss, her hands already working at your clothes with an urgency that makes your pulse race. The Ghost suit dissolves around her as she phases it away, revealing the beautiful expanse of smooth skin beneath. 

"Strip," she commands when you reach the bedroom, her voice rough with need. "Now."

You obey without hesitation, pulling off your shirt and shimmying out of your jeans while she watches with predatory intensity. Her eyes roam over your exposed skin like a physical touch, and you can see her pupils dilating with arousal.

When you're completely naked, she pushes you back onto the bed with enough force to make you bounce slightly. The mattress dips under her weight as she crawls over you, her skin glowing faintly with quantum energy. This is Ava at her most dangerous and most beautiful, raw power barely contained in human form.

"I'm going to fuck you until I can't think about anything else," she growls against your throat, her teeth scraping over your pulse point. "Until the only thing in my head is the sound of you screaming my name."

Her mouth trails down your body with bruising intensity, leaving marks that will bloom purple by morning. She's not gentle, can't be gentle right now, and you wouldn't want her to be. This is what she needs, what you both need. The sharp edge of pain mixing with pleasure, the reminder that you're both alive and whole and together.

When she reaches your breasts, she takes one nipple between her teeth and bites down just hard enough to make you arch off the bed with a gasp. The quantum energy coursing through her makes every touch electric, sending shockwaves of sensation through your nervous system. She phases her fingers partially, letting them vibrate at a frequency that makes you see stars when she rolls your other nipple between them.

"Ava," you breathe, your hands tangling in her dark hair. "Please..."

"Please what?" she asks, pulling back to look at you with eyes that burn like dark fire. "Tell me what you want."

"You," you whisper. "All of you. Take what you need."

Something primal flashes across her face at your words, and she descends on you like a woman starved. Her mouth works its way down your body with single-minded determination, pausing only to suck dark marks into the soft skin of your inner thighs before settling between your legs.

The first touch of her tongue against your center makes you cry out and buck against her mouth. She holds you down with hands that flicker between solid and translucent, the quantum vibrations adding a new dimension to every touch. When she slides two fingers inside you, she phases them just enough to create a sensation unlike anything else in the world, like being touched by lightning itself.

"God, you're so wet for me," she murmurs against your slick heat, her voice muffled but still audible. "So perfect. So mine."

She works you with relentless precision, her mouth and fingers moving in perfect synchronization to drive you higher and higher. Each stroke of her tongue sends electricity racing through your veins, each curl of her fingers hits spots you didn't even know existed.

You can feel your orgasm building like a storm on the horizon, pressure mounting with each passing second. Your thighs shake around her head, and your hands fist in the sheets as you fight to maintain some semblance of control.

"Let go," Ava commands, pulling back just long enough to speak before diving back in. "Come for me. Let me hear you."

Her words push you over the edge, and you shatter with a scream that echoes off the bedroom walls. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you as she works you through it, her touch prolonging your climax until you're sobbing with the intensity of it.

But she's not done with you yet. Before you've even fully come down from your high, she's positioning herself above you, her own arousal evident in the way her chest heaves and her skin glows with quantum energy.

"I need to be inside you," she pants, and you nod eagerly despite your oversensitivity. 

She slides three fingers into you this time, setting a brutal pace that has the headboard banging against the wall. Her thumb finds your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to keep you on the knife's edge between pleasure and overstimulation. 

The vibrations are stronger now, more focused, and you can feel them resonating through your entire body. It's overwhelming and perfect and exactly what you both need, this raw, primal connection that strips away everything except the essential truth of your desire for each other.

"You feel so good," Ava groans, her free hand braced beside your head as she watches your face with burning intensity. "So tight around my fingers. Taking everything I give you like you were made for it."

You are made for it, made for her, and you tell her so between gasps and moans as she drives you toward another peak. Your legs wrap around her waist, pulling her closer, needing her as deep as possible.

When your second orgasm hits, it's even more intense than the first. Your back arches clean off the bed as pleasure tears through you like a supernova, and you feel Ava's fingers still inside you as she watches you fall apart beneath her.

"Beautiful," she whispers, her voice soft with awe. "So fucking beautiful when you come for me."

She works you through it gently this time, her touch becoming tender as she helps you down from the peak. But you can see the need still burning in her eyes, can feel the tension that still radiates from her body.

"Your turn," you manage to say when you can speak again. You sit up on shaky arms and push her back against the pillows, switching your positions. "Let me take care of you."

The transformation in her expression is immediate, the predatory intensity softening into something more vulnerable, more needy. This is what she really wants, what she really needs: to be cared for, to be loved, to remember that she's more than just a weapon or a ghost.

You take your time with her, mapping every inch of her scarred skin with your lips and tongue. Each touch makes her shiver and phase slightly, her control slipping as pleasure builds.

When you finally settle between her thighs, she's already soaking wet, her arousal coating her inner thighs and making her scent heady and intoxicating. You start slow, building her up with gentle licks and soft kisses, but she quickly grows impatient.

"More," she demands, her hands tangling in your hair. "Please, I need more."

You give her what she wants, sealing your lips around her clit and sucking while you slide two fingers deep inside her. Her powers make her incredibly responsive, every touch amplified, every sensation magnified. She's already close, wound tight from watching you fall apart beneath her.

"Yes," she hisses, her hips bucking against your mouth. "Just like that. Don't stop."

You wouldn't dream of stopping. You work her with the same intensity she showed you, using everything you've learned about her body over the months you've been together. You know exactly how she likes to be touched, know the rhythm that drives her wild, know the spot inside her that makes her see stars.

When she comes, it's with a broken cry that sounds almost like a sob. Her entire body phases for a split second, becoming translucent as the quantum energy surges through her, and then she's solid again, shaking and gasping as aftershocks roll through her.

You crawl up her body and pull her into your arms, holding her as she comes back to herself. The angry tension that had radiated from her when she first came home is gone now, replaced by a boneless satisfaction that makes her melt against you.

"Better?" you ask softly, pressing a kiss to her temple.

She nods against your shoulder, her breathing finally starting to even out. "Much better. I'm sorry I was so intense when I got home."

"Don't apologize," you tell her firmly. "You never have to apologize for needing me. That's what I'm here for."

She pulls back to look at you, and there's something achingly tender in her dark eyes. "I love you," she whispers. "God, I love you so much it scares me sometimes."

"I love you too," you reply, meaning every word. "More than anything."

She kisses you then, soft and sweet and full of all the emotion she struggles to express with words. 

You stay tangled together for a long time, sharing lazy kisses and gentle touches as your heart rates slowly return to normal. Eventually, Ava gets up to run a bath, and you watch her move around the bathroom, still slightly amazed that this incredible woman is yours.

The bathtub fills with hot water and lavender-scented bubbles, and she helps you into it before settling behind you, her legs on either side of your body. The warm water soothes the marks she left on your skin, and you lean back against her chest with a contented sigh.

"Tell me about the mission," you say softly, knowing she'll want to talk about it now that the initial fury has burned itself out.

She does, her voice low and calm as she recounts the events of the day. Her hands move gently over your skin as she talks, washing away the sweat and evidence of your earlier passion with tender care. You listen and offer comfort where you can, helping her process the frustration and anger until it becomes something manageable.

By the time you're both clean and the water has started to cool, the last of the tension has drained from her body. She helps you out of the tub and wraps you in a soft towel, her touch reverent and careful now.

"Thank you," she says as you're getting dressed in comfortable sleepwear. "For being exactly what I needed tonight."

You smile and pull her close, breathing in the clean scent of her damp hair. "Always," you promise. "Whatever you need, whenever you need it. I'm not going anywhere."

She holds you tighter at that, and you can feel some of the old fear stirring in her, the fear that everyone she cares about will eventually leave or be taken from her. But you're not going anywhere. You've seen her at her worst and her best, have felt the full force of her powers and her passion, and you're still here. You'll always be here.

Later, as you lie curled together in bed, her warm skin pressed against yours, you listen to her breathing even out as she drifts toward sleep. This is your favorite part, these quiet moments when the ghost can rest, when Ava can just be human and vulnerable.

The pack that occupied the tower reminded you of feral dogs. There had been more than one occasion where you had entered into the kitchen: heard Yelena and John growling over the last muffin. On those mornings, you removed yourself from the situation. There were too many knives in the vicinity to bring you any type of comfort.

Breakfast could be had at the coffee shop around the corner, and you could spare getting an artery clipped in the process.

You weren’t like them, not originally, and they still regarded you as such. Valentina had moved you into one of the spare rooms with he promise of improved optics. The Golden Child of the new Avengers, a face that people could trust despite the horrors you had committed with the same hands that politicians begged to shake.

So, you stayed quiet, and endured the group meetings without any real stock in them. They had a strange bond that was solidified by the darkness of the void. You hadn’t asked about their first mission as a team. The term was loose, from what you had heard, something to tip-toe around.

It didn’t escape you that you lived with six other enemies of the state that had their own quirks, their own strengths and angers. Their own teeth that would be so easy to bare in the face of confrontation. But, it had been a month, almost two, and you were yet to be snapped at by sharpened canines.

You only let your shoulders drop when you entered the elevator. The death trap of a lift in an half-renovated building was much preferred to the argument unfolding in the kitchen. Your eyes fluttered shut, head leaning against the glass wall behind you.

“Such a horrible day and it’s merely eight in the morning.”

“Fuck!”

Your heart jumped into your throat, hand clutching the phantom pears around your neck. You’d huddled yourself into the corner of the elevator. It hadn’t slowed to a stop and you weren’t to the lobby floor yet.

“Right. Good morning to you too, Ava.”

Where the others were loud in their ferality, Ava took on soft edges. She was silent when she moved, flickering into spaces and regarding you as if she were guarding something, and perhaps she was. There was something she needed to protect, and you hadn’t puzzled her out yet.

“Yelena and John duking it out in the kitchen again?”

“Yup.”

You popped the ‘p’ and relaxed back into your stance, eyes watching the red mechanical numbers above the doors slide lower and lower until you’d be back in the bustling world of the city. It was easy to slip into a world of faces you didn’t recognize and faces that didn’t recognize you.

Ava was dressed comfortably, a cardigan that made you itch to smooth your hand over her shoulders, the feel the knitted fuzz. She smelled like strawberry shampoo mixed with vanilla, and it filled the elevator until you felt heady on it.

The silence was heavy, but not uncomfortable. She allowed you to exit the elevator first, followed at half a pace behind. “Headed to Monroe’s?”

“You know it?”

“Best pastries on this side of the Hudson.”

You nodded with a smile that up-ticked the corners of your lips. You had to admit, it was nice having someone to walk next to, hands shoved into the pockets of your jacket. The day was still early, and the morning sun hadn’t particularly broken through the clouds yet. There was a warm light to the day that promised a scorching afternoon.

“So, uh, what’s your story?”

“What makes you assume I have a story?”

Ava laughed, a quiet thing. “Oh, come on, y/l/n, Valentina added you to the team without a second consideration. She’s done this to all of us to keep a better eye on her assets. None of us are daft, just damaged.” She nudged your shoulder “So what’s yours?”

“My damage?”

You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face, the bell above Monroe’s door chimed. You held it open for Ava, let your gaze wander across her figure. Your cheeks heated up at the shameless gawking. It was something you didn’t pride yourself in, but you were not immune to the beauty she possessed.

The scent of freshly baked dough and caramelized sugar clung to your throat. Your stomach clenched at the thought of caffeine to restart your nervous system. You stood next to Ava as she ordered, pretending to read the menu.

You ordered the same thing every time, a strawberry Danish and a medium black coffee that was filled with two sugars and a splash of creamer. The woman behind the counter, a slight thing named Maddie, had already punched in your usual with raised eyebrows.

Ava requested a bagel and an orange juice and fretted at you when you produced a card. “You don’t have to pay.”

“I’m not, I took this out of Val’s purse, and she hasn’t noticed yet. I doubt she will.”

You tapped the card before putting it back into your pocket, but you caught the first genuine smile on Ava’s lips that you’d ever earned from her. You handed Ava her drink, took your own as you tried to ignore the knowing look that Maddie shot you through blushed cheeks.

She held the door for you this time, and just like the look from the barista, you struggled to dismiss the feeling of Ava’s eyes tracing your own figure. It flared a fondness within you, a heavy sense of pride. Instead of heading back towards the tower, the two of you wordlessly continued on, enjoying the semi-empty streets.

“I’m her baby sister.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Earlier, you asked me what my damage was. I suppose it could be association that makes her feel the need to keep an eye on me. She’s never trusted me, I’ve known that for my entire life, just never thought she’d give me an ultimatum to get me under her thumb.”

Ava had taken a bite of her bagel, but hadn’t chewed it yet. Instead, she watched you with the eyes of a frightened dog, her saliva softening the hand-stretched bread. Slowly, she gnawed at the fodder.

“Val is your… sister?”

“Biologically yes. Emotionally? Fuck no. Non siamo mai andati d'accordo. I’ve earned stealing her platinum card. What is she going to do, fire me?”

“Kill you?”

You laughed, something from the belly that made your eyes water. Your hand tightened around the foam cup of coffee until you could feel the heat of it pushing past your hand. Once you had your fill, you took a sip. “That’s funny, but no. She knows that I can take her out with a pen cap or a paperclip.”

“Cocky, aren’t we?”

“With good reason.” You smirked, taking another gulp of scalding liquid. “Valentina, she lead the Italian mob right to our family. She was just a kid, six. But she watched as my papà was shot straight through the heart. I was nothing but a baby. Val was sent to live in the states and my care was taken over by my uncle. I stayed in Italy. Got into the family business.”

It seemed as if she did too, just in a quieter, sneakier way. Val climbed her way up the political chain. Ava was watching you carefully, having finished off her own breakfast. You hadn’t caught her off guard, if anyone asked, but no one would.

“The difference between myself and my sister, is that she hires people to do her dirty work. I’m the one people hire to handle things.” You shook your head, “I was trained to clean things up. To make it look like it was an accident.”

“Made into a weapon.” Ava finished, her voice filled with despair. “S.H.I.E.L.D saw an opportunity in my affliction. They built me a containment suit so I could control my phasing and trained me to be a stealth operative. They weaponized me. I stole for them. Spied for them. I killed for them. And in exchange for my soul... they were going to cure me. They lied.”

A long breath escaped you “Seems like we both got the short end of the stick, huh?”

“Yeah,” She scoffed “We did.”

Another day, another argument blooming within the residential part of the tower. You were stretched out across the sofa, muscles aching and eyes half-lidded as you to ice your knee with a pack of frozen peas. There was a book resting on your chest that you couldn’t quite digest.

Bob, in a rare moment of bravery, was in Walkers face. He was posturing, his hands trembling with anger. You weren’t sure what had caused the argument, not paying attention to either of them. Ava wandered into the room, lingered by the entertainment center, giving you a questioning stare. You simply shrugged.

“If you know what’s good for you, Bobbie, you’ll walk away right now.”

“Yeah, and what if I don’t?”

Walker lunged forward without warning, shoulder connecting with Bob’s abdomen and knocking them both to the ground. Despite the pain in your knee you rabbited from the sofa, hands looping around Bob’s midsection. Ava went the other way, grabbing Walker by the collar of his shirt and tugging him backwards.

“Hey, hey, hey!” You shoved Bob against the nearest wall, holding him still with your hand as he attempted to flail his way back to Walker without a real plan. “Relax! Both of you.”

John’s elbow surged back on instinct, or in anger. Whatever it was, his elbow cracked into Ava’s nose, silencing the chaos in the room. Syrupy strings of blood dripped from her face. You could tell that it slid down her throat with the unsavory grimace she made.

Before you could fully grab ahold on your temper, you had let go of Bob and crossed the room, scrunching John’s shirt in your fists and pulling him close. “What the hell is wrong with you, huh?”

“Whoa, whoa! Fucking relax!”

“You want me to relax? I’ve been watching the six of you go at each-others throats for months. I thought you were a team, huh? This isn’t what teams do. They don’t hit their own.”

“And you know so much about that. You’re just a glorified babysitter, y/l/n. A plant for your dictator of a sister to keep an eye on us.” He got close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath. “You’ll never be one of us.”

“If I was a babysitter, Walker, you’d be on the other end of a gun by now, but murder is frowned upon for Avengers. Both of you got cool off. Ava, you’re with me.”

She snorted behind the hand clenched to her nose. A hideous type of red was gushing through her fingers. You weren’t going to hold your breath for Walker to apologize, but he bumped your shoulder and dropped down onto the couch. Bob frowned, crossed his arms over his chest, but didn’t protest.

“You’re not in charge, you know?” Ava’s voice came out nasally. She allowed you to lead her towards the nearest bathroom despite her grumpiness. “I don’t have to listen to you.”

“You’re right, you don’t. You wanna reset your own nose?”

Again, she grumbled. You ushered her to sit on the closed toilet seat, struggled to coax her into moving her palm away from her face. It didn’t look as bad as you thought, despite taking the elbow of a super-soldier to the face.

You grabbed one of the towels and soaked it in warm water. As gently as possible, you took hold of her chin. She dragged in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, but you started to work away at the red pigment. It was starting to bruise in an ugly purple and blue around the bottom of her eyes.

Deep green eyes peered into yours, shockingly tender under your touch. “My foster father used to do this for me. When I got too stubborn and stupid to do things properly. For a while, I almost wanted to get hurt. To fail the missions, because that would be easier.”

“Are you saying I remind you of your father?”

“No, no.” She huffed, winced at the sudden rush of air through her nostrils that splayed warmth upon your cheeks. “You remind me of someone who cares.”

“Well, in that case, thank you for letting me.”

She swallowed hard, eyes dipping from your own as you continued your ministrations, nothing but gentle. She was leaning into your palm, ever so slightly, seeking your comfort, your steadiness. Of course, you wouldn’t say a word about it.

“No, I refuse.” Your voice came out hard, sharp in all the wrong ways, as it usually did when your older sister was involved. Her assistant, the one who reminded you of a mouse, so skittish and wide-eyed, tightened her grip on her tablet. “Consider it turned down.”

Val glowered at you over the rim of her frosted martini glass. The vodka that permeated the glass was glacial clear. She twirled the toothpick that held two olives on the end. When Val tilted her head like this, you knew you had overstepped, and you knew you didn’t care.

“sweetie, you don’t get to say no to me, you’re my employee, or did you forget?”

“Not when you remind me every six minutes, no.” You shoved your hands in your pockets. “Why do you really want me here, Val? I can’t just be for optics.”

“Optics? Please, y/n, if I wanted you to be the actual face of the Avengers I would make you get a boob job first. You’re simply here to do my bidding in the safety of this city instead of in Italy where you could single-handedly cause a political crisis.”

“Stop while you’re ahead, you’ll start to sound like you actually care about me, la caposala.”

“Is it so hard to believe that I do?”

“if you did, you wouldn’t be asking me to do this. So again, I decline. Find another mercenary, I’m sure you have dozens at your disposal. I took this job as a favor for you and now you want me to walk back on everything and perform a hit, just to boost your ratings?”

“She um,” the assistant broke the tension with a squeaky fear. “She has a point, ma’am.”

“Whose side are you on, Mel? Because I suggest it should be the woman who writes your paychecks.”

“Hire someone else.” You snapped, pushing away from the mirrored bar. You stalked towards the elevator, shaking your head, trying to quell the headache that was starting to form at your temple. “Oddio, la follia è una caratteristica ricorrente in questa dannata famiglia.”

“And give me back my platinum card!”

You waved her off, decided to take the nearby stairwell instead to cool off before entering into the warzone that was your current living space. You nearly tripped over the woman in the corridor, stabilizing yourself between the floors.

Ava gawked up at you, one leg spread over the step she sat on, the other pulled up to her chest. She was flipping through a magazine. She was wearing her comfort cardigan, pulled it down over her wrists to combat the cold of the cement stairway.

“You trying to kill me, Starr?”

“If I was hired to kill you, I’d do it with more flare than tripping you down the stairs.” She patted the step below her. “Sit. You don’t want to be in there right now.”

“Walker insight more violence?”

“Alexi, actually. Something about uniforms and branding. Better to stay out of it either way.”

You groaned as you lowered yourself onto the concrete, instantly soothed by it’s coolness. Your cheeks were flushed, your entire body warm from your conversation with Valentina. Your shoulder was barely touching Ava’s, but she tensed regardless. You didn’t scoot over.

“You’re uh… not used to people touching you, are you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

She said it all in an exhale, frowning at an article that she wasn’t reading. You studied her profile, the slope of her slightly crooked nose and the splash of freckles that spanned across her nose and cheeks. Ava flipped another page before turning her gaze on you. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. I just… you flinch every time our hands brush, or when I use my hands for anything other than violence. So, what’s your damage?”

Ava laughed, the sound stilted, but without malice. “What if no hands have tried to touch me with anything other than violence?”

“I’d say that’s something that’s bound to change,” Your voice dropped to a whisper, testing the waters, knowing that she was skittish in a different way that Mel the assistant was. “if you let it.”

“You’re cute, darling, but my pants have too many buttons to unlatch.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter Ava Starr!” You nudged her again. “I was thinking more of a hug.”

“A hug?”

You hummed and nodded your head, accepting her silence as consideration. She tracked your features. There was something heavy in her eyes, something beautiful and vulnerable like a storm rolling into shore. But her shoulders dropped minutely, letting a bit of vulnerability slip through her fingers.

The next word was whispered, a dull purr. If you weren’t so close to her, you wouldn’t have heard it. But, it was there, a thawed breath that tickled your collarbone. “Okay.”

You nodded, afraid that any words would break the placid state of her. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a hug, not one that you initiated out of kindness. Not one that didn’t cradle your victim to the ground, but you knew the motions well enough.

With a tranquility unmatched, you hooked your arms around her, pulling Ava flush against your body. She was stiff, the angle uncomfortable at first until she allowed herself to relax, to soften in your arms. Her nose found a way to the small of your neck, chilly and tickling. One hand rested on the back of her head, the other secured her chest close to your own.

It took you a few moments to realize that she was trembling, hand curled between both of your chests, she was gripping the fabric of your shirt, wetting it with tears that fell without warrant. “I-I’m sorry I don’t.”

“You’re okay, it’s okay.”

At the reassurance, she burrowed closer, filling your senses with the subtle sweetness of her perfume. The strength of her body, hard with muscle but soft with exhaustion all at once. The cardigan was soft, smelled so much like her that you threatened to melt yourself. The two of you fell into one another with the grace of an open wound.