Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The fluorescent lights of the S.H.I.E.L.D. base hummed, casting a sterile, unforgiving glow on the polished steel floor. Ava Starr, her green eyes shadowed with a weariness that belied her twenty-something years, stood rigidly at attention. Her brown hair, usually pulled back in a tight braid, had come loose in places, framing a face that was all sharp angles and guarded emotion. The tanned skin stretched taut over her cheekbones; a canvas reflecting the years of hardship she’d endured.

Everything had been taken from her. Her family, her home, her very sense of self – all sacrificed at the altar of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s ambition. And now, she stood before the architect of her misery, the man who’d meticulously dismantled her life piece by agonizing piece.

Doctor Malachi Hayes.

He was a study in calculated cruelty. His tailored suit, impeccably pressed, seemed a stark contrast to the darkness that clung to him like a second skin. His eyes, the color of glacial ice, held no warmth, no empathy – only cold, clinical interest. He stalked around her, a predator circling its prey, his every movement deliberate, controlled.

The air crackled with anticipation, thick with the unspoken threat of violence. Hayes stopped directly in front of her, close enough that she could smell the faint, metallic tang of his cologne. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. Ava knew what was coming. The silence was a weapon in itself, designed to amplify the fear that already gnawed at her insides.

Then, without warning, he struck.

His fist slammed into her midsection with brutal force. The air rushed from her lungs, a silent gasp trapped in her throat. Pain, sharp and searing, bloomed in her abdomen, threatening to buckle her knees. But Ava remained upright, unwavering. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She wouldn't flinch. Flinching only invited more pain.

Hayes chuckled, a low, guttural sound that sent a shiver down her spine. "Five minutes, Ghost. Five measly minutes. You exceeded the allocated mission time by five minutes. Do you understand the implications of such blatant disregard for protocol?"

His voice was smooth, almost gentle, but the menace beneath the surface was undeniable. He savored the power he held over her, the power to inflict pain and suffering with impunity.

"Efficiency, Ghost," he purred, circling her again. "S.H.I.E.L.D. demands efficiency. We invest in assets like you, and we expect a return on our investment. Your little… detour… cost us valuable time, resources. Time, resources that could have been used to further our goals."

Ava said nothing. Arguing was pointless. Explaining herself was even more so. He didn't care about the reasons behind her delay, only the deviation from his meticulously crafted schedule.

He stopped behind her, his breath hot against her ear. "I am…dissatisfied, Ava. Deeply dissatisfied. You need to be taught a lesson. A reminder of your place. A reminder of… who owns you."

He struck again, this time his open hand connecting with her cheek. The force of the blow snapped her head to the side, a metallic taste filling her mouth. She bit back a groan, focusing on the cold, sterile air filling her lungs.

Hayes crossed the room to a console, his movements fluid and graceful despite the inherent ugliness of his actions. He ran a finger over the surface before pressing down on a large, red button. A high-pitched whine filled the air, followed by a jolt of pure agony that ripped through Ava's body.

The inhibitors. Strapped to her neck, and now, activated.

Electricity coursed through her veins, burning like liquid fire. Her muscles seized, her vision blurred, and her scream was choked off before it could escape her throat. It was a pain unlike any other, a pain that stripped away her control, her discipline, her very sense of being.

Her hands, free from restraints, began to phase in and out of existence, a desperate, involuntary reaction to the overwhelming stimulus. The molecular instability that plagued her, the very thing that made her a weapon, was now being used against her.

The pain intensified, reaching a crescendo that threatened to shatter her mind. She could feel the inhibitors digging into her neck, the metal searing her skin. She clawed at them, her fingers phasing harmlessly through the solid material. She could feel her calls being torn apart, the way they twist and tug until they entangle back together only to repeat the process.

Hayes watched her with detached amusement, his expression a mask of clinical observation. "Such… interesting… physiology," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the din of the electricity. "The human body, pushed to its limits. It’s quite… fascinating, don't you think?"

Ava’s world dissolved into a kaleidoscope of pain and distorted images. The faces of her parents flashed before her eyes, their smiles fading into screams of terror. The warmth of her childhood home gave way to the icy chill of the S.H.I.E.L.D. base.

She was drowning in the memories of a life lost, a life stolen. And through it all, she felt the cold, calculating gaze of Doctor Hayes, dissecting her suffering, cataloging her pain.

The electricity finally subsided, leaving her gasping, trembling, and drenched in sweat. Her body ached, every nerve ending screaming in protest. She slumped against the wall, her limbs heavy, unresponsive.

Hayes approached her, his eyes gleaming with a perverse satisfaction. "Now, Ava," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "Do you understand the importance of adhering to the schedule?"

She looked up at him, her green eyes burning with a hatred that threatened to consume her. But she said nothing. She couldn't afford to. Not yet. She needed to conserve her strength, to bide her time.

He leaned closer, his breath ghosting across her face. "Good girl," he whispered. "Now, clean yourself up. You have another mission tomorrow. And this time, Ava, try to be… punctual."

He turned and walked away, leaving her alone in the sterile, unforgiving light. Ava pushed herself to her feet, her body protesting with every movement. She stumbled toward the communal showers, her mind racing.

She would endure. She would not let him break her. She needed this ‘cure’

Ava woke with a gasp, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. It always happened like this. A wall slammed down in her mind, blocking out the full horror, the raw violation of the dream. It was always the same dream, the same fragmented memories dredged up from the deepest, darkest corners of her psyche. She knew, of course, what lurked within those shattered images. Knew the feeling of helplessness, the chilling fear that had taken root when she was just a girl, barely fourteen. All because she was five minutes late.

She pushed the memory back down, shoved it into the box she kept locked tight. No good dwelling on it. It wouldn't change anything. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she planted her bare feet on the cool floor. The Avengers Watchtower, a stark contrast to the sterile labs and cold holding cells she’d known for so long, still felt foreign.

She rose and walked slowly from her room, dressed in simple sweats and a tank top. The scars crisscrossing her skin, a roadmap of pain and experimentation, were on full display. She felt a deep, gnawing shame regarding them. Each mark was a testament to her past, a past inextricably linked to a Nazi company. Scott, bless his clueless heart, had tried to explain it all, the Hydra infiltration of S.H.I.E.L.D, the twisted experiments… but the truth was, she still didn't know what to think. She knew S.H.I.E.L.D agents had continued to experiment on her even before the fall of Hydra, but she didn't dwell on it - after all she deserved it.

She deserved the pain. Maybe she still did. There was no cure for molecular disequilibrium, not really. Janet, eternally kind Janet, sent her vials of some sort of Pym Particle concoction that helped, a little. It dampened the pain, gave her a modicum of control over the phasing. She was eternally grateful, even if she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud.

Lost in thought, she hadn't even noticed herself entering the elevator. The doors slid open with a soft whoosh, and her bare feet padded against the hardwood floor of the common area. The Watchtower was a huge, open space filled with all sorts of technology and training equipment. It was supposed to be a place where the team could relax and strengthen their bond. She walked toward the kitchen. She grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and slumped onto one of the plush couches.

The team. They’d only been together for a week, thrown together by Valentina after the most recent threat to the world. They were starting to form bonds, tentative connections built on shared experiences and mutual respect. But Ava remained withdrawn, shielded by her past, haunted by her present. She was still reeling from the fact that she’d seen James. Bucky, as he was called now. The Winter Soldier. He had no idea who she was.

The realization was a punch to the gut, a searing wave of loss that threatened to drown her. She wasn’t ready to face that reality, the reality that the man she loved, the only person who had ever truly understood her, had no recollection of her existence. Even if he did, would he still love her? Would he be disgusted by her past, by the monster she had been forced to become?

She didn’t know. And she was terrified to find out. For now, she would keep her distance. She wouldn't let herself get too close, not just to lose him all over again.

The common area was empty save for her. The others were likely training, or debriefing, or doing whatever it was that superheroes did on their down time. She stared at the bottle of water, the plastic cold against her palm, and wished she could just disappear, phase through the floor and vanish from the world. But she couldn’t. Not anymore. She had a responsibility now. A team.

A sigh escaped her lips, the sound barely audible in the vast space. She didn’t like working with others but these people keep trying to get to know her but she was still gonna keep them at arms length after all everyone she loves either dies or has their memory erased.

Unknown to her Bucky had similar thoughts. He was thinking of there first encounters why she seemed so familiar yet he had no recollection of her.

The flashbulbs had finally died down, the incessant questions silenced, and the throng of reporters, hungry for a story, dispersed into the New York evening. The newly christened "New Avengers," a motley crew of anti-heroes cobbled together by the enigmatic Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, were finally alone.

Yelena Belova, as always, was the first to break the silence. "Alright, comrades, enough with the posing. We have earned sustenance! My stomach thinks it is being punished."

Alexei Shostakov, the Red Guardian, boomed in agreement. "Da! We deserve a feast! Like heroes!"

Soon, Yelena, Alexei, and John Walker, the U.S. Agent, were locked in a boisterous argument about the optimal post-press-conference meal. Was it pizza? Burgers? Perhaps something…Russian? Bob, the gentle giant with the perpetual sad eyes, just watched, looking as if he'd be happy with a discarded napkin.

Bucky Barnes, however, tuned out the cacophony. His enhanced hearing picked up on something else, a subtle, almost imperceptible distress signal. He scanned the makeshift team, his gaze finally landing on Ava Starr, Ghost.

She stood slightly apart, a lone figure shrouded in the twilight. Her mask was down, revealing her tanned skin and the striking green eyes Bucky had noticed immediately back in the desert. Now, those eyes were fixed on her own hand, a hand that was phasing in and out of visibility, a terrifying dance of molecular instability. Her breathing was ragged, shallow pants that spoke of pain barely contained.

Valentina hadn't divulged much about Ava's past, just that she was a former S.H.I.E.L.D. operative – likely Hydra, given the timeline – suffering from "molecular disequilibrium," a condition Bucky had never encountered before. The file Valentina had provided was clinical, devoid of the human cost of such a terrifying affliction.

But Bucky had seen the human cost in her eyes. He remembered the moment he first saw her back in the desert, when he'd technically "kidnapped" them all. Something had shifted within him, a primal urge to protect her. Even with the power-dampening cuffs on her wrists, he'd felt a fierce resistance to restraining her, a deep-seated awareness of the suffering she endured.

And then there were those eyes. A perfect swirl of emerald, captivatingly vibrant, yet dulled by years of pain, of trauma, of being used as a weapon. He didn't understand it, this sudden, overwhelming need to soothe the pain etched onto her face, the pain he could now hear in her labored breaths.

"WILL YOU THREE SHUT UP?!" Bucky roared, his voice cutting through the argument like a knife. The bickering abruptly ceased, all eyes turning to him.

"There's a place not far from here," he said, striving for a calmer tone. "They sell Russian delicacies, but they also have, you know, normal food. Something for everyone."

Yelena, Alexei, and even John seemed agreeable, their hunger apparently transcending their culinary preferences. Bob nodded eagerly, his sad eyes suddenly hopeful. Ava, however, remained silent, her gaze still fixed on her phasing hand. But she did start to follow as the others began to move, her hand flickering in and out of existence.

Bucky felt a pang of guilt, a familiar ache of empathy. He knew what it was like to be a weapon, to be broken and rebuilt into something monstrous. He still felt the phantom pain of the chair, the electric shocks searing through his mind, the relentless programming twisting his thoughts. If Ava had endured similar horrors at the hands of Hydra, coupled with the constant agony of her condition, the phantom sensations, the chronic pain… it was a nightmare he couldn't fully comprehend.

As they walked, Bucky found himself gravitating towards Ava. He kept a respectful distance, not wanting to intrude, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to be close, to be ready to offer help if she needed it.

The restaurant was unassuming, a small, brightly lit place tucked away on a side street. The air was thick with the aroma of spices and simmering broth. They took a large table in the back, the boisterous energy of the others filling the space.

Ava sat down quietly, choosing a seat at the edge of the table, furthest from the others. She had her mask still down, her eyes wary and alert.

Bucky watched her carefully. He could see the strain in her posture, the tightness around her mouth. He knew she was fighting it, fighting the phasing, fighting the pain.

The waiter arrived, and the others eagerly ordered their food. Yelena opted for pelmeni, Alexei requested a massive plate of borscht, and John, surprisingly, went for pierogies. Bob, with a shy smile, asked for a simple sandwich.

When the waiter turned to Ava, she hesitated. "Just…coffee," she mumbled, her voice barely audible.

Bucky frowned. "You need to eat something," he said gently, his voice low so only she could hear. "You need the energy." For a second Bucky thought he saw a flash of recognition in her eyes but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

She looked at him, her green eyes piercing through the gloom. "Eating doesn't stop this," she said, gesturing to her phasing hand. "Nothing does."

"Maybe not," Bucky conceded. "But it helps. Trust me, I know."

He didn't elaborate on what he knew, the horrors he had endured. He didn't need to. She seemed to understand.

After a moment of hesitation, she sighed. "Fine. Soup. Something light." Ava wasn’t quite sure why she agreed, it wasn’t like Bucky cared about her he didn’t know there past, their love, Ava needed to remember that. Her James is gone, and Ava is left feeling complete unlovable.

Bucky smiled, a small, reassuring smile. "Good."

The food arrived, and the others dug in with gusto. Ava picked at her soup, her movements slow and deliberate. Bucky noticed she was careful not to spill anything, as if even the smallest movement could exacerbate her condition.

As they ate, Bucky kept a close eye on her. He saw her hand phase more frequently, the flickering growing more pronounced. He saw the beads of sweat forming on her forehead, the way her jaw clenched in silent agony.

Ava slowly stood up from the table, "I’m going to step outside for some air for a second."

"You’re not going too leave are you." Yelena asked, seeing right through her.

"No, I’m not, I just… need a minute." Ava said and slowly walked out the door.

"That seemed strange, right?" Yelena asked.

"Yeah." Bob said quietly.

"Don’t worry, I’ll handle it." He said as he followed her outside, the restaurant's neon sign buzzing behind him. "I thought you weren't leaving?"

Ava hesitated, she turned, finally meeting his gaze. "There's not much point in me staying, is there? I should be part of a team like this. I’m unstable, Barnes. I can't be trusted."

The night air was cool against her skin, but a hot wave of anxiety washed over her. She could feel the familiar pull, the phasing threatening to overwhelm her. Being around people, trusting them, it amplified the instability within her.

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his shoulder-length brown hair. He looked tired, older than he probably was. "No one's forcing you, Ava. Except maybe Valentina. And if you want to leave, you can. Or you can stay. You can help people, maybe even be an inspiration. But you can also do it for yourself. To be better than whatever Hydra or S.H.I.E.L.D. made you be."

His words were simple, direct, but they resonated with a brutal honesty she hadn't expected. He wasn't offering platitudes, he wasn't trying to paint a rosy picture. He was acknowledging the mess they both were, and suggesting maybe, just maybe, they could clean it up.

"No one on this team is a choir boy, Ava," Bucky continued, his voice softening slightly. "But we can all try to be. Just because you think you're unstable doesn't mean you are. There has to be some way to manage the... the pain.”

He watched her closely, and Ava saw something flicker in his eyes – a shared understanding of pain, of the constant struggle to keep the darkness at bay. At his last sentence her eyes widened in recognition again as though she knew some version of him, like last time it disappeared as quickly as it came.

Ava looked down for a moment before looking back up at Bucky. "The pain management works… just not when I’m exhausted. Sometimes I feel like giving up, I don’t know what to do."

Bucky nodded. "It's your choice, Ava. What you do next. No one else's." He turned and walked back into the restaurant, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

The decision weighed on her, heavy and suffocating. Valentina's veiled threats were a constant presence, a dark cloud hanging over her head. It would be easy to give in, to let herself be used as a weapon. But Bucky's words had planted a seed of hope, a fragile whisper that maybe, just maybe, there was another way.

She could willingly be a part of this team, to be good. Or she could have Valentina threaten her into joining, where her hands are tied. The thought of willingly joining this team allowed her to take control of her own life, a life she hasn’t had in years.

Taking a deep breath, Ava made her decision. It was a gamble, a leap of faith into the unknown. Slowly, trying not to phase as she was utterly exhausted and couldn’t control it, she walked through the door of the restaurant.

Chapter Text

The flickering images on the screen cast an eerie glow across the New Avengers common room. Bob, a bundle of nerves and oversized puppy-dog eyes, was practically glued to Yelena, burying his face in her shoulder with every jump scare. Yelena, for all her exasperated sighs and eye rolls, held him close, a fondness softening her usually sharp features. Alexei sprawled across the couch, limbs akimbo, while John sat stiffly in the armchair beside him, his expression a carefully constructed mask of indifference to the cinematic terror unfolding.

Bucky and Valentina strode into the room, shattering the illusion of cozy horror.

Bucky, without a word, snatched the remote and killed the television. A chorus of groans and protests erupted from the assembled team.

“Shush!” Bucky commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Valentina, ever the pragmatist, stepped forward. “You all have a mission.”

Bucky cut her off before she could elaborate. “Where’s Ava?”

The team exchanged shrugs and blank stares. Nobody had seen her. A knot of worry tightened in Bucky’s gut.

“Alright, listen up,” Bucky continued, his focus laser sharp. “Suit up. Meet me in the hangar in ten minutes. Bob, you’re on comms. I’ll brief everyone on the way.” He turned and headed towards the door, Valentina following close behind. He paused, looking back at Bob. "Stick to the comms, understand?"

The team, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, started to disperse. Valentina opened her mouth, presumably to reiterate mission details, but Bucky waved her off, his mind already elsewhere. He needed to find Ava. He needed to make sure she was okay.

He moved with a sense of urgency towards Ava’s room, his boots echoing softly on the polished floor. He knocked, a sharp, insistent rap.

The door practically flew open, revealing Ava standing framed in the doorway. She was already suited up, the sleek black fabric clinging to her form. But something was off. She was phasing, just barely, a shimmering distortion around her edges like heat rising from asphalt. Her face was pale, etched with a faint grimace, and she held a glass in her hand, the liquid within a cloudy, unsettling green. He didn't recognise it, which worried him even more.

"We have a mission," Bucky said, trying to keep his voice even, to mask the growing alarm. "Hangar, ten minutes."

Ava simply nodded, her eyes unfocused for a moment. She threw back the contents of the glass, the unsettling green liquid disappearing down her throat in a single gulp. Then, with a practiced movement, she deposited the glass on her nightstand, a few steps away, and turned to leave, closing the door behind her.

Bucky stood there, alone in the hallway, the scent of something metallic and faintly medicinal lingering in the air. The worry that had been a knot in his stomach now felt like a lead weight. What was going on with Ava? And what the hell had she just drunk? He knew instinctually that this mission was now secondary.

…

The roar of the jet engines vibrated through Ava’s bones, a constant, thrumming reminder of the perilous mission ahead. She stared blankly at the metallic wall, her brown hair clinging to the sides of her helmet, the visor obscuring her striking green eyes. Tiny, almost imperceptible shimmers ran across her skin, a telltale sign of the chaotic quantum energy that threatened to tear her apart at any moment.

Ten minutes ago, Bucky had approached the jet, finding the makeshift team already assembling. Bob sat hunched over his equipment. John, peppered Bucky with questions about the operation as they loaded weapons.

"Some Hydra wannabe," Bucky had explained, his voice tight with contained anger, "holding hostages. We gotta get them out." Then he and Yelena took the controls.

As the jet sliced through the night sky, Bucky laid out the plan. Security patrols followed predictable routes around the perimeter. The team was to infiltrate, extract the hostages, and disappear. Valentina, their shadowy handler, believed the compound held two twin boys, barely two and a half years old, subjected to horrifying experiments.

Alexei, the excitable one, filled the confined space with his nervous chatter, proclaiming this their "first real mission" with a naive enthusiasm that grated on Ava's nerves. Yelena, ever the sardonic counterpoint, volleyed back and forth with him, her words laced with dry wit. Bucky, thankfully, seemed to tune them out, his focus laser-sharp on the task at hand.

But Ava felt his gaze, a subtle pressure on the periphery of her awareness. She knew he was watching her, trying to gauge her stability. It was a look she'd become accustomed to, a mixture of concern and apprehension. She didn't blame him. She was a walking, talking paradox, a danger to herself and everyone around her.

The mixture Janet sends her was helping the phasing, she was still recovering from the week prior with the whole void situation. The violent phasing had subsided, replaced by these less dramatic, almost internal tremors. But the effect was fleeting. She could feel the quantum instability clawing at her edges, threatening to unravel her, though it wouldn’t ever happen according to Janet.

Ava focused on the wall in front of her, concentrating on every minute detail. The texture of the metal, the faint scratches marring its surface, the rivets holding it together. Anything to anchor herself in reality, to prevent the inevitable slide into the quantum realm.

She didn't want their attention. She didn't deserve their concern. She was a weapon, forged in the fires of Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D. She was a mistake, a liability.

Hydra had drilled that into her, burned it into her very being. And S.H.I.E.L.D., with their attempts at control and containment, had only reinforced it. She was a project, an asset, a problem to be solved. Never a person.

Bucky’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Fifteen minutes out. Everyone ready yourselves, and Ava, are you alright?”

He says it quieter than the instructions he gave to the rest of the team.

She tensed, the question sending a fresh wave of anxiety through her. "I'm fine," she managed to murmur, her voice muffled by the helmet. A lie, plain and simple.

She could sense his disbelief, a silent acknowledgment of the fragility of her control. She forced herself to maintain the facade, shutting him out, retreating further into the isolation she knew so well.

The hum of the repurposed jet was a low growl beneath their feet, a stark contrast to the silence that had fallen over the team. Outside, the digital display painted a grim picture – the sprawling, fortified enemy base, a grey scar on the darkened landscape. Inside, the air crackled with focused tension.

Bucky, his metal arm gleaming faintly in the cabin's dim light, pointed at a holographic projection of the base layout. "Alright. We're directly overhead now. Bob confirms thermal and energy signatures match the intel. This is it." His voice was level, calm authority masking the inherent danger of dropping into a viper's nest. "We'll propel down to the roof access points, turn the jet invisible once we're clear. No conventional entry."

Yelena, ever practical, was already distributing equipment. "Belt clips. Standard magnetic grapple lines. Check your seals. The air might be... unpleasant." She moved with efficient grace, dark braid swinging as she handed each person their gear: Ava, the enigma with the ability to phase through solid matter; John and Alexei, the muscle and demolition duo; and finally, Bucky himself.

The rear ramp hissed open, revealing a dizzying drop into the night. A chilling wind rushed in, carrying the faint, metallic scent of the enemy compound. One by one, they clipped their lines, checked their harnesses, and stepped to the edge. Bucky went first, a practiced move, followed swiftly by Yelena. John and Alexei shared a brief, grim nod before launching themselves into the void.

Ava took a deep breath. Phasing was second nature, but the physical act of rappelling still felt... solid. She knew however she had the best chance at getting to the hostages, so she grabbed the line and descended, the base expanding beneath her like a monstrous, geometric beast.

Minutes later, feet touched concrete. They were on a wide, featureless section of the roof, close to a high-security perimeter wall. The jet, a silent sentinel overhead, shimmered and vanished from sight, leaving only the night sky.

"All feet on the ground," Bucky confirmed over the encrypted comms. "Bob, we're in position at the edge. Guidance?"

Bob's voice, calm and steady from the distant command center, filled their ears. "Copy, Bucky. Blueprints indicate the primary holding cells are in the basement level. Southwest sector of the main research block. Heavy guard detail reported around that section. Thermal imaging shows multiple life forms matching the target profile within."

A collective tension tightened. Hostages in the basement. Heavily guarded.

Ava spoke up, her voice quiet but firm. "I can phase through the structure. Get to them directly. But I can't phase with human passengers, especially not..." she trailed off, thinking of the toddlers. "Someone needs to cause a significant distraction to draw the guards away from the cell block itself."

Bucky nodded, though she couldn't see him. "Got it, Ava. That's the plan. John, Alexei. You'll head west. Plant charges on the primary power conduits feeding the barracks and workshop sectors. Set a ten-minute fuse. Once they blow, security response will flood that area. Be ready to fight your way out and regroup here. That's your distraction."

"Ten minutes," John confirmed, already moving towards the west edge of the roof. Alexei was right behind him, hefting a heavy-looking pack. "Loud and clear."

"Yelena and I," Bucky continued, "will head East. We'll target the command and control annex on the third floor. Set a simultaneous charge for when the west side goes. That'll cause chaos reaction across multiple levels. We'll create an exit path through the east wing and circle back here as soon as Ava confirms the kids are safe."

"East side. Got it," Yelena said, her voice crisp.

"Ava," Bucky's voice softened slightly, just enough to convey the weight of her task. "You have the most critical part. Get to the basement, get those kids out, get back here safely. Once the charges go, all hell breaks loose. Move fast. Bob will feed you the direct route through the structure via comms."

"On it," Ava replied, her focus narrowing. Phasing directly through concrete, steel, and wiring required intense concentration. Doing it quickly and precisely under pressure was another thing entirely.

"Alright," Bucky's voice hardened again. "Everyone go. Meet back here. Time starts now."

They split up, shadows moving across the roof. John and Alexei bulky figures hurrying west. Bucky and Yelena, lean and swift, disappearing over the edge towards the east.

Ava found a clear section of the roof near where she'd landed. She closed her eyes for a brief second, centering herself. She needed Bob for specifics.

"Bob," she whispered into the comms, "I'm at the edge. Confirm cell location and the most direct path through the floors."

Bob's voice was instantly back. "Copy, Ava. Pulling up base schematics overlay. The cells are in the basement, yes. They span across the front wall of that sector, roughly east to west. To reach that section from your probable entry point, you'll need to descend precisely two levels. Your best line is approximately twenty feet in from the western edge of this roof section. There's a reinforced shaft there that goes straight down."

Twenty feet in. Okay. Ava opened her eyes. She moved silently across the roof, locating the approximate point Bob indicated. She could feel the structure beneath her feet, the solid, unforgiving nature of the enemy base.

Taking another deep breath, she focused her will. The world around her began to ripple, colors bleeding, shapes blurring. She felt a familiar, strange separation – not invisible exactly, but intangible, able to pass through solid objects. She stepped forward, and the roof simply... faded through her feet.

It was like falling through thick, cold water. The sensation of phasing wasn't visual like a cloak, but a physical one – the 'nothingness' of passing through matter, the subtle pressure and then release. She descended rapidly, guided by Bob's voice giving her depth cues.

"...approaching first floor... passing first floor... thirty feet... fifty feet... seventy feet... entering basement level now, Ava. You should be in a utility corridor adjacent to the main power conduits for this sector. The cells are through the eastern wall of this corridor, to your left."

Ava solidified, her feet finding the cold, hard floor of the basement. The familiar weight returned, the air suddenly thick with the smell of stale concrete and machine oil. She took a quick, silent assessment of her surroundings. Bob was right. A narrow utility corridor, dimly lit by emergency lights. Pipes snaked along the ceiling. To her left, a solid wall – behind it lay the target. To her right, further down the corridor, she could see the start of... yes, a stairwell. Good. A physical escape route. She couldn't carry the kids through walls. That stairwell was crucial.

Knowing she couldn't linger, and certainly couldn't move the children through this wall, she needed to get to them on the other side. Sneaking around was the only option once she was solid.

She moved silently down the utility corridor to her right, towards the stairwell. She needed to find an access point into the cell block area. Rounding a corner, she saw it: a heavy, reinforced door leading into a wider hallway. And stationed outside it, clearly visible down the hall, were three guards, armed and alert, positioned near another door further along – likely the entrance to the cell block. Heavy guard detail, indeed.

The ticking clock on the explosions felt deafening in the sudden quiet of the basement. She had to act now.

She raised her hand to her comm, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Bob, I'm in the basement corridor. I see the guards. They're outside an access door leading into the cell block hallway. I need that distraction now." She paused. "Tell Bucky and Yelena to set off the east wing charge. Immediately."

"Copy, Ava. Relay sent. Standby." Bob's voice was calm, but she could hear the underlying urgency.

A few seconds later, a dull thump resonated through the concrete, followed by a deeper, more resonant CRUMP that shook the very foundations of the base. The east wing charge. It felt incredibly close, directly behind her, a few levels up.

Instantly, the guards down the hall reacted. Shouts echoed. "Bomb! East wing! Go, go!" Two guards immediately scrambled towards the source of the sound, disappearing around the corner towards the stairwell she had marked as her escape route. One guard remained, hesitant for a moment, then seemed to get a direct order through his comms. He turned and ran after the others.

The hallway was clear.

This was her window.

Ava didn't hesitate. As the last guard's footsteps faded, she pressed herself against the wall near the access door, focusing her ability. The solid steel rippled and became permeable beneath her touch. She stepped through. She was now in a wider, administrative-looking hallway, just inside the access door. The layout matched the blueprints Bob had described. To her left ran the length of the hallway, and down that hall she could see the entrance to the cell block proper. No guards were immediately visible in this specific hallway, having been pulled towards the east wing chaos.

Silence had fallen again, a tense, temporary quiet after the explosion. Alarms hadn't gone off yet, meaning the charges had taken out critical systems, not just created noise. It bought them precious time, but it wouldn't last. Security would reroute, backup would arrive.

Moving swiftly and silently, staying low, Ava crept down the hallway towards the cell block entrance. The door was solid, reinforced. She phased her hand through the lock panel, bypassing the security mechanism, and pushed it open just wide enough to slip through.

She was inside.

The air here was colder, stiller. A long corridor stretched before her, lined with heavy, opaque cell doors. Dim emergency lighting cast long, eerie shadows. And pacing back and forth in front of the cells, despite the explosion from moments ago, were new guards. Reinforcements, already moving into place, or perhaps a dedicated cell block patrol who hadn't initially responded. At least four of them, blocking direct access to the cells.

Damn it. The distraction hadn't pulled everyone. The primary target was still heavily guarded.

Ava's heart hammered against her ribs. She couldn't charge them. She wasn't a direct combatant like John or Alexei, or even Yelena or Bucky. While she could pull it off her strength was stealth and infiltration. Fighting four armed guards in a narrow corridor while trying to rescue two children was impossible.

She needed another opening.

Staying phased, utterly invisible and intangible, she moved past the new guards, slipping through the air beside them like a ghost. They couldn't see her, couldn't touch her. The tension was immense, the need to hold her concentration absolute. What if she flickered, even for a second?

She reached the far end of the cell corridor, where Bob's intel had said the cells containing the hostages were located. Solidifying carefully, she pressed herself against the cold wall, listening, observing. The guards were still focused towards the entrance of the corridor, anticipating threats from that direction.

Peeking around the corner of the last cell block wall, her breath hitched.

There they were.

Behind the reinforced transparisteel of a cell door, clear as day, were two tiny forms. Sleeping. Curled around one another for warmth and comfort in the sterile, unforgiving environment. Two sleeping toddlers. The twin boys. Her mission.

A wave of fierce protectiveness washed over her. She hadn't come this far, the team hadn't risked everything, for anything less than getting these children out safely.

But how? The guards were right there. She could phase in to the cell, but she still couldn't phase out with them. She had to get them past the guards in the corridor and back to the staircase.

The minutes were ticking by. The west side charge would be blowing soon, creating another wave of chaos. Bucky and Yelena would be fighting their way back. John and Alexei likely doing the same. She was isolated, deep in enemy territory, with the hostages found but the path blocked.

Her mind raced. She could try to lure the guards away, maybe trigger a minor system alert elsewhere in the block using her phasing to tamper with wiring? Too risky, might draw more attention or lock down the cells. Maybe she could cause a physical distraction inside the cell block? A pipe bursting near the guards?

No. Too unpredictable. She needed something more direct, more controlled.

Wait. The stairwell. The guards had run towards the east wing explosion via the stairwell. If she could get the kids to the stairwell, they had a physical route upwards. The main issue was getting them out of the cell and past the guards in the hallway.

She had to make a move. Phasing through the cell door, Ava solidified inside the small, bleak room. They couldn't have been more than three or four years old. Wide, terrified eyes stared up at her from behind tangled, dusty hair. Their small bodies were pressed together, trembling. They were wearing simple, mismatched clothes, stained and worn. The air in the room felt heavy with fear, a stark contrast to the clinical dread of the rest of the base.

Ava froze at the sight of their faces, the raw, unadulterated terror aimed at her, at the imposing, dark figure she represented, jammed her circuits. Her helmet, designed to be intimidating, to project authority and anonymity, was making it worse. They weren't seeing a rescuer or even an intruder. They were seeing a monster.

They must be scared of the helmet.

It was a simple, obvious realization. Crouched low, trying to make herself smaller, less threatening, Ava reached up with a gloved hand. The magnetic seal hissed softly as she retracted her helmet, pulling it back until her face was revealed. The cool, stale air hit her skin, a deliberate act of disarming.

Now, her face—ordinary, perhaps a little smudged with grime, framed by sweat-dampened hair—was visible. Her eyes, scanning their small forms, trying to convey something other than threat.

She extended a hand slowly, palm up, an invitation, not a grab. Her voice, usually crisp and efficient on comms, was softened, lowered to a gentle murmur that felt alien in this environment. "Hey. It's okay. It's okay now. Hi, I’m Ava."

The twins flinched at the sound, still wary, but their wide eyes seemed to fix on her face, on the unexpected softness in her tone. The trembling lessened fractionally.

"You're safe," she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're safe now."

The words hung in the stale air, simple and profound. You're safe now.Reassurances Ava wished she could have heard a lifetime ago, when she was small and afraid and utterly alone. The memory, sharp and sudden, twisted something in her gut. This wasn't just a mission anymore.

Slowly, tentatively, the twin on the left, the slightly larger one, shifted. He watched her face, then her outstretched hand. His brother, equally cautious, mirrored his movement. They crawled forward, inches at a time, hesitant, ready to bolt.

Ava kept her hand steady, her voice soft. "That's right. Come here. I've got you."

The first twin reached her hand, a tiny, dirty set of fingers brushing against her tough glove. He didn't pull back. Emboldened, the second twin crawled closer, reaching her other hand. Their small bodies, warm and fragile, pressed against her shins. Without conscious thought, Ava opened her arms wider.

They hesitated for only a moment longer, then spilled into her embrace. They didn't cling desperately, but huddled against her chest, warm weight settling against her armour. Ava wrapped her arms around them, bundling them gently, one arm supporting their small backs, the other cradling their heads close to her body. She adjusted their position, making sure their ears were covered by her shoulder and arm, a sudden, instinctive need to shield them filling her.

"It's okay," she murmured into their hair, the scent of dust and something faintly sweet, like old biscuits. "Almost there. I've got you." She rocked them slightly, whispering soft reassurances that were as much for herself as for them. You're okay. You're safe. This will be over soon. Reassurances she wished to hear so long ago, huddled away from sounds she didn't understand, in a place she didn't belong.

This was it. She had secured the hostages. Now, the impossible part: getting them out. She took a deep breath, listening. The guards in the corridor were still there, their low voices just audible. The tension was a living thing in the air.

She took a step towards the cell door – the solid, impassable door she had just phased through, but couldn't take them through. Her escape was through that heavily guarded corridor, to the stairwell, and then up.

"Here we go," she murmured, more to herself than the children. Their small bodies pressed against her, a weight both physical and emotional. The clock was ticking down to the west side explosion. She had to move now. The immediate aftermath of that blast might be her only chance to slip past the guards.

Just as she reached the cell door, poised to open it and face the gauntlet, the base roared. A second, even more violent explosion rocked the structure. The west wing. The floor beneath her feet vibrated. Dust rained from the ceiling.

And the guards in the corridor, startled and momentarily disoriented by the sheer force of the blast, reacted. Shouts erupted again. "West side! Main power conduit!"

This was it. This was her chance.

"Hold on!" Ava said a little louder, bracing the boys in her arms. She shoved the cell door open, peering into the corridor. Two of the guards had turned, hesitant, looking down the hall towards the stairwell where the sound seemed to be echoing upward. The other two were looking towards the far end of the cell block corridor, where some emergency lights were flickering.

None of them were looking directly at the cell she had just exited.

Now or never.

Pulling the cell door shut behind her to buy a second or two, Ava emerged into the corridor, keeping the boys in her arms tight. She stayed low, using the shadows near the cells as cover. Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

She moved with desperate speed, a silent prayer on her lips that the guards wouldn't turn, wouldn't look her way. The sound of their own comms chatter about the explosions, their brief confusion, was her shield.

She was directly behind the two guards who had turned towards the stairwell now, agonizingly close. She held her breath, urging the children to be silent with a gentle squeeze of their hips. They seemed to understand, their small faces pressed into her. Ava slowly climbed the stairs and the second the guards were out of sights she ran.

Two flights, three, four. Her legs burned, the added weight significant, but the protective instinct overriding the physical strain. She focused hard on not phasing and potentially injuring these two precious souls she had been trusted with.

As she ran, she spoke into the comms again, her voice regaining its edge, but still lower than usual. "Bob, I'm on Stairwell Four, heading up. Need an extraction point fast. West side's hot, likely converging on that area."

"Copy, Ava," Bob replied instantly, the calm control in his voice a welcome anchor. "Running thermal and structural scans now... Okay, Stairwell Four, you should be nearing Level Five… Yeah, Level Five. To your right, there's a

maintenance access hatch. Leads out onto a service gantry near the old HVAC units. Should give you line of sight to the secondary extraction zone. It's risky, exposed, but patrols are focused lower down. Only other option is the roof, but Syndicate air patrol is tight tonight."

"Maintenance hatch on Five, got it," Ava confirmed, reaching the landing for the fifth floor. Distant shouts, closer now, echoed from below. Time was running out. She turned right, scanning the wall.

And sure enough, set into the reinforced concrete, was a metallic hatch, marked with a faded access code and a maintenance tag. It looked heavy, secured from the inside.

She needed both hands free for a moment. Carefully, she lowered the twins, setting their small feet on the cold concrete floor beside the hatch. Their eyes were wide, taking in the new, scary environment, the sounds of the alarm.

"Stay right here," she instructed softly, holding them steady for a brief second. "Just for one second. I'll open the door."

Using her wrist tool again, she bypassed the internal locking mechanism on the hatch. It clicked open. She grabbed the sturdy handle and pulled. The heavy metal groaned outwards, revealing a darker opening beyond.

She turned back to the twins. They hadn't moved, rooted to the spot, watching her with unwavering trust. The sight humbled her, stole her breath for a second. These terrified children, in the heart of an enemy base, were putting their absolute faith in the heavily armed stranger who had shown them kindness.

"Okay," she said, holding out her free arm. "Come on."

They shuffled forward immediately, wrapping their small arms around her legs. She carefully bent down, scooping them up again, bundling them even tighter this time. Holding them with one secure arm, she reached for the edge of the hatch opening. The climb would be awkward.

She slowly climbed through the hatch, supporting the twins with one strong arm pressed against her side, using her free hand and feet to find purchase. The metal edge of the hatch dug into her ribs, the weight distribution all wrong. The twins were silent, sensing her focus, tiny bodies passive but trusting against hers.

Pulling herself and her precious cargo through the opening, she emerged onto a narrow, cold metal gantry suspended high above a concrete service yard. The night air, frigid and sharp, hit her face. Below, searchlights began to sweep the base perimeter. Distant sirens wailed.

The gantry ran along the side of the building, leading towards a wider platform where obsolete air conditioning units sat like dormant beasts. That must be the spot Bob meant. The secondary extraction zone.

She made her way carefully along the gantry, boots echoing softly, keeping low, using the HVAC units as potential cover if needed. The twins remained quiet in her arms, their small faces pressed into her shoulder, sheltered from the wind and the sight below.

Reaching the wider platform felt like a victory. It overlooked a smaller, less secured section of the perimeter fence line, and beyond that, scrubland. And in the distance, a low, dark shape appeared and began descending from the dark murky clouds that now pored rain– the jet.

"Okay, Bob," she whispered into comms. "On the gantry platform, near the old units. I see the bird."

"Copy that, Ava," Bob's voice was laced with relief. "Good. Team's converging on your position. Beacon's active. Get ready for pickup."

She spotted the small, flashing infrared beacon Bob mentioned, pulsing on the edge of the platform. This was the drop-off point. She carefully balanced the twins against one hip, freeing her hand.

Reaching to her belt, she unclipped her rappelling ascension cable. It was lightweight, designed for quick extraction. She clipped the end securely onto a reinforced loop on her tactical belt. Now, she was tethered. She scanned the platform, looking for the secondary cable, the one that would actually lift her. Ah, there. A drone, small and silent, hovered above the platform, its winch lowering a thicker, stronger cable ending in a magnetic grapple and a harness loop.

She snagged the loop with her free hand, pulling it towards her. Clipping it onto another reinforced point on her harness, she made sure the connection was secure.

"Ghost to team," she spoke into her comms, louder now, the wind whipping around her. "I have the package. Twins are secured. Initiating extraction."

Silence for a beat, then a chorus of responses came through the comms, voices layered with relief and confirmation.

"Copy, Ava. Welcome back," from Bob.

She tightened her hold on the twins, bracing herself. The hum of the drone above intensified slightly.

And then, she felt the familiar, sudden tension on the cable. It pulled taut, lifting her weight, lifting their weight. The platform dropped away beneath her feet. She held the twins tightly against her chest, her arm a steel band of protection around their small forms. The wind whipped past her head, carrying the distant sounds of the base, the alarms, the shouts. But up here, suspended between the hostile base and the approaching jet, there was only the hum of the drone, the tension of the cable, and the quiet, trusting breaths of the two small lives she held cocooned against her. The rain hammered against her and Ava desperately wanted to get the twins inside before they got sick.

The metallic cable strained, a steady hum against the roar of the wind outside. Ava felt the familiar pull, the ascent from the controlled chaos of the enemy base below towards the relative safety of the waiting aircraft. The twins were pressed tightly against her chest, thin limbs wrapped around her neck like tiny anchors. Their soft, dusty hair tickled her chin, smelling faintly of stale air and the grit of the compound.

"You're safe now," she whispered, the words catching slightly in her throat. It wasn’t just a promise to them, but a balm to a wound she carried within herself. The long-ago echo of her own fear, the stark, cold terror of a childhood stolen, finally found a measure of peace in the warmth of their small, fragile bodies. This was different. This time, she was on the other side. The rescuer, not the one waiting for one.

She was pulled softly through the open hatch, the transition from the howling wind to the vibrating cabin feeling abrupt. Briefly, she glanced down through the open bay, a glimpse of the receding concrete structures, the flickering emergency lights of the base, and the figures of her teammates still below. Bucky, Yelena, John – securing the perimeter, preparing for their own extraction. The mission was a success. Both hostages acquired.

Turning, she walked towards the seating area of the transport jet. The twins stirred slightly, burying their faces deeper into her suit. She attempted to gently loosen their grip, to settle them into a seat, but their hold tightened, small hands clutching the rough fabric with surprising strength.

"Looks like they like you," John remarked, his voice a dry drawl as he wrestled with his own ascension cable, detaching it from his harness. He was the last one up, the rear guard.

Ava sent him a look over the twins' heads. It wasn't hostile, but it was firm, a silent command that translated easily as 'shut up and focus.' Now wasn't the time for his usual banter. Not with these two. John held up his hands in mock surrender, a slight smirk playing on his lips before he turned serious, securing the bay doors with the crew chief.

Ava sank into the seat, still clutching the twins. One was draped over her shoulder, the other cradled in her arms. Her heart clenched at how light they were, mere bundles of brittle bone and soft skin, a stark reminder of the conditions they'd been rescued from. They weren't much older than toddlers, maybe three or four, their faces smudged, their eyes finally closed in exhausted sleep.

A violent jolt rocked the jet, followed instantly by the blinding flash of lightning filling the windows. The thunderclap that followed was a physical punch, rattling the airframe. Ava's head snapped up, her gaze finding the cockpit. The storm outside had escalated rapidly, the wind now a furious shriek, the rain lashing against the reinforced windows with the force of small stones.

Bucky comes in Valentina. "We're encountering severe weather. Visibility is almost zero, heavy turbulence."

A moment of static, then the crisp, familiar voice of Valentina came through. "Analysis indicates you won't be able to punch through this storm cell safely on your current course. I have a designated safe house approximately twenty klicks northwest of your position. Coordinates inbound."

John, now seated across from Ava and securing his gear, leaned forward, his usual nonchalance replaced by a sharp, professional focus.

"Redirecting now" replied Yelena.

"Report on mission status," Valentina instructed.

Bucky answered, his voice gravelly but steady. "Targets acquired. Both twins are out." He paused, glancing towards Ava. "They're currently sleeping." His eyes lingered on Ava for a moment, watching as she gently rocked the children, humming a low, wordless tune. She was starting to seem... distant, almost translucent around the edges, but it was subtle, barely noticeable except to someone who knew her well. He could see her face now, illuminated by the cabin lights filtering dimly through the storm-lashed windows. While a profound peace seemed to settle on her features as she held the toddlers, shielding them from the world outside, her eyes held a deep, aching pain, a reflection of something buried long ago.

"Excellent," Valentina said, a note of genuine satisfaction in her voice. "Any injuries?"

"A few scratches, Bucky might have busted a couple of ribs," Yelena reported calmly, still focusing on the jet. "Nothing critical."

"Good. The safe house is stocked with medical supplies, food, and civilian clothing. Use the time to rest and recover. Command out."

Yelena then switched channels, her voice softening slightly. "Bob, it’s Yelena. We’re diverting due to weather. We're heading to the safe house at the coordinates Valentina sent you. ETA approximately fifteen minutes. We'll be laying low until the storm passes."

A warm, familiar voice responded. "Understood, Yelena. I’ll be tracking you. Don't worry about me, I’m fine here. Just make sure you all get some rest. It sounds like you've earned it. And tell Ava... tell her I’m glad she got them out."

"Will do, Bob. Keep in touch," Yelena replied, a small, rare smile touching her lips. She clicked off the comm.

The jet banked sharply, the turbulence increasing. Ava tightened her hold on the twins, murmuring reassurances she wasn't sure the children could hear. The hum in her ears, the vibration of the jet, the furious weather outside – it all faded into the background as she focused on the small, rhythmic breaths of the children in her arms, completely blocking out her own pain. In Their reliance on her was absolute, a weight she bore willingly, a burden that felt lighter than any she had ever carried alone.

The safe house landing was bumpy, the jet touching down on an improvised strip somewhere deep in the wilderness, far from prying eyes. The air was thick and humid, heavy with the scent of wet earth and pine. The storm was still raging, the rain a relentless torrent when the hatch finally opened.

Carrying the twins, who were still fast asleep, Ava was one of the first off. The safe house was an unassuming structure, built into the side of a hill and camouflaged expertly. It didn't look like much from the outside – just a reinforced door set flush with the earth. But as John keyed in the code and the heavy door swung open, revealing a surprisingly clean and functional interior, a collective sigh of relief seemed to pass through the team.

Inside, it was warm and dry, a stark contrast to the tempest outside. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and old paper. There were cots lining one wall, a collapsible table in the center, and shelves stocked with supplies. It was spartan, but it was sanctuary.

Ava made her way towards a corner, gently easing herself down onto a cot. She carefully shifted the twins, trying to lay them down, but they whimpered in protest, clinging to her suit with renewed vigor.

"Figured," Yelena said from nearby, already opening a medical kit. "They imprinted on you, Ava. Don't blame them."

Ava managed a weak smile. "Never thought I'd be a... walking security blanket." But her heart ached at the thought of letting them go, even for a moment. They were so vulnerable, so trusting.

Bucky watched her, his expression unreadable. He knew that look in her eyes. The peace she felt holding them was genuine, a fierce, protective love, but the pain beneath it was just as real. He'd seen that kind of pain before, the kind that carved itself into your soul.

"Alright," Yelena announced, her voice practical. "Let's patch ourselves up. Bucky, you first. Ribs look nasty."

"They’ll be healed in a few hours, work on John’s arm instead." He said as he waved his arms about.

"Humour me."

While Yelena started working on Bucky, carefully taping his side, John began checking the supplies, cataloging food rations and medical gear, Alexei planted on a cot as he watched. Ava remained on the cot, the twins finally settling into a deeper sleep in her arms. She carefully unzipped her tactical suit slightly to avoid overheating them, feeling the rough fabric against her cheek. Their breathing was shallow, but steady.

She thought about the base, the cold, sterile room where they had found the twins, locked away, barely cared for. It mirrored places she knew too well. The memory sent a shiver down her spine, but the weight of the children in her arms grounded her. This wasn't her past repeating; this was her breaking the cycle, pulling these innocent lives out of the darkness she had once been trapped in.

The 'phasing' Bucky had noticed earlier returned, a feeling of dissociation, like her body was a step removed from her mind. It happened sometimes when the trauma surfaced, when the present collided too hard with the past. Holding the twins, feeling their absolute dependency, was triggering something deep within her, a raw nerve exposed. She was safe now, had been for a long time, but the echoes of being small and terrified in an enemy's grip were loud tonight. These children were her tangible victory over those echoes.

Hours passed. The storm raged outside, a constant, violent symphony. Inside, the atmosphere was quiet, punctuated only by the rustle of medical supplies, John's low voice checking inventory, and the soft sounds of breathing. Yelena finished with Bucky, then tended to a deep gash on John's arm and some nasty scrapes on her own hands.

Bucky, taped up and looking slightly more comfortable, sat on a nearby cot, watching Ava and the twins. "They didn't make much noise at the base," he commented quietly, his gaze still on the sleeping children.

Ava nodded, stroking the hair of the twin nestled on her shoulder. "No. Like they'd learned not to. That's... that's the worst part."

"You did good, Ava," John said, closing a supply box. It was simple, but the sincerity in his voice was clear. His earlier remark felt like a lifetime ago.

"We did," she corrected softly, looking at her team. They had all risked their lives. This was a team effort, a success built on their combined skills and trust.

"Bob sounds like he’s keeping things secure on his end," Yelena reported, having just checked her comms. "He’s got eyes on potential pursuit routes. We're clear for now. I just wish he wasn’t alone."

"Good," Bucky said, running a hand through his hair. "We needed this. A chance to just... stop."

The safe house felt like a bubble, a pocket of calm in the storm. Outside, the world was chaos, danger, and uncertainty. Inside, there was quiet exhaustion, the low thrum of their shared mission, and the fragile weight of new life saved.

Ava didn't move for what felt like hours. She just held the twins, feeling their warmth seep into her through the suit. She thought about what would happen to them next. They were orphans, rescued from a hostile faction. Their future was as uncertain as her own had once been. But they were alive. They were safe now.

As the night wore on, the storm outside seemed to lessen its fury, the thunder becoming a distant grumble, the rain easing into a steady downpour. One by one, the team members settled onto their cots, finding sleep born of exhaustion and the fragile comfort of temporary safety. Yelena took the cot closest to the door, her senses still on high alert even in sleep. Alexei snoring like a pig. John sprawled out, snoring softly. Bucky lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, his eyes closed, but she suspected he wasn't fully asleep.

Ava remained awake, listening to the quiet sounds of the safe house, the last vestiges of the storm, and the soft, even breaths of the children. The pain in her eyes might still be there, a ghost of the past, but the peace had deepened, settling into her bones. She wasn't just a survivor; she was a protector. And in the stillness of the night, holding these two small lives, that felt like the most important thing in the world.

When dawn finally broke, filtering grey light through the small, reinforced window high on the wall, the storm was gone. The air was still, clean and cool. The safe house felt different in the morning light – less like a desperate refuge, more like a temporary way station. The team stirred, waking slowly, the shared exhaustion still heavy in the air.

The twins started to wake, groaning softly, blinking their eyes open. They looked up at Ava, their expressions initially confused, then settling into quiet recognition. The one on her shoulder lifted a small hand and touched her cheek.

"Ava?" one of them mumbled, the sound muffled against her suit.

Her heart melted. "Yeah, sweethearts. It's Ava."

The reality of the situation returned with the morning light. Mission completed, targets secured, team safe. But the mission wasn't truly over. These children needed a future, stability. And the team needed to move on, to their next assignment.

John was the first to speak, stretching dramatically. "Well, that was more exciting than I needed. Anyone else starving? And what do we do with... this?" He gestured vaguely towards Ava and the twins.

Yelena was already up, checking comms and the external sensors. "We wait for extraction orders. Valentina will have a plan for the twins. They won't be going back into 'custody' like that. They're assets now, in a different way." Her voice was cool, professional, but Ava knew she cared. They all did.

Bucky pushed himself up, wincing slightly. "Right. Plan. And food."  He looked at her, a small, knowing smile on his face. "They still attached?"

Ava’s heart fluttered seeing Bucky’s smile, it looked so much like it did back when he was James and their only solace in Hydra was each other, though now she no longer has him, he dosent have any memories of their love. 

Ava looked down at the twins, who were now looking around the safe house with wide, curious eyes, but still clinging to her. "Looks like it," she said, her voice soft. A new kind of mission was just beginning, one that didn't involve enemy bases or storm-battered jets, but the quiet, complex work of healing and finding a place in the world for two small, rescued souls. Whatever came next, she knew one thing: she wouldn't be letting go anytime soon.

Ava was still in pain and she definitely needs some of the mixture but for now she’d focus on the two green eyed toddlers clutching to her.

Chapter Text

The twins started to wake, groaning softly, blinking their eyes open. They looked up at Ava, their expressions initially confused, then settling into quiet recognition. The one on her shoulder lifted a small hand and touched her cheek.

"Ava?" one of them mumbled, the sound muffled against her suit.

Her heart melted. "Yeah, sweethearts. It's Ava."

The reality of the situation returned with the morning light. Mission completed, targets secured, team safe. But the mission wasn't truly over. These children needed a future, stability. And the team needed to move on, to their next assignment.

John was the first to speak, stretching dramatically. "Well, that was more exciting than I needed. Anyone else starving? And what do we do with... this?" He gestured vaguely towards Ava and the twins.

Yelena was already up, checking comms and the external sensors. "We wait for extraction orders. Valentina will have a plan for the twins. They won't be going back into 'custody' like that. They're assets now, in a different way." Her voice was cool, professional, but Ava knew she cared. They all did.

Bucky pushed himself up, wincing slightly. "Right. Plan. And food."  He looked at her, a small, knowing smile on his face. "They still attached?"

Ava's heart fluttered seeing Bucky's smile, it looked so much like it did back when he was James and their only solace in Hydra was each other, though now she no longer has him, he dosent have any memories of their love.

Ava looked down at the twins, who were now looking around the safe house with wide, curious eyes, but still clinging to her. "Looks like it," she said, her voice soft.

A new kind of mission was just beginning, one that didn't involve enemy bases or storm-battered jets, but the quiet, complex work of healing and finding a place in the world for two small, rescued souls. Whatever came next, she knew one thing: she wouldn't be letting go anytime soon.

Ava was still in pain and she definitely needs some of the mixture but for now she'd focus on the two green eyed toddlers clutching to her.

The safe house, a repurposed warehouse on the outskirts of a forgotten industrial zone, hummed with an uneasy silence. The storm once again raging outside, Ava, with her emerald eyes usually sharp and focused, now held a weary tenderness as she watched the two toddlers. Their small bodies, marked with the cruel remnants of Hydra's experiments, tugged at her heart, a stark contrast to the sterile environment they were now in.

She had decided they needed a bath, a small act of normalcy in their disrupted lives. After gently undressing them, Ava filled the sink with warm, soapy water. Their clothes, the drab grey uniforms of their captivity, went in to soak. Watching the twins play, naively hitting at each other, Ava felt a pang of sorrow. The bruises, the scars, the faint lines of old cuts - they were a testament to the horrors they had endured.

With a sigh, Ava moved towards the bathtub, her boots echoing in the cavernous space. She plugged the drain and turned the water on, her eyes never leaving the twins. Their playful wrestling was a welcome distraction, a flicker of hope in the darkness. Once the tub was half-full and the temperature was just right, she shut off the faucet.

Kneeling beside them, Ava used her softest voice, a tone she wasn't sure she even possessed until now. "Ready for a bath, little ones?" she asked. Their faces lit up, a clear indication that baths were a rare luxury in their previous existence. Ava carefully lifted one of the twins, the younger one, she thought, though distinguishing them was still a challenge. After removing his diaper, she gently lowered him into the warm water. Then, she repeated the process with his brother, the older twin.

Initially, they seemed apprehensive, unsure of what was allowed. Ava splashed a bit of water at them, laughing softly. "It's okay," she reassured them. "It's just water. Have fun." They seemed to understand, their initial hesitation replaced by playful splashes directed at each other.

Ava knew she couldn't risk getting her suit wet. It was her lifeline, her protection, and beyond that, she didn't have access to another one. Underneath it, she wore a black tank top and sports shorts, standard issue for missions that could go south quickly. She quickly stripped off her suit, folding it carefully and placing it on a nearby shelf. Now in more comfortable clothing, Ava turned her attention to the soaking clothes in the sink. The safe house lacked any toddler-sized garments or diapers, forcing her to clean and reuse their prison clothes. It was a far from ideal, but it was all they had.

Scrubbing at the grime and bloodstains on their uniforms, Ava tried to focus on the task at hand. The water turned a murky grey, a grim reminder of the environment they had been rescued from. When the clothes were finally clean, she glanced at the twins. They were still happily splashing, babbling in their own language, a mixture of coherent words and nonsensical sounds. Ava monitored them closely, ensuring they didn't hurt themselves.

Turning towards the diapers, she grimaced. These would need to be cleaned as well. First, she grabbed a towel and hung the wet clothes to dry. Then, she retrieved one of the diapers and began scrubbing, trying to block out the images of their past and focus on the present, on the joyful sounds of the twins' laughter.

Lost in her task, Ava found her thoughts drifting to her own childhood. Fragmented memories surfaced – fleeting images of warmth, of laughter, of a family. But the accident that had led her to S.H.I.E.L.D., then Hydra, loomed largest, overshadowing the happier moments. Her parents' faces, their voices, were fading echoes in her mind. She missed them, even if she could barely remember them.

She moved onto the second diaper, scrubbing with renewed determination, while keeping a watchful eye on the twins. Once both were clean, Ava unplugged the sink and let the water drain, then placed the diapers in the sink to dry.

Grabbing a soft flannel, Ava knelt beside the bathtub, ready to wash the dirt and grime from the twins' skin. They readily complied, their trust in her growing with each passing moment. She meticulously cleaned their small bodies, paying extra attention to their cuts and bruises, ensuring no dirt remained. When they were clean, she allowed them to play a little longer, indulging in their joy. They splashed her with water, their laughter echoing in the sterile bathroom.

They seemed slightly confused when her hand occasionally phased through the water. Without her suit, the quantum particles that she relied on to stay solid were wearing off, but Ava didn't care. Not right now. She was so focused on giving these boys the best bath possible.

Once they'd played for a while, Ava knew it was time to get them out. The last of her quantum stability had faded over the course of the bath, so she donned her suit again, wincing at the cold feeling of the material on her damp skin. It was best to have it on now, she didn't have any of the mixture so she'd have to rely on her suit, Ava made a mental note to keep a few vials in her belt in case something like this happens again.

Once the twins were out of the bath and wrapped in soft towels, Ava set about cleaning the bathroom. The water had left a ring around the tub, and there were errant splashes everywhere. The diapers and clothes wouldn't be dry for a while yet, so the boys had to wear the soft towels. Each of the boys had a towel around them, and Ava went to pick them up, she'd need to find a first aid kit, she thinks it's still with Bucky. She didn't particularly want to interact with him or anyone for that matter but she knew that would have to change.

Ava walked out of the bathroom into the shared space, the twins on each hip bundled up in towels, their small, damp bodies clinging to her.

She walked over to Bucky's cot where he was checking his ribs, his face a mask of stoicism as he prodded at the healing tissue. Ava cautiously approached him. "Bucky? Do you mind if I borrow the med kit when you're done?"

He looked up, his steel-blue eyes momentarily softening as they landed on her and the twins. He shifted on the cot, making room.

Ava carefully placed the toddlers on the cot beside him. They both clutched their fluffy towels, their emerald green eyes wide and a little lost. Ava kneeled in front of them, inspecting the contents of the med kit. Her heart clenched. These children, barely two years old, were already sporting scars. She grabbed some non-alcoholic wipes and opened one, speaking softly to the twin on her left. "Hey, can I clean the cuts on your arm, honey?"

He nodded, confused. They clearly weren't used to consent, to being treated with gentleness. Ava gently cleaned each cut on his arms and legs, her touch light and careful. She then checked the bruises on his stomach, her jaw tightening.

Unbeknownst to Ava, Bucky was watching her, a strange tenderness flickering in his eyes. In the week since they became the New Avengers, he had barely seen Ava. She was a ghost, flitting around the periphery, avoiding all contact. For some reason that Bucky couldn't explain, he felt this primal urge to protect her and... love her. The word felt foreign, alien even, a relic from a life he barely remembered. He knew he hadn't loved anyone in the 40s he barely remembered, so he was confused as to why he felt like this.

Ava seemed to know, or at least sense it, because whenever she looked at him, there was a deep sadness in her eyes. A sadness that mirrored something within him.

She moved onto the second twin and, just as gently, began cleaning the cuts on his arms and legs. She was so delicate, so patient. In the past week, Bucky had barely seen her, neither had the rest of the team. She didn't even show up for any meals, and Bucky could only hope she was eating when the team wasn't around. If not, she was slowly destroying herself, and that thought didn't sit right with him, which left him even more confused.

Ava finished cleaning and patching them up, applying small, colourful bandages to their scrapes. As she worked, she hummed a soft, wordless tune, a lullaby perhaps, her voice soothing and comforting.

Just then, Yelena and Alexei, surprisingly domestic, finished making some Russian broth on a portable stove. "Food's ready!" Yelena called, her voice surprisingly gentle. "Come and get it, before Alexei eats it all."

Everyone drifted towards the makeshift dining area – a rickety table and mismatched chairs. Ava, however, hesitated. She took the twins to the bathroom, returning moments later with both now in diapers. "Has anyone seen anything we can use as bibs?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Yelena stood up. "Found some plastic ones in the cupboard." She came back to the table, holding up two brightly coloured bibs with cartoon animals on them.

Ava nodded, relieved. She placed the twins on a chair, the two boys instinctively clinging to each other, unwilling to be separated even for a moment. Ava took the bibs from Yelena and sat down, carefully placing one around each twin's neck.

Ava had to admit she was nervous about sitting down and eating with the rest of the team. She hadn't eaten a proper meal all week, subsisting on the occasional granola bar, and she was terrified of vomiting everything up. The last thing she needed was to draw more attention to herself. She grabbed a spoon and slightly blew on it and fed it to one of the twins, softly asking, "Do you like it, little one?"

He gurgled happily, grabbing at the spoon. She dipped the spoon in again, blew on it, and fed the other twin. They both gleamed with delight at the taste, their eyes widening. Ava grabbed another spoon so she could feed them both at the same time, carefully alternating between the two.

Around the table, the team were all quietly chatting, except for Alexei, who was basically screaming some embellished story from his past. And Bucky, of course, who sat silently, observing everyone. He watched Ava, mesmerised by her quiet competence, her gentle touch. He saw the lines of exhaustion etched around her eyes, the faint tremor in her hands.

After a few spoonfuls, she gave the twins a break and slowly grabbed her own spoon. She cautiously tasted the broth, her expression subtle. It was nice, comforting, but Ava knew she couldn't stomach much. Not with the way she was phasing. She needed that specific, carefully measured mixture she kept hidden in the tower to keep it under control. So, she turned back to the twins and continued feeding them, not fully noticing the looks the team sent her.

John Walker, ever the observant one, frowned. "You haven't touched your food all week, Ava. You need to take care of yourself."

Ava stiffened, her grip tightening on the spoon. "I'm fine, John. Just... not hungry."

Yelena raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Not hungry? You're feeding two toddlers like a pro, but you can't manage a simple bowl of broth?"

Before Ava could respond, Bucky spoke, his voice low and surprisingly sharp. "Leave her alone, John. It's her business."

The atmosphere around the table shifted, becoming thick with unspoken tension. Ava avoided eye contact, focusing solely on the twins, who were now happily gurgling and making a mess with their food.

Alexei, oblivious as usual, continued his loud story, completely missing the undercurrent of unease. But Yelena, Bucky, and John all knew something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Later that evening, after the twins had been put to sleep, and the rest of the team had settled into their respective corners of the warehouse, Ava slipped out. She quietly opened the back door, stepping into the cool night air, the storm having quieted. She needed to be alone, to think, to breathe.

She walked a short distance from the warehouse, stopping beside a dilapidated fence that separated the property from an overgrown field. The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale light over the landscape.

Ava leaned against the chain-link fence surrounding the perimeter of the warehouse, the cool metal a small comfort against the internal chaos. Her eyes were closed, her face pale even in the dim light filtering through the grimy windows. The phasing was getting worse. It wasn't a constant thing, but the brief moments of disorientation were becoming more frequent, the sensation of her body flickering in and out of existence more intense. It felt like being a badly tuned radio, frequencies skipping and crackling, threatening to fade out completely.

She knew she needed the mixture. Janet Van Dyne, a woman who had seen more of the strange and impossible than most, had stabilized her just before the Snap, preventing her complete unraveling. Ava wasn't dying anymore, not in the immediate sense. But that didn't stop her from dreading the sensation of a quantum seizure, a term Janet had used that still made Ava's skin crawl. If that happened, she'd need Janet, and though the woman had repeatedly told her to call or visit anytime, Ava couldn't shake the feeling that she was imposing, a burden on their lives. They had their own family, their own world to navigate. Ava didn't want to be a constant reminder of the madness that existed just beyond the veil of normalcy.

A noise behind her startled her. She turned, her hand instinctively reaching for the energy emitters built into her gloves, even though she knew it was likely just a rat or a stray cat. Instead, she saw Bucky standing there, his broad shoulders filling the doorway to the warehouse. He seemed hesitant, his expression unreadable in the half-light.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low and laced with concern. He stepped carefully beside her, leaving a comfortable amount of space.

Ava forced a tight smile. "Yeah, fine. Just... thinking."

Bucky didn't look convinced. His blue eyes, usually so sharp and assessing, were soft, filled with a gentle understanding that made her want to both confide in him and run away. He knew something was wrong. He always did.

"You're phasing more than usual," he stated, not a question. "What's going on?"

Ava shrugged, turning her gaze back to the empty lot beyond the fence. "It's nothing. Just a... a little flicker. Nothing important."

Bucky's jaw tightened. "It is important, Ava. Your health is important."

She bit back a retort about him being one to talk, given his own history, his own struggles. Instead, she mumbled, "It's not a big deal. I just... need a mixture." The words came out quieter than she intended, as though she was embarrassed to admit it, ashamed of her own fragility.

Bucky's brow furrowed, confusion clouding his gaze. "A mixture? What kind of mixture?"

Ava hesitated, the words catching in her throat. The whole story felt ridiculous, like something out of a bad science fiction novel. But Bucky deserved the truth, or at least, as much of the truth as she could bear to share.

"Just before the blip... I met a woman. Janet Van Dyne." She paused, taking a deep breath. "She... she stopped me from fading out of existence. My molecules were... tearing apart. She and her family... they tried to find a cure for my molecular disequilibrium. But they found out there wasn't one. So, they helped me make a mixture... of quantum particles. It helps... it helps keep my molecules and cells from, you know, tearing apart." Ava wasn't sure why she was telling him this, maybe it was because right now she was speaking to James her safety net, in Hydra he helped keep her min doff the pain and right now he was helping her once again.

She swallowed hard, the memory of the agonizing pain, the dizzying sensation of her body dissolving, still vivid. "They also helped make my suit. So I could stay... solid... more often."

The last words were barely a whisper, lost in the cool night air. She kept her eyes fixed on the fence, unable to meet Bucky's gaze.

The silence that followed stretched on, thick and heavy. Ava could feel Bucky's presence beside her, the weight of his concern pressing down on her. She braced herself for the inevitable questions, the disbelief, the pity.

But instead, she heard a soft exhale, a sound that spoke of understanding and a profound sadness. "So," he said, his voice barely audible. "You need a mixture and a suit... just to not experience pain in a day."

It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact, a quiet acknowledgement of the burden she carried. Ava finally dared to look at him. His eyes were filled with a deep empathy, a raw understanding that mirrored her own pain. It was a look she had seen him give to others, to refugees, to the lost and wounded, but seeing it directed at her... it was almost too much to bear.

He understood. He understood the constant struggle, the invisible wounds that never fully healed, the reliance on things that shouldn't exist. He understood because he lived with it too.

"That... that explains why you drank that strange green liquid so urgently before," he continued, his voice still soft. "Back at the compound."

He was referring to the serum Janet had sent, a concoction that tasted like pond scum and quantum entanglement, but kept her anchored to reality. She usually tried to take it in private, but the last time, the phasing had hit her hard, and she'd been too weak to hide it.

Bucky's words were like a physical ache in her chest. She hadn't realized he'd noticed, that he'd pieced together the fragmented clues she had so carefully tried to conceal. It was humbling, and terrifying.

"It's... it's back at the compound, isn't it?" Bucky asked, his voice a little stronger now, laced with a determination that resonated deep within her. He stated it like a question, but it was more of an offer.

Ava hesitated, her mind racing. The compound was hours away. It meant admitting she wasn't fine, accepting his help, becoming dependent on him. It meant exposing a vulnerability she had fought so hard to protect.

But looking into his eyes, seeing the genuine concern etched on his face, she knew she couldn't refuse. She needed the mixture. And, she had to admit, perhaps she needed him too.

She nodded, a single, almost imperceptible movement. "Yeah. It's there... but I'll be okay, we're only here for a few more hours, the storm finally cleared up, so I can cope." She tried to inject a note of nonchalance into her voice, hoping to mask the fear that was clawing at her insides.

"You shouldn't have to." He said, his voice filled with emotion. A raw, unguarded emotion that made her heart clench. He shifted closer, the space between them shrinking until their shoulders were touching. The contact sent a jolt through her, a strange mix of comfort and alarm. This was exactly what he did in Hydra when the pain came too much and she needed to feel solid, though he didn't know that he has no recollection of her, but for now Ava decides to take the comfort he so openly offered.

She leaned into him, just slightly, allowing herself the momentary luxury of his warmth. "It's just... been a long day." She lied, the words catching in her throat. It had been a long few years. A long, agonizing struggle against something she couldn't understand or control.

"Look, we can probably go now," Bucky said, his voice low and steady. "I'll fly. You can rest."

The idea was tempting, so tempting. But the thought of being confined in a car with him for hours, her secret hanging heavy in the air, was almost too much to bear. "No," she said, pulling away slightly. "Really, I'm fine. Let's just... wait it out."

He didn't push, but she could see the doubt in his eyes. He knew she was lying. He knew she was suffering. And he was willing to do anything to help, even if she wouldn't let him..

Chapter Text

The storm was finally cleared, the jet bucking and shuddering its last as it descended toward the Avengers Tower landing pad. Inside, the team was a collection of weary limbs and subdued energy. Bucky and Yelena were at the controls, a silent, efficient partnership forged in shared trauma and an understanding that transcended words. Alexei, ever the boisterous showman, was regaling Yelena with some tall tale about a mission in Siberia, his voice a booming counterpoint to the jet's dwindling roar. John, his face a mask of grim determination, obsessively polished his shield, the dent from the sentry battle still a prominent scar.

Ava sat rigidly in her seat, the sleeping forms of the twin boy toddlers heavy on her lap. Dressed in her quantum containment suit, the soft hum of its technology was a constant companion, a fragile barrier against the agonizing instability that threatened to consume her. Despite the suit's best efforts, she was phasing more than usual, the air around her shimmering with an uncomfortable distortion. Beads of sweat trickled down her temples, plastering strands of brown hair to her forehead.

The twins, oblivious to the turmoil within Ava, stirred slightly, their little bodies nudging closer to her. She softly rocked them, a desperate attempt to soothe them, and herself. The memory of her time in S.H.I.E.L.D. slammed into her with brutal force. The collar, the amplified phasing, the blinding pain. Each second stretched into an eternity, a punishment designed to break her spirit. She could almost feel the searing ache again, the suffocating fear of disintegration.

James. The memory of his presence, his gentle voice, his unwavering concern, was both a solace and a fresh wound. He had hated seeing her suffer, had wished he could take her pain away. But her James was gone, replaced by Bucky, a man who carried his own burdens and had no memory of the love they had shared. It wasn't his fault, she knew. Hydra had stolen that part of him. But the knowledge didn't lessen the ache in her heart, an ache that often rivalled the excruciating chronic pain she endured daily.

With five minutes left until landing, the impending quantum seizure loomed like a specter. Ava's muscles clenched, her breath hitched, and the phasing intensified. Desperate, she tightened her hold on the twins, willing herself to remain present, to protect them from the chaos brewing within.

Bucky, ever vigilant, noticed the subtle shift in Ava's posture, the increased shimmer around her. Without a word, he subtly gestured towards Ava with his eyes, silently urging Yelena to speed up the landing. Yelena, understanding flashing in her eyes, nodded curtly and adjusted the controls, pushing the jet to its limit.

The landing was rough, a jarring halt that sent a ripple through the passengers. As soon as the ramp lowered, they spilled out onto the pad, greeted by Bob Reynolds, whose usual bravado seemed muted, replaced by a professional efficiency. "Hey guys! Valentina will be here in a minute," he announced, directing them toward the debriefing area.

The debriefing area was a stark, utilitarian space. A weapon wall stood as a grim testament to their profession, while a bank of computers hummed with the silent promises of communication and intelligence. A small lounge area, furnished with a worn couch and a large monitor, offered a semblance of comfort.

Ava carefully approached the couch and gently placed the twins down, maneuvering them so they nestled against each other, their small bodies curled into the soft cushions. She looked at Bucky, her emerald eyes pleading. He understood, his expression softening with concern. He nodded, a silent encouragement to prioritize her well-being.

Without hesitation, Ava turned and phased through the floor, disappearing into the depths of the tower. She moved with a frantic urgency, navigating the familiar corridors with effortless grace. Her destination: her room, her sanctuary, her lifeline.

Reaching her room, she deactivated her mask, the sudden release of pressure a small relief. Her eyes darted to the hidden compartment, her fingers fumbling for the flask containing the concentrated quantum particles, a temporary shield against the encroaching void.

Without pausing for breath, she unscrewed the cap and downed the entire contents, the viscous liquid burning a trail down her throat. Janet had warned her: in the face of a quantum seizure, a standard dose wouldn't suffice. She needed more, a surge of particles to stabilize her rapidly disintegrating form.

The memory of her last quantum seizure haunted her. The agonizing fragmentation, the terrifying sensation of ceasing to exist. If Janet hadn't intervened, hadn't stabilized her in the nick of time, she would have been lost, erased from existence.

The particles began to work, a tingling warmth spreading through her veins, pushing back against the encroaching cold. The phasing subsided, the shimmering distortion fading until only a faint aura remained. Ava leaned against the wall, her chest heaving, her body trembling with exhaustion.

She was safe, for now.

But the reprieve was temporary.

…

The harsh fluorescent lights of the Avengers Tower debriefing room hummed, a stark contrast to the chaos of the mission they had just completed. Bucky leaned back in his chair, the metal of his arm gleaming under the sterile light. Yelena sat beside him, picking at a loose thread on her tactical vest, her expression unreadable. Alexei, ever the showman, was regaling John with an exaggerated tale of his daring feats, much to Walker’s evident discomfort. Bob, a nervous energy radiating off him, fiddled with the collar of his shirt.

Then Valentina Allegra De Fontaine waltzed in, her signature purple suit a splash of color against the utilitarian backdrop. "So, spill the beans," she said, her voice sharp and laced with amusement. "How did our little excursion go?"

Alexei puffed out his chest, ready to launch into another boastful monologue, but Yelena cut him off with a sharp elbow to the ribs. "It went fine, Val," she said, her tone clipped. "Guards were neutralized, assets secured. Minimal casualties."

"And who was instrumental in securing said assets?" Valentina pressed, her eyes twinkling.

"Ava got the twins," Bucky said, nodding towards the empty space beside him. "The rest of us distracted the guards. Standard op."

Valentina’s smile widened, but her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Starr, you say? And where is our spectral friend now?"

"She had to go deal with something," Bucky replied, shrugging. He didn’t think Ava would appreciate having her struggles thrown about to the likes of Valentina.

Valentina tilted her head. "Deal with something? How vague. Something that requires phasing through walls and generally defying the laws of physics, perhaps?"

Before Bucky could formulate a response, a shimmer appeared in the corner of the room, resolving into Ava Starr. Her green emerald eyes, usually holding a flicker of pain, were clear and focused. Her brown hair, often a tangled mess, was neatly pulled back. The quantum containment suit she wore seemed to hum softly, keeping her unstable molecular structure in check. She looked…better than she had a few minutes ago. More solid, somehow.

"It's nobody's business," Ava stated flatly, her voice carrying a hint of warning.

Valentina’s smile didn’t falter. "Intriguing. Everything involving my team is my business, darling. But I suppose some mysteries are best left unsolved…for now."

Just then, a whimper echoed through the room. Both heads turned towards the couch the twins rested on. The babies were stirring, their little limbs flailing. They woke up fully and their eyes darted around the room, confusion quickly turning to distress.

"Ava!" one of them shrieked, the sound high-pitched and filled with panic. "Where’s Ava?"

"Want Ava!" the other one echoed, tears welling in his eyes.

They devolved into hysterical cries, a jumble of frantic nonsense punctuated by the constant repetition of Ava’s name. The sound was surprisingly piercing, cutting through the sterile atmosphere of the debriefing room.

Bucky shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't good with kids, especially not distressed ones. Yelena looked equally out of her depth, her usual composure cracking slightly. Alexei, predictably, tried to make a joke, which earned him a glare from both Bucky and Yelena.

Ava’s expression softened. Without a word, she walked straight to the lounge. She reached down and gently picked up one of the twins, cradling him against her chest. The crying subsided almost immediately, replaced by soft whimpers and snuffles. She picked up the other twin and held both of them. They each settled down, burying their faces in her suit, their tiny hands gripping her tightly.

The transformation was remarkable. The once-feral, unstable Ava Starr was now a picture of quiet tenderness. The twins, who had been inconsolable moments before, were now calm and content in her arms.

Valentina watched the scene with a calculating gaze. "Interesting," she murmured, almost to herself. "Very interesting indeed."

She cleared her throat, drawing everyone’s attention back to her. "As I was saying, now that we have the assets secured, we need to determine their capabilities."

"Capabilities?" Bucky asked, his brow furrowed.

"Indeed. Given their…former residence, it's highly likely they were subjected to experimentation. We need to ascertain if they possess any abilities, any enhancements we're not yet aware of." Valentina explained. "Until we can confirm either way, they will be staying here at the tower, under our supervision."

A wave of protest rippled through the room.

"Staying here?" Walker sputtered. "But I have…commitments!"

"Those commitments can wait, Agent Walker." Valentina snapped. "This is a priority. These children could be valuable assets, or dangerous liabilities. We need to know which."

"And who's gonna watch them?" Alexei grumbled. "I'm a super-soldier, not a babysitter!"

Valentina ignored him. "Furthermore," she continued, her voice taking on a more serious tone, "I was able to gather some information regarding their…origins."

Ava tensed, her grip on the twins tightening almost imperceptibly.

She looked down at the twins in her arms, their innocent faces trusting and vulnerable. Ethan and Evan, victims of a world that had failed them from the very beginning.

"That's enough talk for now." She said, her voice firm. "They’re tired and scared. They need to rest."

Without waiting for a response, Ava turned and walked towards the exit, the twins nestled securely in her arms. The others watched her go, a mixture of confusion, curiosity, and something akin to respect in their eyes.

Valentina watched her go, a strange smile playing on her lips. "Well," she said, clapping her hands together. "Looks like we have our nanny."

As Ava carried the twins towards her room, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her life had just taken a sharp, unexpected turn. She was a weapon, a ghost, a walking paradox. She wasn't meant to be a caregiver, a protector.

But as she looked down at the two small faces nestled against her, she knew that she couldn't abandon them. She wouldn't let them become weapons. She wouldn't let them suffer the same fate she had.

She didn't know how, and she didn't know why. But somehow, she knew that she would do everything in her power to protect Ethan and Evan Monroe.

Chapter Text

~I can't help but love you
Even though I try not to
I can't help but want you
I know that I'd die without you~

Bucky Barnes wasn’t one to be confused about things. Not anymore, at least. He’d meticulously sorted through the shards of his fractured past, piecing together the broken mosaic of his life, fighting for clarity, for truth. He’d wrestled with the ghost of the Winter Soldier, tamed the raging beast of his programming, and built a new, albeit scarred, identity. But ever since he had met Ava Starr, a disorienting haze had begun to creep back into the carefully constructed framework of his mind, making him question everything he thought he understood.

It started subtly, a ripple in the fabric of his tightly controlled reality. The fight with Sentry had been a brutal, chaotic symphony of destruction. Buildings crumbled, energy pulsed, and the air crackled with raw power. In the maelstrom, his vibranium arm – an extension of himself, a constant, weighty reminder of decades of nightmares – had been ripped clean off, torn from his shoulder with a sickening wrench. He’d braced for the phantom limb pain, the visceral jolt of loss, even as he continued to fight with his remaining flesh arm, the familiar cold rage of survival taking over.

But then a new, bewildering scene unfolded. Admist the debris and the groans of the injured team, Ava Starr had moved with an unnatural grace, her form shimmering slightly at the edges, a testament to the quantum instability that was as much a part of her as her dark brown hair and startling green eyes. She hadn't even flinched, hadn't hesitated for a beat. She’d simply walked over to where his arm lay, gleaming dully in the dust, and picked it up.

Picked it up. Casually. As if it were a misplaced tool, not an artifact steeped in blood and trauma. She cradled it against her side, the sleek vibranium a stark contrast to her tanned skin, her gaze sweeping the area for threats, utterly unperturbed.

When the team had stumbled out of the building doors, and Bucky had grasped what had just happened, awave of shock, cold and sudden, had washed over him then, cutting through the adrenaline.

No one who knew the history touched it like that. Sam, his closest friend, had held it, sure, but never with such complete nonchalance. There was always a flicker of something in Sam’s eyes when he touched it, a recognition of the weight it carried. Sam’s nephews, bless their innocent hearts, loved to hang off it when it was attached, treating it like a jungle gym, but that was different. The sheer absurdity of children playing on a weapon of his past was a kind of healing, a rejection of its dark purpose.

Even the spider-kid, with his boundless, irritating enthusiasm, had called it "awesome" but approached it with a hesitant, almost reverent awe, aware of its power.

And then there was Steve. Steve, who had never touched it, who had gone to great lengths to ignore its presence, to avoid even looking at it directly, as if its cold metal was a physical manifestation of all the pain and betrayal he had endured at the hands of the Winter Soldier.

So for Ava, a woman he barely knew, to carry his arm so casually, as they fled the building, sent a jolt through him that resonated deep within his bones. He’d never once had someone act so calmly in regards to the limb. He knew she had to know the history behind it; she worked for Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, after all, a woman who specialized in gathering individuals with complex, often brutal, histories. And as he later learned from the whispered intel, Ava Starr herself was once a Hydra experiment, like him. The thought had lodged itself in his mind, a thorny question mark. Was this casual handling a sign of her own trauma, her own exposure to the same cold, dehumanizing processes? Or something else entirely?

All he could do in that moment was a ‘gimme gimme’ gesture his flesh hand and Ava had so calmly placed another hand on the arm to haul it to him.

The next time he questioned Ava Starr, the foundations of his reality truly began to crack. It happened during the void, a bizarre, disorienting landscape of fractured memories. He was adrift in the swirling chaos, a spectator to the echoes of his darkest years as the Winter Soldier. One memory, however, was entirely unfamiliar to him, a stark anomaly in the endless parade of death and obedience.

It took place in his latter years at Hydra, the sterile hum of a mission briefing room filling the air. He was in the dreaded chair, the one that had broken him open and soldered him back together countless times, only to shatter him again. He was being given a rundown of a mission, though he couldn't recall what. His head was quite hazy, a dull ache behind his eyes, which led him to believe that he had recently been wiped. The words of the German-accented handler were muffled, distant, like whispers through thick glass.

As he was being spoken to, a flicker in the corner of his vision caught his attention. It belonged to a figure, almost spectral at first, then solidifying. They were dressed in a white and grey suit, sleek and form-fitting, covered in intricate technological patterns that seemed to glow faintly. The figure watched him from the shadows, their face obscured by a hood or a mask, unreadable, emotionless. Yet, as the Soldat, the automaton stripped of all feeling, stared back, a surge of something primal, utterly alien, coursed through him. A wave of protectiveness, so fierce it bordered on pain, washed over the desolate landscape of his mind. And then, impossibly, something softer, something warmer, something that felt disturbingly like… love?

It was an emotion that the Soldat was incapable of feeling, yet it was undeniably there, an echo of a humanity he thought long extinguished. It was an emotion Bucky, even in his present state, couldn't explain. The figure watched for only a moment longer, a silent sentinel in the periphery of his torture, and then, as quickly as they appeared, they vanished, leaving behind only the lingering phantom of that inexplicable feeling. The memory ended, leaving Bucky gasping for air as Ava and John stumbled in, the residual ache of that unknown emotion clinging to his soul.

Minutes, or hours, later, Valentina declared them ‘The New Avengers, a cynical, opportunistic banner under which to operate. She had given them all files on one another – a perverse exercise in forced intimacy and strategic vulnerability. Bucky had read through them all, meticulously, absorbing the cold facts of the damaged individuals he was now forced to call his teammates.

When he finally reached Ava’s file, his eyes scanned the dry text, the mission reports, the assessments of her erratic quantum state. And then he saw it. A grainy, low-resolution image, taken from a surveillance camera, perhaps. A figure in that exact same white and grey suit, the one covered in technology, the one he had seen in the void.

His breath hitched. It was undeniably her. Ava Starr. The woman who had picked up his arm as if it were nothing. The figure from his most haunting, unexplainable memory. That was the second time Bucky Barnes had been utterly, profoundly puzzled.

Since then, the analysis had begun, a subconscious program running in the background of his mind, constantly processing every interaction, every glance. He found himself observing Ava Starr with an intensity that bordered on obsession, searching for answers, for the missing pieces of a puzzle he hadn't even known existed. He noticed how she was always so hesitant to approach him, her movements often halting, her posture slightly withdrawn. It wasn’t a fear, not precisely. He’d seen fear in people’s eyes when they looked at him, and this wasn't it. This was something far more nuanced, far more complex. It was almost as though she held a sense of longing in her eyes, a deep, persistent ache that mirrored something within himself.

Her green eyes, often clouded with a defensive caution, would sometimes flicker with an unreadable emotion when they inadvertently met his. And some part, deep inside of him, a part he hadn't known existed until she awakened it, clawed to hold her, to take away that hurt. He hated seeing her suffer. The memory of a few days ago, after they returned from a particularly brutal mission, was still deeply rooted in his eyes. She had stumbled through the common room, her quantum field flaring uncontrollably, her body wracked with pain from the exertion, or perhaps something deeper.

The way she had desperately looked at him then, her almost majestic green eyes filled with an unbearable pain, was haunting him. They were the kind of eyes that should hold the quiet beauty of a forest at dawn, not the agony of a trapped animal. And the way she had stumbled through the floor in a desperate urgency to get to her room for that mixture, whatever it was that kept her quantum fluctuations in check, was etched into his mind with an almost agonizing clarity. He had wanted to reach out, to steady her, to offer comfort, but had frozen, caught in the unexpected intensity of his own reaction.

He started noticing other things. The way she unconsciously mirrored his posture sometimes, a subtle lean of her head, a crossing of her arms. The phantom sensation of a touch on his metal arm when she was near, a warmth that wasn't there. He found himself inexplicably drawn to her, not just by curiosity, but by a powerful, almost magnetic pull. It defied logic, defied his trauma-hardened pragmatism. He was a man who had spent decades being a weapon, then years learning to be human again. He hadn't expected to feel anything like this.

The more he observed, the more the pieces started to align, not into a clear picture, but into a more defined outline of a mystery. Her casual handling of his arm, the figure in the void, her hesitant longing, his own inexplicable protectiveness – they were all threads leading to a forgotten tapestry. If she was a Hydra experiment too, what did that mean? Had they crossed paths in the darkest corners of their lives? Had that fleeting moment in the void, that surge of forbidden emotion, been real? Was it a memory the Soldat had suppressed, a connection too dangerous, too human, to be allowed?

He started to replay every interaction with her, searching for clues. The way her voice softened when she spoke to the twins, thinking she was alone. The almost imperceptible way her shoulders tensed when Valentina entered a room. The brief, unguarded smiles she offered to the members of the makeshift team, smiles that never quite reached her eyes.

He found himself wanting to talk to her, to ask her about the suit, about the void, about the past they might share. But the words always died in his throat. What would he say? "Did we know each other when we were both broken? Did I, the Winter Soldier, feel love for you, a ghost? Did you once touch my arm and feel nothing, because you were just as empty?" The questions were too raw, too loaded with the potential for pain, for rejection.

Yet, the questions persisted, echoing louder and louder in the quiet solitude of his room. He’d spent so long trying to forget, to erase the horrors, but now Ava Starr, with her green eyes and her quantum ghost, was forcing him to remember, to confront the possibility that even in the deepest darkness, a flicker of connection, of humanity, had somehow survived. And the most confusing part of all was that, despite the fear, despite the uncertainty, he found that he couldn't bring himself to regret it. He found himself, for the first time in a long time, actively wanting to understand, wanting to know. And the deeper he delved, the more he understood that this wasn’t just about a forgotten past; it was about a future he hadn’t dared to imagine, one that revolved, inexplicably and undeniably, around Ava Starr.

Chapter Text

The hum of the fluorescent lights was a constant, irritating thrum against Ava Star’s ethereal form. It was a sound that had long replaced the gentle rustle of leaves or the distant cries of gulls she once knew. Now, her world was defined by sterile walls, cold metal, and the chilling whispers of Hydra.

She floated, invisible and unheard, a silent sentinel in the sterile experiment room. Before her, a team of Hydra scientists, their faces devoid of empathy, hovered around a reinforced chair. In that chair, sat James. Her James. The soldat.

His long brown hair, usually falling over his shoulders, was slicked back, revealing the stark lines of his face. His blue eyes, those eyes that had once held a universe of unspoken understanding for her, were currently dull, shadowed by the recent conditioning. A cold, metallic arm rested on the armrest, a stark contrast to the vulnerable human hand on the other side.

Ava’s heart, a phantom ache in her non-corporeal chest, squeezed. She remembered the warmth of that human hand, the strength in the metal one, when they had occasionally, briefly, touched. Now, even those memories felt like a cruel joke, a taunt from a past that Hydra was determined to erase.

According to the scientists, she made the soldat weak. She, Ava, with her emerald green eyes and brown hair, a ghost in their machine, was the flaw in their perfect weapon. She made him act out, they claimed, though they were successful on their missions. They were not conditioned to love, yet they loved one another. And in the twisted logic of Hydra, love was not a strength, but a fatal weakness.

She drifted closer, a silent breath of cold air in the room, her emerald eyes fixed on him. He sat utterly still, a testament to the conditioning, yet even through the haze, she could feel the faint tremor of his will, a quiet resistance that only she was privy to. It was the same resistance she had felt the first time she truly saw him, not as a weapon, but as a man.

It had been years ago, in another sterile room, their first mission briefing with one another. Ava, after a gruelling mission, had found herself drawn to the silent, imposing figure known only as the Asset. She’d watched him move with brutal efficiency during training, observed the blankness in his eyes, the mechanical precision of his movements. She’d been a witness to the endless brainwashing, the screams, the agony. And in her spectral form, she’d felt a resonance, a shared loneliness, a deep, pervasive sorrow.

One day, during a rare lull, when he was left alone in a cell, recovering from a particularly grueling mission, Ava had found herself by his side. She couldn’t touch him, couldn’t speak, but she could be there. And then, he had looked up, his blue eyes, usually vacant, flickered. He didn’t see her, not truly, but he sensed something. A momentary pause in his internal torment.

That was the beginning. Slow, agonizingly slow. She learned to exist around him, a silent guardian. She would manifest just enough to create a chill in the air, a shadow in the corner of his eye when he was in distress. He, in turn, began to register these subtle shifts. A turning of his head, a slight tilt, a momentary focus that was not on his captors.

Their silent language wasn't built on words, but on presence. A shared glance, a flicker of understanding across a crowded room. During missions, she would subtly guide him, phasing through walls to scope out routes, giving him an invisible advantage. He, in turn, would sometimes pause, a fractional hesitation that only she would recognize as him waiting for her, a silent acknowledgment.

Their love wasn't born of stolen kisses or whispered promises, but of shared suffering and unspoken solace. It was a love forged in the crucible of absolute control, a defiance against the very nature of their existence. Hydra wanted him to be a machine, and her to be nothing. Yet, together, they found their humanity.

But Hydra was not blind. Their advanced monitoring systems had slowly begun to pick up on the subtle anomalies. James’s hesitation before a kill, his unexpected deviation from protocol that sometimes resulted in a more efficient outcome than they predicted, but an outcome unscripted. His increasing frequency of "acting out"—small acts of defiance, a moment of independent thought, a flicker of memory that wasn't supposed to be there.

They traced the pattern, analyzed the data, observed the subtle shifts in his brainwaves that coincided with a drop in temperature or a sudden, unexplainable shadow in a room. They didn't understand how Ava existed, but they understood her effect. And they hated it.

At first, Hydra had used one to torture the other. They couldn’t physically torture Ava, as she was a ghost, but they learned the impact James had on her. They would inflict pain on James, physical and psychological, knowing Ava would be there, a helpless witness. The agony of watching him suffer, knowing she couldn't intervene, was a torture far worse than any physical pain.

And for James, when his mind was clearer, the subtle sensation of her distress, her fear, became a profound weapon against him. They would taunt him, whispering phrases like, "Your invisible friend seems upset, asset. Perhaps if you comply, she'll calm down." James, even under heavy conditioning, would react, a flinch, a tremor, a flash of blue agony in his eyes.

But James was slowly unraveling from his mind control far too often. The more he sensed Ava, the more his true self fought back. The more he loved her, the harder it became for Hydra to control him. This wasn’t very liked among Hydra. They couldn’t lose the soldat to something like love. Love, an emotion they deemed a weakness, was now threatening their most prized weapon.

Ava had overheard whispers, static-laced conversations that echoed in her spectral presence. Fragments of words: “compromised,” “unreliable,” “recalibration.” And then, the chilling phrase that had solidified her dread: “The anomaly must be removed from the equation. Permanently.”

She knew what that meant. Not her physical extermination, for she was already gone. But her extermination from James’s mind. They would wipe him clean, a deeper, more brutal reset than anything he had endured before. They would erase her. Erase them.

And that brought them to this moment. James was sat in front of a team of Hydra scientists and soldiers, his body language stiff, but his mind, she knew, was a battlefield. He was being prepared for ‘deep-level re-patterning,’ a euphemism for the absolute obliteration of all but the core programming they desired.

Ava was not sure if the soldat, James, knew this was their last time meeting. Could he feel the finality in the air, the cold certainty that settled over her? She truly hoped he didn't. Hope was a fragile, dangerous thing in this place, but she still clung to it. She hoped they would be free of Hydra soon. A foolish, desperate hope, she knew, but it was all she had left.

The lead scientist, a wiry man with sharp features and a cruel smile, adjusted a series of electrodes on James’s temples. James flinched, a subtle tightening of his jaw, his blue eyes flickering, momentarily losing their vacant stare, a spark of the man she loved fighting to surface.

Ava drifted closer, her non-existent breath catching in her throat. This was it. The final moments. She searched his eyes, pouring every ounce of her phantom being into that gaze, trying to transmit a lifetime of love, a universe of unspoken words, into that single, shared moment.

He lifted his head, slowly, almost imperceptibly. His blue eyes, now clear of the conditioning's haze, met her invisible gaze. He couldn't see her, not with his physical eyes, but he felt her. He knew she was there. A spark of recognition, a flicker of deep, profound sorrow, passed between them. It was a silent conversation, a final goodbye, packed with all the love they had ever shared, all the pain they had endured, and all the future they would never have.

In that fraction of a second, an eternity passed. His gaze held hers, acknowledging, accepting, and grieving. He knew. He must have known. The clarity in his eyes was heartbreakingly stark. A single tear, a betrayal of his conditioning, tracked a path down his cheek. He didn't wipe it away. He couldn't.

Ava’s core ached with a grief so profound it threatened to unravel her very essence. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to rip these monsters apart. But she was a ghost, and her power, though real, was limited. She couldn't save him from this. She couldn't save them.

With one last, lingering look of love, a silent promise to remember, to never forget, even if he would, Ava turned. Her spectral form shimmered, and she phased out through the cold, metallic wall.

The sterile hum of the experiment room faded behind her, replaced by a suffocating silence. She was free of the room, free of the immediate threat, but she was not free. Not truly.

Because as she disappeared, leaving James to his fate, a terrible, crushing certainty settled over her. That truly was the last time they saw one another. For James, the soldat, the man she loved, would not remember Ava at all. His memories of her, their silent love, their shared defiance, would be wiped clean, leaving only the cold, empty vessel Hydra desired. And she, the ghost, would be left to haunt the world alone, carrying the weight of a love that had once dared to exist, now erased from the mind of the only one who had ever truly seen her.

…

Ava Starr remembered that day like it was yesterday. She doubted James – no, Bucky – remembered it, not with the harsh memory wipe he had endured. That was the day she lost James, the day a piece of her died, ripped away with the force of a thousand explosions.

Now, two and a half weeks into the confusing, brightly-lit existence with The New Avengerz, or whatever stupid name they went by, she saw him again. Not James, not really. It was Bucky. The Soldat. The man with the metal arm and eyes that held the weight of a forgotten war. And yet, the moment she saw him, a part of her, buried deep beneath years of her own scars and self-preservation, began to claw its way out. A raw, aching part of her longed for him, a yearning that was both a comfort and a torment. He had no clue who she was, at least that was what she assumed, and the thought was a lead weight in her chest.

Night had fully claimed the city outside her bedroom window. Streetlights cast long, distorted shadows across the plush rug of her temporary sanctuary in the Avengerz compound. The twins lay in a crib at the foot of her bed snoring softly, wrapped around one another. Ava lay on her back, emerald green eyes fixed on the ceiling, the soft glow of a bedside lamp doing little to dispel the shadows within her. Her brown hair, usually a manageable wave, was a tangled halo around her head, testimony to an evening spent tossing and turning. Sleep felt like a betrayal, a temporary escape from the insistent hum of her memories.

He was Bucky now, the Winter Soldier, turned White Wolf, still a weapon, but slowly, agonizingly, becoming something else. He was here, in the same building, and it was both a miracle and a fresh wound.

When agreeing to work for Valentina and ending up in that vault and then in the desert being attacked she hadn’t expected him.

The long, dark hair, the broad shoulders, the slight lean in his stance that was so achingly familiar. Then, in that box they were tied up in, he turned, and her breath had hitched. Those blue eyes. Even with the haunted, lost look, even with the metallic glint of the arm, they were his. James. Bucky. The duality was a constant, splitting headache.

He hadn’t reacted to her. Not a twitch. Not a flicker. He looked through her, not at her, like she was another nameless ghost in his crowded mind. It confirmed her deepest fear: a blank slate. He truly had no clue.

Yet, over the past two and a half weeks, something… shifted. She avoided the rest of the team like the plague, preferring the solitude of her training room or the library. But Bucky – she couldn't avoid him entirely. Their paths crossed in the halls, in the mess, in the shared training facilities. And sometimes, just sometimes, that subconscious part of him, the buried James, seemed to surface.

It was in the way his gaze sometimes lingered a fraction of a second too long on her face when she spoke, a silent question in the depths of his blue eyes. It was in the subtle softening of his jawline, almost imperceptible, when she accidentally brushed his arm in the hallway. It was in the way he would sometimes, unknowingly, mirror her posture, a flicker of his old ease around her. He never spoke to her directly, not beyond shared tactical information during mission briefings, yet his presence was a constant, thrumming awareness for her.

He had to have noticed something was going on. Why else would his brow furrow slightly when he saw her retreat from a too crowded room, only to notice her watching him from across the room, her guard down, her expression unguardedly soft? Why did his eyes, usually so guarded, sometimes hold a raw, desperate curiosity when their gazes met across the bustling mess hall? He must want to know why Ava, the quiet, almost reclusive operative known for her icy demeanor, was so soft around him, so utterly vulnerable to his mere presence.

He hadn't asked her, though. And she, for all her longing, couldn't bring herself to initiate it. The words caught in her throat, strangled by a knot of fear and hope. What would she even say? "Hi, remember me? We were lovers in Hydra and I was the thing that almost unraveled the weapon of mass destruction in you?" The absurdity of it was crushing.

Her greatest hope, the one that kept her going, was the knowledge that Hydra’s programming, however potent, was not eternal. Eventually, it would unravel itself. The fractured pieces of James’s mind would reassemble. And Ava wanted so desperately for that to happen. She pictured it, waking up one morning, seeing him, and having him look at her, truly see her, with the light of recognition returning to his eyes. To hear him say his name, the name he picked for her, not just ‘Starr’ or ‘Ava’ like the others.

But the hope was a double-edged sword. At the same time, she was scared, terrified, for when it happened. What if he remembered, and the memories were too painful? What if he only remembered the horror, the transformation, the violence, and not the wildflower clearing, not their shared laughter, not the many nights spent with one another? What if he remembered her, but didn’t want her anymore? What if the man she loved was gone forever, replaced by someone who couldn't love her back, even with his memories restored?

That would be too much pain for Ava to bear. It would be a second death, equally as profound as the first, but this time, he would be standing right in front of her, alive and whole, yet lost to her nonetheless.

The silence of her room pressed in, heavy and suffocating. Ava squeezed her eyes tighter, wishing, praying, for a future where James remembered her, where his blue eyes held love for her again. But the fear, cold and sharp, remained: what if that future never came? What if the tragic, beautiful dream of their past remained just that – a dream, forever just out of reach? This unbearable uncertainty was her constant companion, the silent tragedy of her everyday.