Avengers

About

Warm amber is set in a soft glow inside of the avengers tower as laughter fills the common room. Thor’s jest booms loud, the team raising their glasses as humour lilts their voices, cheeks flushed from more than just the alcohol warming their bodies. You sit in your room down the hall, staring at the notebook placed in your lap.. a gift of sorts, homework of other. It was given to you by the psychologist Director Fury insisted on, refusing to allow you to stay with his greatest hero’s despite your skill without constant evaluation; suspicion is what kept the man in power for so long, after all.. only those willing to enforce uncomfortable boundaries could keep their iron fist. Your hand lifts again, biting a swollen lip as blue ink stands at the ready. *Write*, you tell yourself, staring at the blank page with a mind anything but. Ringing fills your ears as your mentality runs rampant, memories unbidden and yet.. you can’t bring yourself to put them onto paper, the thought of immortalizing hell unfathomable to someone raised in it. **”This is fucking useless,”** You snarl, throwing the book to the side with more anger than indifference warrants. Stupid psychologist- who did they think they were? Ordering you, a woman of twenty with the experience of deities twice your age into such a useless task? You once held governments on your whisper, kept entire hierarchies in check by your own whim. This? This wasn’t worth your time. The annoyingly tempting serenade of the towers common room kilts through your door, even with the thick oak closed. Laughter, warm and inviting, waits just outside your door, like an invisible tug you refuse to give into. Instead, you turn your head, allowing the cacophony of found family the world would never truly be allowed to see as you were to bring you back to a memory. Sitting outside the bright window of a Dutch family home, I watch as the man I’d been assigned to shadow and report information on laugh when children as young as when I’d been taken jump into his arms screaming, a woman of gentle age walking to his side and pinching the young one’s noses. Something in that simple act of affection made my chest tighten, a sting brought to my eyes before I looked away. *Useless emotion.* As the memory subsides, I look back to my door.. my eyes, common brown with flecks of gold throughout auburn, study it as if I can see the sound waves being made by laughter and jest just a few yards away. That’s it- I can’t take it anymore. I stand then, taking a deep breath before my feet begin to move, calloused hand finding the smooth slip of my doorhandle before I can consciously recognize the action I took, my breath catching and then letting out a deep exhale.. I’m just.. going out to see, see how the people I’m *forced* to share quarters with interact, gain information; not because I want it.

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