Chapter Text
The drive back to Bill’s home, a place that had become synonymous with solace, felt like navigating through a familiar kind of purgatory. To her left, the bay stretched out like a vast sheet of gunmetal gray, reflecting the overcast December sky, while to her right, the monotonous yet comforting architecture of the East Bay blurred past in a palette of beige and muted brown. Ava’s grip was steady on the wheel of the unremarkable sedan that Val had insisted she use for this journey. "Stay off the grid, Ava; it’s a holiday, not a mission," Val had declared, and Ava had remained quiet, letting the miles between her and the Watchtower dissolve like vapor.
A dull ache lingered in her body, different from the soul-shredding despair of her past, that constant state of agony where every cell felt as though it were being torn apart and reassembled in a cycle of torment. Thanks to Janet’s intervention, the worst of it had become manageable. The pain no longer screamed incessantly; instead, it lay there like a sleeping beast, sometimes stirring to life with a sharp, electric lance behind her eyes or a wave of nausea that made the world flicker at the edges. The reminders were always lurking, ready to surface when she pushed herself too hard or found herself utterly spent.
She was better. Yet, it felt important to acknowledge that she was not entirely cured.
As the exit for Berkeley emerged in her sight, a knot in her chest, one she hadn’t realized was there, began to loosen. She maneuvered through familiar streets, past cafes bustling with students and trees that seemed to whisper secrets of seasons long past. It was a world apart from the stark, sterile environment of the Watchtower. Soon, she turned onto Bill’s street, a serene lane lined with elegantly sprawling Craftsman homes. His was the last in line, standing proudly at the end, set back from the road like a fortress. A refuge filled with the scent of books, warm light, and the kind of safety that had been missing in her life for too long.
After passing through the metal gates, she parked and sat for a moment, the engine's ticking a soft reminder of her presence in that space. Six months had slipped by in a blur of debriefings, training simulations, and meticulously orchestrated press events, where she was expected to radiate gratitude and a sense of reform. Six months of seeking redemption.
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she finally stepped out of the car and into the cool, damp air that carried the enticing aromas of lavender and rich, wet earth. Ava walked up the stone path, her boots making soft sounds against the flagstones as she approached the front door, now painted a new, deep muddy brown. Yet the heavy brass knocker remained unchanged. She reached into her pocket for the key Bill had given her years ago, a small token she’d cherished and kept on a simple silver chain, a souvenir of reassurance through dark times.
The lock turned with a welcoming clunk that resonated in her heart. Pushing the door open, she was enveloped by the nostalgic scents of pine needles, roasting garlic, and old paper, a sensation that reverberated deep within her soul. From the living room floated the low, intricate, and absolutely perfect notes of Duke Ellington's jazz arrangement of the Nutcracker, weaving a musical welcome as she crossed the threshold.
"Is that you, kiddo?" Bill’s voice called out, warm and deep, threading through her.
"It’s me," she answered, her words feeling small and fragile against the rush of overwhelming emotion that surged through her.
He stepped into view through the living room doorway, wiping his hands on a dish towel tucked into his jeans. Bill looked much the same, perhaps a touch older, with more gray flecks in his beard and a few additional lines etching the corners of his eyes. But at his core, he was still undeniably Bill, a mountain of a man: solid, real, and exuding a smile that shone like a lighthouse.
He didn’t rush toward her. Instead, he stood there, his gaze taking in all the intricacies of her existence. So much unspoken knowledge passed between them in a single, silent look. He could see the fatigue that clung to her like a second skin, the tension coiling in her shoulders. His smile softened at the sight.
"You’re late," he said gently, his tone feigning dramatics. "I was about to send a search party. Or, you know, call Scott and have him send the ants."
A small smile crept onto her lips. "Traffic."
"Uh-huh." He tossed the towel onto a nearby chair and opened his arms, the invitation clear.
She stepped into his embrace, and in that moment, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Ava allowed herself to feel utterly safe. He was big, warm, and so very solid, an anchor amidst the swirling chaos of her life. She buried her face against his sweater, which held the comforting scents of garlic and that uniquely Bill aroma, so familiar and grounding. He drew her close, one hand cradling her hair, the other resting firmly at the small of her back, providing a steady, unyielding pressure.
"Missed you," he murmured softly into her hair.
"Missed you too," she managed to say, her voice thick with emotions barely contained.
After a long moment of lingering connection, he gently pulled back, his hands remaining on her shoulders, concern knitting his brow. "Are you alright? Really?"
"I’m tired," she admitted, feeling the weight of her truth. "But I’m okay. The… work they have me doing is a lot."
"The ‘New Avenger’ thing," he replied, the phrase laced with the skepticism she shared. "I saw the news. You looked thrilled."
A playful eye roll escaped her, bringing warmth in its familiarity. "I was practicing my ‘I’m a team player who has seen the error of my ways’ face. Bucky says I’m getting good at it."
"You were always a terrible liar," he said, grinning. He squeezed her shoulders gently. "But here, you’re just Ava. My little girl."
With a laugh—a vibrant, genuine sound that she felt in her heart—she felt a lift, a fleeting lightness that filled the space between them.
Bill led her into the kitchen, where the sight before her made her stomach rumble; an enormous turkey resting on the counter with herbs nestled under its skin, bowls filled with colorful chopped vegetables prepped for the feast, cornbread cooling on a rack, and succulent lamb chops beautifully arranged alongside deviled eggs and a mountain of mac and cheese that could easily evoke envy in Yelena.
He poured her a glass of water, his gestures steady and sure. "The others will be here soon."
"How is… Hank?" she inquired, the question always one laden with a touch of apprehension.
Bill exhaled dramatically, that long-suffering sigh she had come to recognize. "Hank is Hank. We’ve reached a state of… mutually assured passive aggression. Janet keeps us from turning the living room into a black hole of tension." He leaned against the counter, studying her with a renewed seriousness. "You sure you’re okay with them all being here? I know it can be overwhelming. I can always call them, make an excuse."
Ava shook her head, her resolve firm. "No. I want to see them," she insisted. The truth was, she missed them all dearly. The infectious smile of Cassie, the nurturing touches of Janet, and even, unexpectedly, the relentless, golden-retriever energy that was Scott. "I need to see them. It’s been too long."
The house, which had felt so large and quiet just moments before, was suddenly filled to bursting. Scott was a human exclamation point, bounding into the entryway with a wide grin, two pies balanced precariously in his hands. "Bill! Merry Christmas! The house smells amazing! Is that turkey?"
Hope followed him, sporting a new shorter haircut, dressed in a simple sweater and jeans with a bottle of wine in her hand. She gave Scott a look that was equal parts exasperation and deep affection. "Scott, you’re going to drop the pies."
"I’m not gonna drop the—whoa!" He fumbled one, and Hope caught it with one smooth motion.
"See?" she said, patting his arm.
"Ava!" Scott’s attention snapped to her, his grin widening. He set the remaining pie on a side table and rushed her, pulling her into a hug that lifted her off the floor. "How are you? Heard you were in the big leagues now."
"Scott, let her breathe," Hope said, coming over to give Ava a more gentle, sincere hug. "It’s so good to see you, Ava. You look tired."
"She’s an Avenger, Hope," Scott said proudly, as if that explained everything. "We’re powered by coffee and a deep-seated need for validation."
"I think that’s just you, honey," Hope replied dryly, but she was smiling.
Cassie was next. She’d shot up in the last year, all long limbs and bright, intelligent eyes. She barrelled into Ava, hugging her tight. "I missed you! Dad’s been driving me crazy talking about you. ‘My friend Ava is an Avenger now like me,’ like he’s telling everyone at the grocery store."
"I’m a proud friend!" Scott declared.
Ava laughed, hugging Cassie back. "I missed you too. You look taller the last time I saw you.’"
Finally, Janet and Hank came in. Janet’s smile was warm and genuine. She embraced Ava, her touch light but firm. "Ava, my dear. It’s wonderful to see you home."
Then there was Hank. He stood in the doorway, his arms crossed, his expression a carefully curated neutrality.
"Starr," he said, his voice gruff. A simple acknowledgment.
"Pym," she replied, her tone equally level.
Bill stepped forward, rubbing his hands together. "Alright, now that the pleasantries are out of the way, who wants to help me argue with Hank about the proper resting time for a roasted bird?"
"There’s no argument, Bill," Hank sniffed, walking past him toward the kitchen. "There is scientific fact, and then there is your culinary guesswork. A thirty-pound bird requires a minimum of forty-five minutes of rest to allow for proper juice redistribution."
"It’s a twenty-four-pound bird, Hank, and if it rests for forty-five minutes it’ll be cold," Bill shot back, following him. "You’re applying lab standards to a family meal."
"The laws of thermodynamics don’t take a holiday, Foster," Hank’s voice drifted from the kitchen.
Janet sighed, a sound of profound, maternal exhaustion. She looked at Hope, Scott, Cassie, and Ava. "And this," she said, gesturing toward the kitchen, from which the sounds of bickering were escalating, "is why I drink. Come on, let’s get this wine open."
The living room was dominated by a magnificent Fraser fir that smelled like a slice of heaven. It was already strung with lights, but the boxes of ornaments were sitting on the floor, waiting.
"Oh, tree decorating!" Cassie exclaimed. "This is my favorite part."
"Bill and I have a system," Ava said, a nostalgic smile playing on her lips. "He tells the story of every ornament, and I find the perfect spot for it."
Scott just grinned, plopping down on the floor and opening the first box. "Ooh, what’s this one?" He held up a lopsided clay star, a child’s messy carving on the back.
"That," Ava said, taking it from him, "is a masterpiece of early-career Foster. Kindergarten, I believe. A seminal work." She found a branch and hung it carefully.
As they fell into a comfortable rhythm, Scott’s boundless enthusiasm livened the atmosphere. He unpacked each ornament with glee, expressing delight over every trinket. Hope directed him, keeping him from placing all the heavy decorations on one side of the tree, while Cassie gingerly found homes for the more delicate pieces. Janet, with her quiet smile and keen eye, flitted about, filling in the gaps, lending her gentle guidance
Ava moved through this cherished process, the familiar ritual acting as a balm for her frayed nerves. She unwrapped the delicate hand-blown glass bird, a treasure from Bill’s grandmother back in the ‘50s. She felt the familiar weight of the wooden spaceship her father had carved, the ache in her palm both joyful and sorrowful. Hanging it on a prominent branch became a silent tribute to shared memories.
Finally, buried near the bottom of the box, she found it. Wrapped in a hefty layer of velvet cloth, she unwrapped the Baccarat crystal snowflake with care. The firelight caught its facets, casting shimmering rainbows across the ceiling. A faint, silvery line ran through its center, nearly invisible unless one knew where to look, the scar where Bill had painstakingly glued it back together all those years ago, a kintsugi testament to resilience.
For a moment, she held it, memories flooding back of the time it had shattered. She remembered her fear, the raw panic, and Bill’s unwavering kindness that had pulled her back from that edge.
"That one’s still holding up," Bill said, having emerged from the kitchen with a glass of red wine. Hank was trailing him, still muttering about thermal gradients.
"It’s stronger where it was broken," Ava said softly. She found the perfect spot, right in the center of the tree at eye-level, and hung it. It spun slowly, a perfect, flawed star.
Hank squinted at it. "You’re still using that?."
"It’s sentimental, Hank," Janet said, putting a hand on his arm.
Scott, meanwhile, had found another ornament. "Hey, what’s this?" He held up a small, glittery atom, its electrons tracing delicate silver orbits. "Is this from you, Hank?"
"Of course not," Hank scoffed. "The electron shells are all wrong. That’s a Bohr model. It’s hopelessly outdated."
Bill grinned. "A colleague gave it to me. He said it was a good metaphor for our work. A stable nucleus with a lot of chaotic energy spinning around it." He looked around the room at the assembled group. "Seems fitting."
Later, as the turkey completed its resting period, Ava wandered into the dining room and found Cassie nestled in the bay window, her attention focused intently on a notebook as she sketched. The fading afternoon light cast a soft glow, turning the sky into a tapestry of bruised purples and deep indigos.
"Whatcha drawing?" Ava asked, resting her arms against the window frame to get a better look.
Cassie turned the sketchbook toward her, revealing an impressively detailed drawing of an ant. Its mandibles and antennae were illustrated surrounded by swirling patterns of light and energy.
"Just an idea," Cassie commented. "I’m thinking about how to visualize communication signals. Dad thinks it’s just noise, but I see a language—a pattern."
"It’s beautiful," Ava replied, genuinely impressed by Cassie’s talent. She noted how Cassie’s long hair, currently escaping from a messy bun, framed her excited face. "You want me to braid that for you? Before it gains sentience and tries to take over the world?"
Cassie’s eyes lit up. "Really? Would you?"
"Yeah, of course." Ava smiled warmly. "Come on."
They made their way to Ava’s old room, which seemed untouched by time. The room held memories of its former occupant, with a bookshelf brimming with her collection of sci-fi paperbacks and physics textbooks, a sanctuary that Bill had preserved. He had kept it as a shrine to a girl wanted in several nations.
Cassie settled on the floor at Ava’s feet while Ava perched on the edge of the bed. As she combed through Cassie’s hair, the simple, repetitive motion was calming for both of them. Though Cassie’s hair was different, finer and straighter, the intimacy of the act felt familiar. There was trust in the air, palpable and comforting.
"Bill used to do this for me," Ava shared quietly, her fingers beginning the familiar three-strand braid. "When I first moved in with him, he had no clue what he was doing. He bought magazines for guidance. It took him an hour to do two braids."
Cassie giggled. "Seriously? Dr. Foster?"
"Absolutely. I think he was more stressed out by my hair than anything else going on in his life." A smile warmed Ava’s face as she recalled those moments. "He was so patient with me, so fearful of hurting me." She pulled a section of Cassie’s hair a bit tighter. "He taught me to be gentle."
The room fell silent for a moment, the only sound the soft tableau of hair weaving through Ava’s fingers.
"Is it hard?" Cassie asked, her voice small, almost hesitant. "Being an Avenger?"
Ava’s hands hesitated for a brief heartbeat. "Sometimes," she admitted, her voice tinged with vulnerability. "It’s not what I wanted. When they look at me, I don’t see a wanted fugitive reflected back. They see a hero, a ‘good guy.’ It’s difficult to be Ava when everyone only recognizes Ghost."
"I get that," Cassie said thoughtfully, her expression earnest. "A little. After everything in the Quantum Realm, it feels different now. Like I could shrink at any moment and be back there or find myself talking to bugs."
"Do you?" Ava asked, a playful smile touching her lips.
"Only when they’re really annoying," Cassie replied deadpan, and they both burst into laughter.
"The trick," Ava said, her voice turning serious again, "is to not let their label become your name. You’re Cassie. You’re a brilliant girl, an artist, and you have a father who loves you more than anything in this world. The suit… that’s just a thing you do sometimes. It’s not who you are."
As she finished the first braid, neat and tidy against Cassie’s scalp, Ava spoke not just to Cassie but also to herself. A necessary reminder, an affirmation.
"Thanks, Ava," Cassie said softly, her gratitude evident.
"Anytime." Ava began on the next braid on the right side. "So tell me, what’s your plan for college?"
Just as she finished the last braid, Scott appeared in the doorway, a huge smile brightening his face. "Ladies, dinner is served. And Hope has threatened to hide my dessert if we don’t get downstairs quickly, and trust me, she is not bluffing."
"I can hear you!" Hope called up from below.
"She’s everywhere!" Scott whispered dramatically, before swooping in to hug Cassie and ruffle her freshly braided hair.
"Dad!" Cassie exclaimed, trying to smooth her hair back into place.
Ava watched the playful exchange with a genuine smile, warmth swelling in her chest.
When they finally made their way to the long dining table, Ava was greeted by a feast: the beautifully roasted turkey, still the subject of Bill and Hank's animated debate over its juiciness; fluffy mashed potatoes; savory stuffing; vibrant collard greens; Janet’s homemade cranberry sauce; barbecue ribs; and the two pies Scott had brought, all making her mouth water.
True to form, Scott and Hope exhibited an adorably annoying dynamic. He would surreptitiously steal a piece of turkey from her plate, and she would retaliate by ladling an extra spoonful of greens onto his, a silent but playful battle waged between them. At one point, he reached under the table to take her hand. The look they shared was intimate, brimming with affection, compelling Ava to look away, a strange mix of secondhand embarrassment and a dull ache in her heart for something she had never known.
Bill and Hank had moved beyond their discussions of thermodynamics. They now engaged in a spirited "discussion" about the merits of the James Webb Space Telescope versus Hubble.
"Hubble was a workhorse, a paradigm-shifter," Bill argued passionately, gesturing animatedly with his fork. "It gave us the deep field. It fundamentally reshaped our understanding of the cosmic scale."
"It’s a relic, Bill." Hank countered, dabbing his mouth with a napkin as if he were making a critical point. "Webb operates in the infrared. It can observe the birth of the first galaxies. Comparing the two is like comparing a daguerreotype to an MRI. Both are images, but one offers exponentially more data."
"You always were more obsessed with data than with poetry, Hank," Bill sighed, leaning back a bit, mock exasperation etched on his face.
"Poetry doesn’t get you to the Quantum Realm, Bill," Hank retorted, crossing his arms for emphasis.
Seated between Cassie and Scott, Ava couldn’t help but observe the banter. Scott, ever the enthusiast, attempted to draw her into a conversation about Avenger life.
"So, I heard Bucky’s been putting you guys through the wringer. Has he mentioned me at all? We kinda crossed paths during that time in Germany when Cap asked me to fight alongside him."
"You mean the incident that got you arrested and tossed into the Raft?" Ava replied with a dry tone, raising an eyebrow at him.
Scott’s eyes widened in faux indignation. "I didn’t know I was going to end up there! It was Captain America! Hope, back me up here!"
Hope didn’t even bother glancing up from her plate. "No."
"See the oppression I live under?" Scott whispered dramatically to Ava, earning a chuckle from her.
Meanwhile, Cassie animatedly recounted her latest project; a device aimed at mapping quantum entanglement in real-time. Her hands danced in the air as she explained, and Ava found herself genuinely engrossed. The girl was a prodigy, her intelligence combined with Scott’s fervent heart creating a delightful blend of potential.
Suddenly, in the midst of Cassie’s explanation, a wave of sharp pain flashed through Ava’s body, icy and piercing, like a needle jabbed behind her right eye. It was accompanied by a fleeting flicker, a disorienting moment of translucent nausea as she reached for her glass of water. She froze for an instant, breath hitching, the pain dissipating as swiftly as it had come, leaving only a metallic taste in her mouth.
No one seemed to notice her momentary distress except for Janet. Her lively conversation with Hope abruptly ceased, and she turned her gaze toward Ava, concern etched in her expression. In that quiet moment, a silent understanding exchanged between them, and Ava gave Janet a tiny, reassuring nod. Picking up her glass, her hand now steady, she sipped water as she regained her composure. The beast had stirred, only to quiet down once more.
After the dinner plates were cleared and they felt full and sleepy, the group migrated to the living room, buzzing with anticipation for the gift exchange.
Cassie presented Ava with a beautifully framed sketch of the front of her and Bill’s home, a piece of art that was both intricate and heartfelt. Hope and Scott gifted her a ridiculously expensive pair of noise-canceling headphones. "For when you need to tune out the world," Hope said, casting a pointed look in Scott's direction. "Or Val," added Scott, his voice light and teasing.
Janet and Hank gave her a simple yet elegant cashmere scarf, impossibly soft to the touch. "For the cold nights at the compound," Janet said, her smile full of warmth and maternal affection.
Then came Bill’s gift, the grand finale. It was a thin, flat package. Ava opened it to reveal a first-edition copy of a science fiction book of her favorite story. The old cover was slightly worn, perfectly embodying the charm of a cherished classic.
"You don’t always have to be looking inward at your own atoms," Bill said softly, his eyes meeting hers with understanding. "It’s good to look up at the stars sometimes, too."
Tears pricked at her eyes. He always saw her as she was. Just Ava. Overcome, she got up and hugged him tightly. "I love it. Thanks, Bill."
Ava had gifts of her own to give. For Bill, she had found a rare vinyl record of a legendary jazz pianist. Hank received a custom-tooled leather tool belt, with his insignia subtly embossed. Janet was gifted an antique journal, and Cassie received a ridiculously complicated puzzle to spark her creativity. For Scott and Hope, Ava had framed a candid shot from their Thanksgiving gathering where they were both laughing, caught in a moment of pure joy.
Once the gift-giving concluded, Scott rubbed his hands together, a twinkle in his eye. "Alright! It’s movie time. Bill, I trust you have the greatest Christmas movie of all time ready to go?"
Bill’s grin widened. "Cued up and ready to play."
He slipped a tape into the VCR, and the opening credits rolled, accompanied by the iconic strains of "Christmas in Hollis" by Run-DMC.
"Die Hard?" Hope raised an eyebrow, her tone a mix of disbelief and amusement. "Again?"
"It’s a tradition!" Scott responded, his excitement infectious.
They all piled onto the sofas, Bill stoking the fire to keep the room cozy. Ava found herself on the big sofa, nestled between Cassie and Scott, a large bowl of popcorn warming her lap. As the movie began, with John McClane arriving in L.A., Ava leaned her head back and took in the scene around her, the room was alive with the flicker of the firewood and twinkling lights of the Christmas tree.
Bill and Hank were already engaged in a low-level debate about Nakatomi Plaza, their banter filling the air with lighthearted tension. Janet watched them with a mild, amused smile. Hope was curled up against Scott, her head comfortably resting on his shoulder, while his arm wrapped protectively around her. Cassie was completely engrossed in the film, her wide eyes reflecting the screen's action.
It wasn't a perfect moment; they were a little disjointed, messy even, and her body still retained the echoes of pain. Her future remained uncertain, tethered to a role she hadn't chosen.
Yet, as she sat there, enveloped in warmth, noise, and the glorious chaos surrounding her, a profound sense of peace settled over Ava. Amidst the laughter and love, she felt undeniably at home.