Work Text:
We sit.
There is nothing else we can do, nothing we should do, or have any obligation to do. All there is is sitting. So many of us sit still, turned inward toward our own thoughts. Thoughts that dominate everything else. A few of us must keep busy or those thoughts will drown them, the undercurrent pinning them to the very bottom.
Bruce types furiously on a computer, trying to keep up with the news stories that are disjointed and panicked. There is too much to process here, I don’t know how he can handle all the destruction.
Shuri tinkers with something at her counter. I don’t understand what she is doing, I’m not even sure she knows what she is doing. She has tear streaks down her cheeks and bloodshot eyes. Occasionally she sniffles.
Thor shifts his battleax from leaning against his leg to resting across his lap and back again. He started out pacing but now sits with the rest of us. I want to ask him the questions burning at the back of my brain – where did you get the battleax? What happened to the hammer? What happened to your eye? – but I don’t think I have the strength to form words.
It feels as though we are waiting for something. But there is nothing coming. Nothing to be waiting for. Nothing left.
In silence.
A silence so strong that it wraps around us like a blanket. There is nothing left to say. Nothing can make this any better, no words have the power to ease the turmoil that is going through our minds. We did talk, made introductions that needed to be made, processed what could be processed.
But now words have no meaning.
Somehow this silence is comforting. The thought that conversation doesn’t have to be made, can’t be made. That those in this lab with me are feeling the same things that I feel. We don’t need words to communicate that.
Full of pain.
We have all lost someone. Lost many. Too many.
There is no way of knowing how many have been lost outside of Wakanda. How many people in the world, people we knew, will we never see again? How many are gone?
This has happened to all of us before. We have lost those close to us—multiple times. But this time is different.
There is just too much.
So we sit in silence, full of pain, and wait for something. Anything.
We have been like this for too long. Yet not nearly long enough. I wish for something to do, but wish that I can continue to sit in silence. Wish for an end, a numbing of this pain.
My eyes lift from my feet and look out the window at the field below. There is evidence of the battle fought there. Scorch marks on the ground, bodies strewn about. I have become all too familiar with these sights.
I watch as the wind picks up. Stirring dust into the air.
Too quickly I look back at my feet. I can’t look anymore.
We continue.
A phone rings.
We all visibly flinch.
Thor jumps to his feet, battleax at the ready.
Nat slowly answers.
“Clint?”
She’d been trying to contact him.
“Thank God you’re alright…
Laura?...
The kids?”
We all watch, helpless, as Nat breaks. She slides to the floor, head in her hands.
“Clint, I’m so sorry.”
I can hear the tears, even if they haven’t been cried yet.
“Too many.”
He’s asking about us, now. He has just lost everything, and he wants to know about us.
“Vision…
T’Challa…
Barnes…” Again his name is on the list of the dead.
“Wilson…”
Pause.
“Wanda…”
“Come to Wakanda… we can regroup.
Clint…
Clint?”
Suddenly she throws the phone across the room. It hits the floor, shattering on contact.
“Damn it!”
Nat buries her her head in both hands.
Bruce abandons his computer and moves to the floor next to her. Gently, hesitantly, he puts an arm around her shoulders.
She leans in to him.
The silence returns. Stronger now. A straight-jacket.
Thor sits back down.
Rhodey stands, and starts to pace.
Shuri returns to her work.
Rocket sinks lower in his seat.
Bruce holds Nate.
I sit, wishing I knew if Tony was alive. Wishing for answers.
Time passes.
A bang.
We jump. Again.
Shuri dropped something on her counter.
We begin to settle.
“No.” Shuri says.
“Enough.”
We pause. Thor halfway seated.
“We must do something.
What is our next move?”
We stare silently at her.
Nat lifts her head.
“We should take the fight to Thanos.” Shuri suggests.
She is trying to get us moving.
A dry, humorless laugh fills the lab.
“What fight?” Rocket askes finally, his laugh stopping.
Shuri opens her mouth to protest. Thor seems ready to say something as well.
“Rocket’s right.” I cut them both off.
“There is no fight.
We lost.
It’s over.”
“You cannot give up, Steve.” Thor says, standing to his full height.
“We’re not giving up.” Nat says, her voice strong again. “There’s nothing to give up. Thanos already won.”
“We must do something.” Shuri says again. But her voice wavers.
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” Rocket says almost helpfully.
“We’ll drink.”
“We’ll drink, and numb whatever it is we’re feeling.”
“The rabbit is right,” Thor says.
“Let us drink in memory of those who have fallen.”
There is a murmur of agreement from everyone except Shuri.
She has been defeated.
“What are we waiting for,” Rocket says, “Let’s find some booze.”
Everyone stands with purpose. This might not be what we were waiting for. But at least it is something. Leaving the lab there is some semblance of life among us.
I bring up the rear, wishing to God I could get drunk and numb this pain.