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Laura was used to the shame, the immense guilt, that came after a mission. She was accustomed to the burning self-hatred she'd feel watching the claws retract back into her knuckles and the blood drip from her hands. She was prepared, usually. But, things were different now. Charles was not there to help her remember her purpose, to remind her of all the terrible things those people did. Charles was dead. The Xavier School was gone. Her family had dissipated. She was alone, more than ever before.
She was quiet on the ride back to Stark Tower. The rest of the Avengers all sat quietly, eyes glued to the sky blurring by. No one attempted to speak to her. Natasha had tried but had given up after an hour when refused to respond. Bucky looked at her a few times. His eyes were searching for an answer, a justification for her actions, something that Laura didn't have. Whatever happened back there, in the midst of the chaos, when she was entranced by the smell of smoke and gun powder, could not be rectified. The blood she spilled, the lives she ended could not be taken back.
They touched down quicker than usual, everyone itching to get off the jet. As the hangar door was falling open, Laura was standing knees cracking painfully. She could feel her femur slipping back into place with her hips. It hurt like hell but she was able to ignore it. Natasha remained seated as everyone shuffled out of the jet into the tower.
I should wait, Laura thought. Then a rushing flash of bloody bodies polluting the snow hit her and she was practically sprinting down the hallway. Faces, scratched and painfully contorted stared back at her as she exited the elevator. The world was loud. The city below the tower was obnoxious. Voices, those of her teammates still on the communal floor, beat into her skull as if they were being shot from a gun. Claws plucking eyes from sockets swung were shut out by her bedroom door. The hinges gave an ache of protest and she didn't have the energy to care whether the door would still be there if she turned around.
As Laura's eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness of the room, she couldn't help but move. She couldn't not. Her feet just kept walking and it was up to her to direst herself. At this point she was pacing, waving her hands rapidly, trying to get away from the feeling. There was some weight on her chest and it felt as though her throat was closing. She needed to do something. She needed to get cool. As by their own conviction, her hands peeled off her suit. Practically sprinting into the bathroom, the mutant splashed icy water on her face. The lights in the bathroom kicked on at her presence, eliciting a slight buzz that chewed at her ears. Everything was both too loud and too quiet. The lights were too bright, and her face was hot. The weight on her chest bared down. She was suffocating. Water dripped from her face down to her neck. She half expected it to sear against the heat of her skin. The cold only distracted her for a moment. Then returned that overwhelming feeling in such a more intense wave than before. It seemed to twist and weave inside of her, settling between her heart and lungs.
It was then, with such an immense mixture of pain, guilt, and grief, that she punched the bathroom mirror desperate for a distraction. This pain, the physical breaking and cracking of her bones, brought her back to life, returned her to some essence of rational thought. A cracked reflection of herself stared back at her. Bloodstained the glass and poured from her hand. It smeared across the basin of the sink as the skin resealed itself with that familiar churning sound. She looked from her hand to the rest of herself, dotted with dry blood and dirt. The Wolverine suit and under-gear lay in a nauseating clump in the bathroom doorway. She was still in her underwear when she turned the shower. She slid the rest of the horrid fabric off and stepped under the stream. The sting of cold water against her skin was euphoric. The water disappeared down the drain taking with it the bloodshed of the day, making her clean. Showers were a necessity, not just for hygiene but for her conscience. They washed away all evidence of her actions. If she didn't see the blood on her hands it did not exist. Delusion was far better than self-loathing, the mutant convinced herself.
Footsteps, ones that Laura knew far better than most, were heard from the bedroom and led into the bathroom. She could hear that heartbeat, pounding quietly a lovely song. Through the frosted glass of the shower door, she watched a distorted figure examine the scene the mutant had left behind, just red blotches from here.
"Are you okay?" Natasha's voice, although small, echoed against the tile walls. She already knew the answer, but she needed confirmation. Verbal confirmation. The mutant didn't think she could. While her mind had returned, her voice had not. With great effort, Laura let out a grunt and quickly regretted it. It was too animalistic and it made her stomach twist painfully. The door opened and there Natasha stood, eyes narrowed with concern, mouth parted slightly.
"Laura," she scanned the mutant's body looking for injury. All she would find is bare, undamaged skin. Her brows dipped low, creasing her forehead. "Laura," she repeated firmly.
The mutant had to talk, she couldn't get away with silence as she had in the past when she and Natasha were merely teammates. Relationships wilted privacy and blossomed expression. Laura found it hard to live without. It was addictive keeping to herself. Staying inside her little shell was all she had growing up. But, as missions together became late nights on the balcony smoking cigarettes and blowing the smoke into each other's mouths, she found herself craving it less.
"I'm fine, Natasha," Laura said, voice gritty with exhaustion, "I cut my hand."
"When you punched a mirror," the older added, motioning to the bloody glass now hanging from the steel cabinet.
Laura couldn't help but let out a sad laugh. It hurt, "Stark's gonna be mad."
"Fuck him," Natasha said, much to Laura's surprise. She was louder now, words bouncing off the walls and wrapping around the mutant. Her eyes were bright and there was a slight hiss to her voice, "You scared the hell out of me back there Laura. One moment your eyes were glowing red, and then the next you were hunkered over in the jet not saying shit to any of us. You wouldn't even say anything to Bucky."
She was yelling now, and if Laura weren't too anxious to move, she might have hugged the women. It was a long moment before either of them spoke. The mutant just stood there, exposed under the cold stream of water and fluorescent lights. Natasha watched her, carefully observing any twitch of her muscles. Finally, the older whispered quite frustrated, "Please say something?"
Laura's heart twisted with guilt unlike what she just experienced. This guilt was small, although it had a razor-sharp point that seemed to poke at her lungs and leave her breathless.
"I'm sorry you were scared. It was not my intention for you to see me like that," the words poured naturally from her, spilling out and splaying themselves across the floor waiting to be retained.
Natasha had a shine in her eyes, almost but not quite like tears, "What happened to you?"
The mutant, feeling much more confident in her movements, turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. As she wrapped a towel around herself, she said, "The shield agents we were working with released a chemical into the air that would trigger my rampage."
"LAURA-"
"I asked Fury to do it, Natasha."
The spy was more than yelling now, her tone reaching that throaty type of screeching she only did when genuinely angry, "Why the hell would you want that? You know what kind of ordeal, emotionally and physically, that shit puts you through."
"I do," Laura didn't know how she was so calm but she was, "We needed to make sure that the chemical was still effective, and it's better to test that in a field of Hydra agents than a city full of people. Besides, who gives a fuck if some Hydra agents die?" She cringed slightly at her words but held strong. She walked past her girlfriend and into the bedroom. The spy followed her the whole way, with a retort ready to be spat.
"I think you give a shit," Natasha accused, "This is the first time that you have ever acted like this after a mission. This kind of episode is not normal, Laura. You weren't designed to kill."
That's what got Laura. You weren't designed to kill. She was. Her designated purpose at birth was to kill. It was supposed to be comforting, she knew that. It was something to reassure Laura that she was more like Charles always told her she was. But, the mutant couldn't help but be angry, at least it felt like anger coursing through her.
"You think you can fix me," the mutant said, all essence of calm lost to the wind, "You can't fix me, Natasha. I'm a killer and that's all I'm ever going to be. I don't feel guilty for those people because I know they can't come back." Her voice was cracking almost painfully.
"Liar," Natasha said simply and she wanted to scream.
"How am I lying?" She spat, tugging on a shirt and pair of shorts. She wanted to run away so badly.
The spy rolled her eyes as if it was obvious, "This episode you just had means you feel guilty Laura. You hate what you did."
"Of course I hate what I did, Natasha. But I shouldn't!" It came out too fast for her to suppress it. The mutant's mouth fell in an o-shape. Natasha had this mysterious expression, something between a grin and shock. She apparently hadn't been expecting that either.
"Why shouldn't you?" The older said so quietly that Laura had to incline her head to listen.
The mutant sighed, unknowing of what to do. She could leave, though Natasha would probably wait here until she came back. She could call it done, change the subject and go to sleep. But that would just start another day of avoiding her girlfriend until she forgot, which was unlikely.
"Because they're bad people. I shouldn't care if bad people die," Laura's voice was a petulant squeak, betraying all the anger and possible grit she'd built up. Tears burned in her eyes. She didn't want to do this. She didn't want to feel. Well she wanted to feel, she just didn't want to be in control of her feelings. She wanted someone to grab her and tell her what to do. It would be so much easier.
Understanding passed through Natasha's face, and Laura was scared that she had said all of that out loud. The spy stepped forward, hands cautiously spread outward. They gently grasped Laura's shoulders, silently asking her to look up. The mutant eyes felt as if they were going to burst with how hard she was trying to hold back tears.
"Let go," Natasha whispered, and with that Laura broke down. Her limbs went limp and she fell against Natasha. She wasn't as embarrassed as she should've been. The spy always offered a safe space place to express herself, both emotionally and physically. Even when Laura didn't feel like putting a voice to her feelings Natasha always made sure she did. In the end, Laura was always thankful. Like right now with her head buried in the spy's neck coughing up tears. She was immensely grateful for her partner's pushiness.
"It's not good to hold in your feelings," the older said in a soothing scorn.
"I know," Laura hiccuped, wrapping her arms around Natasha's neck and shifting to stand on her tippy-toes, "I'm sorry."
Natasha let out a breathy chuckle, pulling the mutant's body closer. "You don't have to apologize, baby."
Laura couldn't help but let out a small laugh, cheeks getting cold from the leftover tears. The dark cloud over her lifted but she did not move from the crook of Natasha's neck. She liked the warmth. She snuggled impossibly closer into Natasha, struggling to reach her height.
The older laughed softly, hands sliding from her sides to the base of her thighs. "You want up?" she asked.
"Yes," she replied.
"Yes, what?" Natasha teased, lips catching on the shell of her ear.
"Yes, mommy."