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Ava tossed and turned, feeling trapped and tangled up in her linen sheets, but simultaneously like all the molecules in her body were trying to rip apart. She sat up in the bed with a frustrated groan, throwing the blankets off of her and dragging her hands down her face harshly. Her day had been trash from start to finish. One of those days where she couldn’t hold her molecules together properly, couldn’t stop buzzing, couldn’t speak without snapping. The mission went sideways, she’d lost control again—twice—and someone on the comms had called her a liability.
Maybe they didn’t mean it. Maybe they did.
She just wanted to be able to sleep like a normal person, without her body humming endlessly and without all the noise thrumming around in her head. But Ava would likely never get that, so she would have to settle for some tea instead.
Ava carefully lifted her mug off of the nightstand, holding it delicately in her hands. It was one that Janet Van Dyne had given her, some cheap Pym Technologies merchandise that was now worn and old with the label chipping off, and hopped off the bed. She didn’t know why she had kept it after all these years, it was really just some mug, but Janet had given it to her specifically. Maybe she was just pathetic, clinging onto some sentimental nonsense from someone who would barely consider her a friend, but it helped serve as a reminder. A reminder that what she was doing was good now, that she could always be better, and that even though she still had bad days sometimes, nothing could compare to the excruciating pain she once had.
Ava sighed and padded softly into the hallway, trying to be as quiet as her namesake so to not disturb the others. As she approached the kitchen she heard noise, light clattering and banging as well as someone grumbling lightly. She peaked around the corner, hiding behind the wall and spotted a shadow moving in the low light. She shrugged, probably just Yelena or Bob getting a snack which was a pretty regular occurrence. She had run into them numerous times since they seemed to sleep just about as much as she did.
What she didn’t expect was John Walker, wearing a kiss the cook apron that Yelena had jokingly gifted him, half-covered in flour, squinting at a mixing bowl like it had personally wronged him.
He froze when he heard her enter. She blinked.
“…You bake?” she asked, voice scratchy from disuse, curiosity poking through her haze of exhaustion.
John straightened up a bit too quickly, his spine jerking rigid like he was back in a briefing. “I’ve… baked. Before.” He cleared his throat. “Trying again.”
She took in the disaster around him. Bags of sugar open and clumsily folded. Butter wrappers stuck to the counter. A cookbook discarded on its spine like it had betrayed him.
She leaned against the doorframe. “Uh-huh.”
He gave her a look. “You gonna stand there or say something helpful?”
“Nice outfit.”
That got the faintest smirk and eye roll out of him before he turned back to the bowl and resumed stirring—aggressively.
“What are you even trying to make?” She prodded as she rounded the corner to come behind the kitchen island.
“Nothing.” He said it way too fast. “Just messing around.”
She rolled her eyes and hummed, but turned towards the cabinets and began to riffle through them looking for her package of chamomile tea. She exclaimed happily when she found it and grabbed the kettle to boil some water. While the water boiled, she leaned against the countertop with her arms crossed over her chest, feigning indifference as she watched John fight with the KitchenAid mixer.
Ava squinted at the array of ingredients, the round cake pans prepped beside him, and the faint smell of something sweet. She noticed the container of strawberries, jar of jam, and can of whipped cream all placed on the counter near him. Ava hummed to herself quietly, all of those things sounded absolutely delicious right now, and she had been particularly craving a certain desert that contained all of those ingredients the past few weeks.
Her tired brain clicked back to a conversation weeks ago, maybe longer. She’d been venting after a long mission. The team had gathered around in the common room, some movie flickering on the television as they all were laid sporadically out on the couches. Alexie and Yelena had been talking about the food they missed from their homeland. Ava had chimed in and said something about how the last time she felt normal was when she had a slice of Victoria sponge cake at a London café. Soft layers, fresh cream and jam. She remembered saying that she’d kill to eat one again. She didn’t mention the last time she’d had one was with her father, just a few months before the accident and his death. Right before her whole life had been turned upside down. No, Ava had just tucked her legs up under her and smiled softly as she listened to Yelena and Bob chatter about which desserts were the best.
She shook her head softly, blinking herself back into the present moment. Ava tilted her head to the side curiously, certainly Walker hadn’t been paying attention to that. It had been weeks ago and it was some idle rambling about some stupid sweets. But it seemed too particular to be just a coincidence.
Her eyes narrowed. “Wait… are you making a Victoria sponge?”
“No.” He avoided her gaze with military precision.
She narrowed her eyes and pushed off the counter, coming to stand next to him. He let out a deep, aggravated sigh and turned his face to look at her.
“Maybe. What of it?”
A slow grin crept up her face. She stepped further into the kitchen, eyeing the ingredients like evidence at a crime scene. “Is this because I said I really wanted one?”
John muttered something about coincidence.
She bit back a laugh. “Are you baking me a cake, Walker?”
He scowled. “No. I’m baking a cake. For myself. Obviously.”
“Right. Since you normally bake all the time.” She paused, watching him struggle with a hand mixer. “You want help?”
He hesitated. “Do you even know how?”
“I know enough to keep you from murdering the batter,” she said, rolling up her sleeves. “Besides, I think I owe it to this kitchen to minimize further collateral damage.”
He stepped aside without comment, but the small tilt of his head—inviting, begrudgingly—was as close to a yes as she’d ever get.
They worked in silence for a while, the kind that was companionable despite itself. She beat the cream while he layered the jam. It seemed odd that they could work so well together without bickering. Or kind of without bickering. John grumbled at her as she ate the whipped cream right from the can, spraying it into her mouth, and grumbled even more when she pointed the nozzle directly at him and sprayed him instead. Ava smacked him with a spatula when he had tossed flour at her, leaving her face and hair coated in the white dust.
At one point their hands brushed, reaching for the powdered sugar. She didn’t pull away.
After John had set the cake pans in the oven, Ava leaned back against the counter and hummed thoughtfully. He turned around at this noise, tilting his head to the side like a confused dog.
“What?” he asked, his words direct but not unkind.
Ava shrugged, “Nothing. It's just odd, never thought I’d see you bake a cake. I mean I know you cook and everything,” she paused, gesturing with her hands, “but it's just different. You with the flour and apron.” she teased.
John huffed out a laugh and leaned back on the counter across from her, “I never thought so either. I mean I’ve tried before with my mom, never quite got the hang of it.”
He reached up and scratched at the back of his neck, “It’s like cooking, helps clear my mind. Quiets everything down. Sometimes everything in my head gets too loud.” he admitted softly.
Ava looked up and met his gaze, feeling seen by Walker of all people. She wouldn’t have believed you if you had told her that even a few hours ago. “Yeah, sometimes it does.” she replied simply, nodding in understanding.
By the time the cake was cooling, her tension had drained out like air from a balloon. They sat on the counter, feet swinging, dusted in sugar and a little flour. John stared at the cake like it owed him something. Ava took a sip of her now-forgotten tea.
And when John had cut a slice for both of them and Ava had readily bit into hers she hummed happily, feeling more normal and content than she had in ages. She glanced up at him and noticed a similar expression on his face, a lighter one, like a weight had been lifted off of him too.
“…Thanks,” she said softly, later when they were cleaning up.
“For what?” he muttered.
She glanced at him, catching the faint pink dusting his ears. “For remembering. That I said I missed that cake.”
He looked away. “I didn’t do it for you.”
She smiled. “Sure you didn’t.”
He grumbled something inaudible, but a small smile crept up on his face, and she let the quiet stretch again, warm now instead of heavy.