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The Watchtower hummed with its usual evening energy, floors upon floors of the renovated tower buzzing with activity. Valentina's investment had transformed Stark's old tower into something sleeker, all sharp edges and matte black surfaces.
Ava sat at the edge of her bed on the thirty-seventh floor, staring at her hands as they flickered in and out of phase. The molecular instability that had once threatened to tear her apart was mostly under control now thanks to Janet, but stress always made it worse. And right now, stress felt like an understatement.
Her head pounded with a dull, persistent ache that had been building all day. It started as pressure behind her eyes during the morning briefing, escalated to sharp pulses during training, and now felt like someone was driving railroad spikes through her skull. Her skin felt hot and clammy, clothes sticking uncomfortably to her back despite the tower's climate control.
Ava pressed her palms against her temples and tried to focus on staying solid. The last thing she needed was to phase through the floor and end up in someone else's room.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Antonia: Are you coming down? Yelena made mac and cheese.
Ava stared at the message, the letters swimming slightly on the screen. Even the thought of food made her stomach churn. She typed back: not hungry. headache.
Three dots appeared immediately, then: Want me to bring you something?
Before Ava could respond, another wave of dizziness hit her. She set the phone aside and lay back on the bed, pulling her knees to her chest. The room spun gently, like being on a slow carousel. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe through it.
Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the team gathering for dinner; John's booming laugh, Yelena's sharp retort to something Bob said, the clink of silverware against plates. Normal sounds. But they felt miles away, muffled by the cotton wool sensation filling her head.
Sleep pulled at her, heavy and warm. Maybe if she just rested for a few minutes…
Ava woke to gentle knocking. The room was darker now, only the city lights filtering through her windows providing illumination. Her mouth felt like sandpaper and her clothes were soaked with sweat.
"Ava? I brought you some tea."
Antonia's voice, soft and concerned. Ava managed to sit up, though the movement sent the room tilting sideways for a moment. Her girlfriend slipped inside, carrying a steaming mug that smelled like chamomile and honey.
"You look terrible," Antonia said, but her tone was gentle. She set the mug on the nightstand and pressed the back of her hand to Ava's forehead. "You're burning up."
"I'm fine," Ava mumbled, though even she didn't believe it. She reached for the tea, grateful for something to soothe her throat.
Her fingers passed right through the handle.
Both women stared at Ava's hand, now flickering between solid and translucent. The mug sat untouched on the nightstand.
"Okay, definitely not fine," Antonia said, worry creeping into her voice. She picked up the mug and held it out. "Here, let me—"
Ava tried again, concentrating on staying solid. This time her fingers made contact with the ceramic, but her grip was shaky. The hot liquid sloshed dangerously close to the rim.
"Easy," Antonia murmured, steadying the mug with her own hands. "When's the last time you ate something?"
Ava took a small sip, the warmth spreading down her throat. "This morning, I think. Maybe yesterday." Time felt slippery, hard to pin down.
"Ava." Antonia's voice carried that tone she used when she was trying not to panic. "You need to see a medic."
"Just need sleep," Ava insisted, though the tea was helping a little. "Feel better tomorrow."
Antonia looked unconvinced, but she didn't push. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed, her presence solid and reassuring. "Want me to stay?"
Ava shook her head, immediately regretting the movement as it sent fresh waves of pain through her skull. "Don't want to get you sick."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Antonia's hand resting on Ava's ankle, one of the few places she could maintain solid contact. The touch was grounding, reminding her that she wasn't alone in this.
Eventually, Ava finished the tea and settled back into bed. Antonia tucked the blankets around her carefully, the way she did everything.
"Get some rest," she whispered, pressing a kiss to Ava's overheated forehead. "I'll check on you in the morning."
Ava was already drifting off as the door clicked shut, but not before she heard Antonia's voice in the hallway, speaking in rapid Russian to someone—probably Yelena. The words were too fast and muffled for her to follow, but the tone was worried.
She sank into restless sleep, dreams filled with shifting walls and faces she couldn't quite recognize.
Ava woke to the sound of voices. Her room was bright with morning sunlight that felt like needles in her eyes. Every muscle in her body ached, and her fever had clearly worsened overnight; the sheets were drenched with sweat, and she was shivering despite feeling like she was burning from the inside.
"— should have called a medic last night —"
"— didn't want to overreact —"
The voices were coming from just outside her door. Ava tried to focus, but the words kept sliding away from her like water. She managed to sit up, the room spinning violently before settling into a nauseating sway.
The door opened and Antonia stepped inside, morning light catching the concern etched across her features. She was wearing her usual black hoodie, short hair rumpled from sleep. Everything normal, everything as it should be.
Except for the bullet hole in her forehead.
Ava's breath caught in her throat. The wound was small, perfectly round, dark blood trickling down Antonia's pale face in a steady stream. Her skin had taken on a gray, waxy quality, and her eyes, her beautiful green eyes, were flat and lifeless.
"Morning, Ava," Dead-Toni said, her voice carrying that familiar affectionate tone despite the blood pooling at her feet. "How are you feeling?"
Ava scrambled backward until her back hit the headboard, her entire body phasing in and out of stability. This wasn't real. This couldn't be real. Toni was alive, healthy, whole —
"You're looking better," the corpse continued conversationally, taking a step closer. More blood dripped onto the white carpet. "Your fever broke, I think. That's good."
"No," Ava whispered, then louder: " No, no, no —"
"Ava? What's wrong?" The concern in Dead-Toni's voice was genuine, which somehow made it worse. "You're scaring me."
Ava screamed.
The sound tore from her throat, raw and primal, echoing off the walls of her room. She pressed herself further back against the headboard, phasing partially through it in her panic. Dead-Toni reached toward her with blood-stained fingers—
"Ava! Ava, stop—I'm sorry," Antonia said quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—I'm going to get help, okay? Just stay calm, I'll be right back—"
She fled, leaving Ava alone with her racing heart and the lingering smell of copper that might have been real or might have been another trick of her fevered mind.
Ava curled into a ball on her bed, clutching her white teddy bear against her chest. Benny was one of the few things that had survived from her childhood—a gift from Bill when they’d first met. The bear was worn now, his fur matted from years of clinging, but he still smelled faintly of the laundry detergent from her old home.
The hallucination, because that's what it had to be, left her shaking. Her fever was getting worse, she could feel it in the way her thoughts kept sliding sideways, in the way the room seemed to pulse and breathe around her.
Voices in the hallway again, hushed but urgent. She caught fragments:
"— complete break from reality —"
"— fever psychosis, it happens —"
"— molecular instability might be affecting her brain chemistry —"
"— need to calm her down before she hurts herself —"
The door opened again, slower this time. Ava looked up to see two figures entering: a dark-haired woman with kind eyes and a tall, bald man in a lab coat. They moved carefully, hands visible, speaking in soothing tones.
"Hey there, Ava," the father said gently. "We're here to help."
Elihas and Catherine Starr stood at the foot of her bed, exactly as she remembered them from old photographs. Both of them young and alive and impossible.
"Mummy?" Ava's voice came out small and broken, the voice of a child. "Daddy?"
"We're here," her mother said, moving closer.
Ava's rational mind, what was left of it, screamed that this was wrong. Her parents were dead, had been dead for twenty years, killed in the quantum tunnel explosion that had also cursed her with molecular instability. But her heart, her desperate, lonely heart, didn't care about rational thought.
"I missed you so much," she sobbed, reaching toward them. Her hand phased through her mother's outstretched fingers. "Come back, please—"
"Ava, you’re sick," her father said, settling on the edge of the bed.
"You have a fever, Ava," her mother added, smoothing invisible hair back from Ava's face. "You’re delirious."
Ava was crying now, ugly sobs that shook her entire body. "I was so scared. I need you back—"
"You're not alone anymore," her mother soothed. "We're here now. We'll take care of you."
But something was wrong. Ava could see it in her peripheral vision—her parents' clothes were changing, white coat becoming loose pajamas, familiar faces shifting into different features. When she tried to look directly at them, they snapped back to being her parents, but the wrongness lingered.
"Yelena," a voice called from outside the room. Not her father's voice, but someone else entirely. "She's getting worse. Her vitals are all over the place."
"I know," came the reply from her mother. "We need to get her sedated before she hurts herself."
Ava's confusion spiked. "Mummy?"
Her mother's face flickered, Yelena's features bleeding through for just a moment before snapping back. "Just rest, Ava."
But Ava was spiraling now, the contradiction between what she was seeing and what she was hearing tearing at her sanity. She pressed Benny against her chest and rocked back and forth, trying to make sense of a world that had stopped following any logical rules.
"Make it stop," she whispered. "Please, make it stop."
"Bucky! John! We need you in here, now!"
Yelena's voice carried a note of panic that Ava had never heard before. Her parents, or the people who looked like her parents, were backing away from the bed, speaking in rapid, urgent tones.
"She's getting worse," her father said, though his voice sounded wrong, too soft, too gentle. "If she hurts herself—"
"We need to get the fever down," her mother spoke, though she looked nothing like Catherine Starr now, she’s all sharp angles and Slavic features. Everything’s all blurry.
The door burst open and two more figures entered; broad-shouldered men with the kind of presence that filled a room. Ava looked up at them through her tears and her fever-addled mind conjured the worst possible interpretation.
SHIELD scientists. White coats over military fatigues, clipboards in hand, faces cold and clinical. The same faces that had haunted her nightmares for years, the ones who had poked and prodded and treated her like a lab rat instead of a child.
"We need to sedate her now," the first one said, pulling out what looked like a syringe. "Before she does something she’ll regret."
"No!" Ava screamed, scrambling backward. "No, please!"
She phased through the headboard entirely, tumbling off the back of the bed and hitting the floor hard. Her powers were completely out of control now, her body flickering between solid and translucent so rapidly it looked like a strobe light effect.
"Stay away from me!" She threw herself toward the window, but her legs gave out and she collapsed, still clutching Benny against her chest.
The SHIELD scientists approached slowly, hands outstretched in what they probably thought was a calming gesture. But Ava knew better. She had learned to read body language in those sterile halls, had memorized the micro-expressions that preceded another painful procedure.
"We're not going to hurt you, Ava," the second scientist said, though his voice carried that familiar condescending tone she remembered so well. "We just want to help."
"Liar!" Ava spat, pressing herself into the corner where two walls met.
Her parents-Yelena-Bob had reappeared, hovering anxiously near the door. But they looked wrong now too. Everything was shifting and changing, reality refusing to hold still long enough for her to process it. Antonia was with them, still dead, watching her with concerned eyes as she bled profusely.
"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please, I just want to go home."
The first scientist had the syringe ready now, clear liquid catching the light. Ava knew that syringe, had felt its bite more times than she could count. Sedatives to keep her compliant, experimental drugs to see how they interacted with her condition, pain relievers when the tests went wrong.
She tried to phase through the wall behind her, but her powers weren't responding properly.
"No, no, no—" She pulled herself back, gasping.
Strong hands grabbed her arms, holding her steady despite her attempts to phase away. The needle slid into her neck, the same spot they had always used because it was harder for her to dislodge accidentally.
"I hate you," she sobbed as the sedative began to take hold. "I hate you all."
"I know," the scientist said, and for a moment his voice sounded almost kind, kind of like Bucky’s. "I'm sorry."
The world went soft around the edges, her vision blurring as her body finally stopped its frantic phasing. The last thing she saw before unconsciousness took her was Benny's button eyes, staring back at her with their eternal, understanding silence.
Time became fluid. Ava drifted in and out of consciousness, her fever creating a thin membrane between waking and sleeping that her mind couldn't quite penetrate. Sometimes she was aware of voices around her, hands checking her pulse, cool cloths being placed on her forehead. Other times she was lost in dreams that felt more real than reality.
During one of her brief moments of clarity, she found herself back in her own bed, hooked up to an IV that fed a steady drip of fluids and medication into her system. The room was dimly lit, curtains drawn against the afternoon sun. Someone had changed her into clean pajamas and tucked Benny under her arm.
That's when she saw him.
In the corner of the room, sitting in the chair she usually threw her clothes on, was a young man who couldn't have been more than thirty-two. He had kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses and the sort of gentle demeanor that made children trust him instinctively. His clothes were simple—khakis and a button-down shirt that had seen better days.
Bill. Not the older man who had raised her, but the young scientist who had first walked into the orphanage twenty years ago, looking sorrowful.
Ava stared at him, too tired to be frightened anymore. This hallucination felt different from the others—quieter, sadder, but somehow more real.
"Bill?" she whispered.
He didn’t speak.
"Are you dead too?"
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the ghost of her foster father keeping vigil in the corner. Ava found his presence oddly comforting, even knowing he wasn't really there. He had always been good at that, making her feel safe even when the world was falling apart.
"I miss you," she said finally.
She closed her eyes, feeling the pull of sleep again. When she opened them, the chair was empty, but she could swear she caught a whiff of the aftershave Bill had always worn; something woody and warm that had made her feel safe during those first terrifying months in his care.
The fever broke on the third day.
Ava woke slowly, her mind feeling clearer than it had in what felt like years. The IV was still in her arm, but the worst of the heat had left her body, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion that made even breathing feel like effort.
Antonia was asleep in the chair beside her bed, the same chair where Ava had seen young Bill. Her girlfriend was curled up awkwardly, still wearing the same clothes from three days ago, dark circles under her eyes testament to how much sleep she'd lost.
"Hey," Ava croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Antonia's eyes snapped open immediately, the hypervigilance of someone who had spent too many years sleeping with one eye open. "Ava? Y-you're awake. How do you feel?"
"Like I got hit by a truck," Ava admitted. "And then the truck backed up and hit me again."
Antonia's laugh was shaky with relief. "Your fever broke about six hours ago. The medic said your brain chemistry should normalize over the next day or two as the inflammation goes down."
"Inflammation?"
"Viral encephalitis," Antonia explained, reaching over to squeeze Ava's hand. "It's what was causing the hallucinations. Combined with your molecular instability and the fever, it created a perfect storm for psychotic episodes."
Ava closed her eyes, memory flooding back in embarrassing detail. "I thought you were dead."
"You were sick," Antonia said firmly. "None of that was your fault."
"I threw things at John. Called Bucky terrible names." Ava's voice was getting smaller with each confession. "I thought Yelena and Bob were my parents."
"They understood. Everyone understood." Antonia's thumb traced gentle circles over Ava's knuckles. "We were all scared, but we knew it wasn't really you."
"How can you be so calm about this? I lost my mind for three days."
Antonia was quiet for a long moment, choosing her words carefully. "Because I've been where you were. Maybe not exactly, but close enough. I had episodes too. Saw things that weren't there, couldn't tell past from present." She met Ava's eyes, her own dark memory. "You stayed with me through that. Held my hand while I screamed. Never once made me feel like I was broken."
Ava felt tears prick at her eyes. She remembered those days—Antonia waking up fighting invisible enemies, the way she'd flinch away from touch as if expecting violence.
"That was different," Ava protested weakly.
"No," Antonia said softly. "It really wasn't."
A gentle knock interrupted them. Yelena peered around the door, holding a steaming mug. "Thought you might want some real tea," she said, approaching cautiously. "Not the hospital stuff."
Ava tensed involuntarily, remembering how her fever-addled mind had twisted Yelena's features into her mother's face. But the hallucination felt distant now, like a half-remembered nightmare.
"I'm sorry," she said as Yelena handed her the mug. "For whatever I said or did—"
"You called me ‘mummy,’" Yelena interrupted with a slight smile.
"Oh god." Ava buried her face in her free hand. "That's mortifying."
"Could have been worse," Yelena shrugged. "
The next few days passed in a gentle blur of gradual healing. Ava's strength returned slowly, her molecular stability evening out as her brain chemistry returned to normal. The team took turns checking on her, bringing meals and books and quiet company.
Bob taught her card tricks he learned online while she was bedridden, only for Ava to do it better because Scott taught her all about close-up magic before. Bucky brought homemade soup and the occasional question of " you feeling alright? " which she would always reply with a deadpan " peachy ." John regaled her with increasingly embellished stories about missions that may or may not have actually happened while she was stuck in the room.
Yelena was perhaps the most surprising—she set up a tablet with animated films and provided running commentary that was equal parts educational and hilarious. Apparently, she had strong opinions about Pixar.
But it was Antonia who rarely left her side, working on mission reports from the chair beside Ava's bed, always within reach if she was needed. Sometimes Ava would wake from naps to find her girlfriend asleep with her head pillowed on her arms, one hand still stretched out to maintain contact.
"You don't have to babysit me," Ava said one afternoon, watching Antonia review tactical assessments. "I'm not going to spontaneously combust."
"I know," Antonia replied without looking up from her tablet. "I'm not babysitting."
"Then what are you doing?"
"Being where I want to be."
It was such a simple statement, delivered in Antonia's matter-of-fact way, but it made Ava's chest tight with emotion. She had spent so much of her life being a burden to anyone unlucky enough to get close to her volatile powers. The idea that someone might actually want to be near her, even at her most vulnerable, was still difficult to process.
"I love you," she said quietly.
Antonia looked up then, her expression soft. "I love you too."
"Even when I'm crazy?"
"Especially when you're crazy." Antonia set aside her tablet and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. "Your kind of crazy keeps life interesting."
"Is that what we're calling viral encephalitis now? Interesting?"
"Among other things." Antonia's smile was teasing, but her eyes were serious. "You scared the hell out of me, you know. When you screamed—when you looked at me like I was something terrible—"
"That wasn't you I was seeing," Ava said quickly. "It was the fever. My brain was making up its own reality."
"I know that intellectually. But in the moment..." Antonia trailed off, her fingers tracing patterns on the blanket. "It reminded me of how my targets used to look at me. Right before."
Ava caught her hand, squeezing tightly. "I will never look at you that way. Not really. Not when I'm in my right mind."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
That night, Antonia finally slept in her own bed for the first time in days. Ava missed her presence, but she was also relieved that her girlfriend was finally taking care of herself. Recovery was a process, and it couldn't happen if the people around you burned themselves out trying to help.
She was drifting off to sleep when she became aware of a presence in the room. Not threatening this time, just... there. When she opened her eyes, young Bill Foster was back in his chair, but he looked different now—more transparent, less solid.
"Feeling better?" he asked.
"Much," Ava replied. "Thank you for staying with me."
"You never needed me to stay," he said gently. "You just needed to remember that you're not alone."
"Will I see you again?"
"Of course." He started to fade, becoming nothing more than a suggestion of shape and shadow. "Take care of yourself, Ava. Let them take care of you too."
And then he was gone, leaving only the faint scent of aftershave and the feeling of a weight lifted from her chest.