Archive of Our Own

"You should eat something more substantial," John's unsolicited comment breaks through the roughly five minutes of mutually assured silence since he entered the kitchen, unacknowledged.

Ava knew he was there, of course. Even without turning to look, she could narrow down which of her teammates was clanking around through the cabinets, the refrigerator, occasionally grunting with either tired frustration or what she expects, more likely, an attempt to earn some sort of greeting by drawing attention to his presence. As if she somehow missed it.

She still doesn't turn from her seat at the dinette, hunched over her apparently unsubstantial bowl of colorful breakfast cereal. That is admittedly getting a bit soggy with her neglect. Instead of answering, she stubbornly shoves another spoonful into her mouth, unenthusiastically chews through the artificial flavors, and gives a half-hearted shrug that she's not sure he sees.

John continues undeterred with his cracking of eggs. Ava hears the toaster pop. Can smell the bacon sizzling. 

Crunchcrunch goes the shitty sugary pebbles in her mouth. "My eating habits are not really any of your business," she points out blandly. It's too early to put much effort into arguing. Her stomach grumbles in light disagreement. Why is she always making things so hard for herself, she's not quite certain. The offer is clear, it's not as if she'd dislike a proper breakfast for a change. 

But even if it's as delicious as it smells, taking favors always leaves a sour aftertaste. 

"Suit yourself," he doesn't put up any further argument. And Ava's slightly disappointed at that. Bill would've pushed just enough to ask what was wrong, convince her to eat something. Here, her problems really don't register under the heaping trash pile of more important things they have to deal with.

John sits down, uninvited but not really requiring one as this space is just as much his as it is hers. Right across from her, with two heaping full plates of food. Which even with his super metabolism seems a bit excessive. But it's the two mugs that Ava eyes more suspiciously. 

Two coffees. He sees her looking, and pushes the second across the table toward her. Somewhere in the middle that requires her to reach the rest of the way to accept it.

Reluctantly, she does, with a lightly grumbled 'thanks' that's directed more into the mug as she takes the tiniest experimental sip. John, unfortunately, is second best at making coffee on the team. Yelena is first, but she's not here, she's-

"Bucky is out with Mel discussing congressional matters," John reports, in that sort of tone that he gets when he starts going over critical mission details. It doesn't bother Ava any, when he gets this way. Not anymore. Means she doesn't have to read through all the group chat texts in the morning. She suspects he knows that, in the way he tends to take in details about everything, because she rarely responds to anything before the hours before noon.

If she got to be raised by her mother, she suspects she would've told her that 'if you don't have anything nice to say' cliche. 

Which is why she merely wrinkles her nose now, looking both confused and as if that's more than enough detail. She has little interest in the political side of things. "Thought he was quitting that whole charade," Ava murmurs offhandedly. Another sip of coffee, her eyes drift shut for a fraction of a second to enjoy it.

In that brief second, she misses the way John smiles. Before clearing his throat. "Right, they're having to go over the transition details and selecting an appropriate candidate to fill in for the rest of his term before the reelec-" Ava's groan stops him from continuing. John chuckles as he takes advantage of the pause to dip the corner of his toast into the runny yolks pooling across his plate.

Ava watches a bit more intently than she realizes. And doesn't comment when a bit of that yolk ends up on the short beard hairs around his mouth. 

"Sure you're not hungry?" John asks with an amused raise of his eyebrows, and Ava feels her cheeks tinge just slightly at being caught. 

"You're making that whole show of consuming it in front of me," Ava half-complains, half-admits. That yes, she is.

But unlike the coffee mug, the second plate doesn't get nudged her way as she expects. Her brows draw slightly, but she doesn't push the matter. Maybe he really is that hungry.

"Alexei is out filming a commercial for a local auto shop," John continues, back to the report of their teammates' morning schedule.

"For a former communist, he seems really into this whole-" Ava waves her hand vaguely, figures John understands the full implication of the statement she's too groggy to finish. 

He half shrugs, half nods, "They're offering him a good deal on a new limo. He thinks he can talk them into doing a custom paint job as well. Showed me some bad photoshop concept art last night for my opinion."

"Hope you talked him into the most hideous color scheme."

"Don't forget you're going to be riding around in it too."

"Like hell I'm getting in the back of that thing again with you." 

There's a mutual pause there, a few ways this banter could escalate into something neither is willing to take it. They both seem to realize it too, as John distracts himself with more bites of food and Ava washes down the longing with another sip of coffee.

"And Yelena and Bob?" Ava finally asks.

John wipes at the corner of his mouth. "Yelena told me they were going of to the Lower East Side to get matching tattoos, which-"

"Obviously means mind your own business," Ava translates with an amused huff. Those two do get off to their own thing a lot of the time. Ava's been curious, but not enough so to stalk them down to discover what. She figures they deserve a break away from being crowded into the tower or in front of the cameras. And she supports their mental health recovery journey or whatever.

She handles her own stuff in her own way. 

"Which leaves just us," John concludes with a grand gesture, bacon in hand. "To watch the Watch Tower." 

"Us and all the security systems," Ava replies dryly. She still hasn't gotten used to that yet. She'd disabled the ones in their common areas enough times that Valentina seemed to get the hint that they were not interested in living under constant surveillance. But living in a building with this many eyes on it is disconcerting. She understands the necessity for heightened security, figuring they'll have their own slew of enemies crawling out of the woodwork soon enough.

For now, it mostly seems to be the mayor and his entire anti-masked vigilante tirades on the news every evening trying to rile up negative sentiment. But Valentina keep insisting not to worry about it, that she has connections.

Ava's stomach grumbles again.

John gives her a pointed look.

The second plate gives her a look, if she squints at it sideways and imagines the yolks as eyes.

She sighs in defeat. "May I…"

Apparently a half-finished sentence isn't good enough this time. John's still waiting.

"May I have some of the breakfast you made, you validation-starved-" and his hand is pulling the plate farther away at that remark. "Very thoughtful and generous teammate?" 

He accepts the fix, pushing the plate across the table. The bowl of now-mushy cereal is forgotten off to the side, the milk swirling with a mix of dissipating colorful dyes.

"You never struck me as the type that knew how to cook," Ava comments, though there's no intended insult behind it. She hardly does.

"I wasn't," John agrees, no offense taken. "Went from high school to West Point to the Army, and then my wife. Ex. Wife," the correction is firm, a reminder to himself to get used to accepting it aloud. "Anyway, once we split it was either order pizza every night or figure something less pathetic out. I learned the basics."

Eggs and toast are indeed as basic as it gets, but Ava appreciates the first few bites of them anyway as she nods along to his explanation. "Was on a rather strict meal plan most of my life, courtesy of SHIELD. Bland and repetitive and nutritionally balanced. Don't think I've so much as looked at a steamed vegetable since." 

There's a hum of sympathy from across the table, which for whatever reason spurs her to continue. "When I got out, I was excited to try other things, but most of it just didn't agree with my system. Probably because I wasn't used to it, but also my… condition was deteriorating, so-" a shrug. She nibbles at the corner of the bacon, before putting it back down. 

"That still in the category of foods you can't stomach?" John asks with a jut of his chin toward the bacon, perhaps a bit bluntly. But his expression seems almost concerned. 

"Some. It's not nearly as bad now." Ava scoops some of that rainbow-swirled cereal milk into her coffee with a spoon, and John's expression turns to one of mild horror. Which is the desired effect, to undermine the seriousness of her next statement. She doesn't look at him, instead stirs her spoon inside the mug. If he's paying attention, he'd see the flickering. "Mostly when I'm not feeling well, the pain makes me more nauseous." 

"So that's why you haven't been eating much," John concludes, more perceptively than she'd like. Because it isn't just this morning's breakfast. It's been the last several days of her struggling to keep an appetite. But the team rarely eats together, not as a group, but on their various disconnected schedules. So how did he… 

"It's fine," Ava says a bit defensively. "Honestly, it comes in waves. I'm still taking supplements, so nobody has to worry about me suddenly passing out in training." 

Which seems to be one of John's actual worries, despite how she suggested it in jest, by the way he shakes his head. "I'm mostly relieved it's not because of what that one gossip rag was saying," he tries to lighten the mood. 

Unfortunately, John's tendencies seem to achieve the opposite. Because Ava stiffens, the spoon dropping through her fingers with a clatter against the table top. "Which one?" Revealing that yes, she is aware of certain print articles circulating. Ones that none of the team have outwardly acknowledged, and yet she suspects everyone has peeked at and then regretted it.

"The one you picked up from the bodega last week," John replies carefully, knowing the topic change is leading into dangerous territory.

"I threw it in the trash where it belongs." 

"It does," John agrees. "Trust me, I've had all manner of vile things written and said about me, most of them deserved. I've been through this before. You haven't. So I know it can be shocking and hurtful to see a picture of you-"

"Next to the ranking of worst Avenger? Whatever, John. I don't need an article to tell me that I'm offputting, unfriendly, give 'toxic vibes' and that I'm a diversity hire ." 

"None of us think that about you."

"Really?" her tone is sharply skeptical, palms against the table as she leans in to glare. "I never had any delusions of being a hero. Not like you, parading around as Captain America. Not like Yelena, wanting to follow in her sister's footsteps to regain meaning in her life. Not like Bucky to escape the nightmares he endured, or Alexei longing to relive his glory days. I don't care about any of this. So yes, they're right. I am the worst Avenger. And there would be one more to our team if that weren't true."

"Ava," John says worriedly, reaching across the table.

"What? You can't even deny it. Everyone knows I'm not fit for this, I'm-"

" Ava ," he interrupts, more firmly, more frantic. His hand tries to grasp for her wrist, but it goes through.

It's then that Ava notices she's erratically flickering in and out, like a malfunctioning hologram. Outside of her suit it's harder to control, and her teammates simply aren't used to seeing her this way. She doesn't like them to. On top of everything else, she refuses to be seen as the weak one, too. Ava winces against the wave of pain, closes her eyes, and brings herself back into tangibility. 

John's grip solidifies around her wrist, fingers crushing into the delicate bones, not expecting them to suddenly manifest. But his grip doesn't loosen.

"You okay?"

It shocks her how genuine the question is, ashamed of how her first instinct is to bite back against it. It's so tempting to tell him to get over it, to stop touching her. 

Eventually, when the wave of dizziness passes, Ava slowly shakes her head. It shocks him just as much. Not the truth, but her admitting of it. It shocks him even more when she nearly pleads, "No, I need to go lay down."

There's still half eaten food, dirty dishes, the sort of thing that both of them would feel a tinge guiltier about abandoning in other circumstances. But John's more focused on her, moving to the other side of the table to give her something to lean against as she sways a bit. Her teeth press into her tongue, to prevent herself from ruining this. From pushing away the first person that's prioritized her since she lost Bill. 

Sure, maybe she often finds him annoying. But she trusts him, as he navigates her back down the hall to her room.