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As much as she's come to accept her place as a member of the ragtag group of masquerade heroes, meetings don't rank high in Ava's desired use of her time and often feel like an outright waste of it. But as long as they're not at some obnoxious hour in the morning she doesn't contribute to the performative complaining too much. Everyone else gets their crankiness out of their systems with a round of half-hearted protests of attendance while Mel passes out the neatly typed agendas, complete with official New Avengers letterhead.
It all feels so very professional, with their swivel chairs and projector screen that goes up and down with a button, their view high over the city now under their questionable protection, and Mel's neat pencil skirt getup to really drive home that this is a Job. It's almost easy to imagine them as actual coworkers. In an office, doing whatever it is those sorts of productive members of society do. Inputting numbers into spreadsheets and repeating the same reports back to each other with the help of colorful flow charts and graphs. All Ava knows about the 9 to 5 lifestyle is from reruns of sitcoms.
Which is fitting enough, as Alexei immediately sloshes coffee across his printout while gesturing and rambling about his newly acquired car to Bucky, who dramatically totaled his last one back in Utah. And who, for his part, was doing a much better job of feigning attention in- nope, maybe Bucky is actually far more interested in cars than Ava gave credit for as he agrees to a test drive of all the cool features Alexei lists off. Ava tunes out of that conversation, even if it is the one hardest to block out by sheer enthusiastic volume. Months after the sonic blasts and he still makes her ears ring.
It's not as if she has anything else that she can claim as more important to speak about, herself. Ava remains quiet while the start of the meeting is delayed slightly further by Bob helpfully pulling out the crumpled napkins from his brown paper sack of breakfast bagels to pass off to Yelena to clean up her father's mess before the spill can migrate across the table. Alexei barely seems to notice the clean up efforts at all until it's already taken care of and Yelena shoves the wet napkins at him.
John sits to her left, chewing idly on his Bob-delivered bagel while studying the agenda, brow furrowed in concentration because he takes everything far too seriously to make up for the rest of them.
She taps gloved fingertips against the surface of the table, growing impatient but holding her tongue.
There's a veneer of friendliness that Mel treats them with that is so unfamiliar, but makes Ava want to not take her frustrations out on the younger woman who is clearly Doing Her Best. Sometimes she's not sure if it's her genuine nature, or a manipulation tactic played perfectly against Valentina's bad cop. Somebody they're meant to trust and open up to more as she takes their requests and complaints, who will dutifully turn around and report any suspicions back to their boss.
Mel's a difficult woman for Ava to figure out, one that comes from a very different upbringing than her own. Or she can only guess, without knowing the details of. How exactly does an overworked personal assistant end up wrapped up in coordinating the social calendars for the New Avengers? She has to be more than just meticulous and organized, for her to have lasted under Valentina's employment long. Then again, Ava had done everything right, completed every mission to the letter and nothing more, and was still set up for permanent termination. So.
Everyone sits up a bit straighter when the screen comes down and their polling numbers and metrics are displayed. Mel seems optimistic about their public perception gains from the previous month after a few heroic take downs of international trafficking rings. Most of them are out of the red, at least. Mel spends the majority of her focus going over interviews she has them scheduled for, best suited for their particular audiences and settings they'd best perform well under.
Naturally Bucky and Yelena as the de facto leaders get bookings for the hottest late night shows. And John gets spots with a few local news stations in attempt to endear him more to the locals, as well as a few events alongside Bucky to talk to vet groups. Alexei of course has plenty of promotional campaigns he's proactively secured, and Mel has set him up with some toy drives to try balancing his image as somebody giving back to the community. This sets him off in some weird rant about Santa Claus, and Bob hands him a second bagel to occupy his mouth for a bit.
Everyone looks thankful.
"I'm still working on booking something for you, Ava."
Ava glances up, sees everyone's attention on her, and quietly shrugs off their curious concern. "Okay." No point in bringing up any fuss about something that she rather not be stuck doing, anyway.
Does it sting a bit, that she's not in any demand? Sure. Especially after that article the other week ranking her as the worst Avengers member, not just amongst the New group, but ever.
Does she tell herself that she prefers it this way? Of course. It's how she's made it through the last decade absolutely alone. And besides, Bob isn't complaining either, with his lack of public recognition despite being the strongest amongst them. He tries offering her a bagel too, and she waves it off.
"Are they still doing the puppy Buzzfeed interviews? Maybe you can book her with that," Yelena suggests so very helpfully, to break through the awkward silence. Ava can tell that such an interview would be something Yelena herself would much prefer doing than entertaining the audience of whatever interchangeable talk show Jimmy. So it's very sweet of her, really.
"It's fine," Ava insists, already wanting to move on before Alexei starts taking pity and insists on dragging her into doing endorsements for products she doesn't even use.
Mel clears her throat, and thankfully moves on.
Unthankfully it's about some upcoming charity gala, which they're expected to attend as a team. Ava's never been to any parties, not as an actual guest. Her experience starts and stops at a swift assassination in Vienna. She remembers seeing all the elegant women dressed in ridiculous layers of finery to disguise the corruption which bought them such a lifestyle. She remembers feeling a pang of jealousy, at how easily they enjoyed their evening of cocktails and music, oblivious to how one amongst them wouldn't be making it through it.
"Can't we just donate? Surely Valentina has sufficient funds…" It's Yelena who speaks up first, as she takes a look around the table at her less than enthused teammates.
"No, unfortunately it's about making an actual appearance," Bucky interjects, resigned. Ava assumes it's because he's gone through all these circus hoops before. He really thought he was escaping having to do all the people pleasing when he gave up his congressional seat.
Mel looks somewhat grateful that he's spoken up despite the tone, and nods in confirmation. "It's for the Mayor," she further elaborates, met with a loud exasperated groan from Alexei. Who was on board with the idea of a party, up until that moment.
"The Mayor! The one that calls us illegally operating fraudsters!" They've all heard a variation of this rant at some point over the last couple weeks. Because it's true. It's been all over the news, the Mayor's campaign grudge against 'their kind.' Though usually it's directed more at some red devil ninja.
John keeps up with the local street drama more than she does. "It's a good opportunity for us to establish ourselves here, and show that we're integrating into the community," John adds, as if he's repeating something he's heard somebody else say.
Ava's glad that everyone else looks just as surprised as she does by his statement. John, however, raises his brows at their collective stares. "What? You all seem to forget that I also went through the whole parading myself around for public approval routine."
And it's true, most of them only really remember how it all ended. Ava hadn't even known there was a new Captain America until all the headlines proclaiming that the title was being stripped away when he beheaded a terrorist in broad daylight with the patriotic symbol of freedom frisbee.
"Right, part of it is to make a positive impression and make the Mayor's grudge seem unfounded and one sided. The other part is to speak to some of the attendees. The police, particularly, that'll be your focus," Mel gestures to John and Bucky. "Yelena, you and Bob will be attempting to get close to Fisk's wife, Vanessa. And her inner circle."
Yelena looks over to Bob, about to protest about bringing him into such a potentially dangerous position. Except Bob looks so excited to actually be included, she thinks better of it.
"Alexei, you'll be doing most of the distracting. Wrapping guests up into conversations they won't be able to leave. I'll have you on comms to guide you to the targets as necessary." Alexei seems eager for this role.
Ava is beginning to think she's going to be left out again, and already reassuring herself with all the reasons that she rather stay home anyway than deal with a bunch of rich snobby socialites, when Mel turns her attention to her. "And Ava, you'll be sneaking into study to get ahold of some secured files."
Ah, of course. At least that's a role she's far more comfortable with. Not having to charm anyone with a badly faked smile. "As long as I can sneak out with some of those cocktail shrimp too," she agrees.
"I thought Valentina and the Mayor were allies," Yelena questions suspiciously. "Though that was several years ago, and she does make friends into enemies very easily…" Ava can only assume that she's referring to the mission she once told her about where she was sent off to kill Hawkeye, in a roundabout explanation of who the mess of a girl that showed up one night with a pizza box and a black eye was. She only vaguely understands how it ties back to the Mayor.
"Are we sure this is a good idea?" As much as Bucky has taken on with trying to mentor them to be a properly functioning hero team, he still isn't all that trusting of Valentina's assignments. "The local police-"
"Have been hijacked by the Mayor and have been attacking civilians," John points out. Ava refrains from making any comments about him apparently caring about civilians at all. John glances over at her as if expecting it anyway. He raises his eyebrows, she just rolls her eyes. See, she's grown so much as a person.
"Also you can't even order delivery at night anymore due to those curfews," Bob adds. Yelena grumbles in agreement.
"Your individual assignments will be delivered a few days before the event. As well as your attire for the evening."
John seems to sigh with relief about not having to do dry cleaning.
Ava suspects this doesn't include her, since her own mission is to sneak in and out. No need for a ridiculous sparkly ballgown for that. Which is a relief, she doesn't like being out of her suit around others.
She can overhear Bob asking Yelena if she'll teach him how to dance to not embarrass either of them, and Bucky making it clear he intends to talk to Valentina further about the details of her scheme before approving of their participation.
"Alright," Mel seems satisfied at how well all that went. Any meeting where a fight didn't break out is one she considers a success. "Before you go," as half of them were already pushing their chairs out to do so. "I do have fanmail to pass out. We've been making sure they go through a screening process first, since there are a lot of weirdos out there."
"Somebody tried to mail Bucky their panties," Bob reveals somberly, having helped Mel go through some of it.
Bucky rests his pained face in his metal palm. Alexei loudly laughs while slapping him on the back, horrifying them all with the boastful revelation that he had apparently received boxes upon boxes of underwear from adoring fans back in the day.
"Please don't let that be true," Yelena groans, as she accepts her neatly bundled stack of letters. Most probably from excited young girls looking up to her as a hero, based on the drawings that she's seen Yelena proudly hang up in her room. She can guess it means a lot to her, given her background.
Bucky gets mostly political fundraisers and speaking requests, from what she's heard him complain about before. Or requests to autograph old WWII memorabilia. She now wonders how many steamy love confessions he's received that Mel has politely kept from him.
Alexei receives stacks of brand deals in colorful envelopes, which Bob always seems to enjoy going through with him to pick out the best offers. Ava finds the entire thing ridiculous, especially after he came home one day with boxes full of men's shaving cream that he exclaimed was a lifetime supply. Well, Ava snatched a can anyway.
John's stack of letters isn't quite as thick as the others, but he seems mostly annoyed by them these days. She's never really asked him about the contents that earns such a reaction, but she can only guess the type of fans that Walker has.
Which is more than her, admittedly. She gets up to leave, when Mel apologetically offers her out a singular envelope.
"What's this?" Ava takes it, hesitantly. Expecting a jury summons or an unpaid ticket or something equally destined straight for the trash.
"Fanmail. It's a little…" Mel clearly looks conflicted. "Well, I thought it seemed a bit weird."
"Weird?" That seems to catch John's interest, leaning over her shoulder to stare at the otherwise perfectly innocent looking envelope. "There's no return address," he observes.
Ava doesn't know enough about fanmail to know if that's typical or not. It wouldn't have struck her as anything peculiar, personally. She was never in the habit of giving out her location either.
"What, I'm sure my one fan is less of a creep than all yours," Ava bites back, almost defensively. She doesn't even know the contents of the letter yet, but the idea of everyone already trying to imply the fact that she has one at all is suspicious is… well, hurtful.
John scowls, fists tightening around his letters. He clearly has no interest in defending the writers of them. Or deviating from the subject, like she hoped. "You've never had to deal with fans before," he starts.
"Wow. Great. Thanks, Walker," Ava holds the letter a bit more protectively as John tries to make a grab for it. "Sorry you're jealous how unpopular I am."
"Listen," Mel cuts back in. "If you end up not liking the letter and not wishing to receive any more like it, I'll filter them out more strictly going forward," she promises diplomatically.
"And we'll track down who sent it and-" John's foot gets stepped on, hard, as Ava turns to leave the conference room, clearly not interested in whatever the hell any of this is.
"She's an adult, she can-" "She doesn't know what sorts of-"
Ava feels a hot flush of shame and annoyance as she swiftly makes her way back to her bedroom. She doesn't bother even opening the door, slipping right through. It's always locked, never welcoming any of her teammates inside. Even when John helped her back the other week, she had left him outside the door worrying about her condition. For days he had seemed to hover around, checking in on her without outright saying so. She gets it, he's protective because he likes to feel needed.
She doesn't need protection from a letter.
Ava enters her stabilization chamber, the bulky metal frame taking up most of the floorspace in her room. And the main reason she doesn't allow visitors, doesn't really want anyone intruding into the one space she goes to heal and recover. She sits at the edge of her plain cot, and opens the envelope up with trembling fingers, suddenly nervous of what she's about to find.
There's two pages inside. The first features a cut out of a picture of her. It's a candid, but not one taken by the sender. One that was printed in a shitty tabloid magazine that she had snatched a copy of at a bodega. The very same picture next to her ranking as the worst Avenger, although that part is carefully cut out. The picture is instead pasted over a different article entirely, one that Ava doesn't recognize immediately until she begins reading the text. She doesn't need to read past more than a couple lines.
It's in Spanish. Detailing an accident in Buenos Aires that happened nearly thirty years ago. Her throat tightens. Okay, she can understand why Mel was hesitant to give this to her.
But she turns to the second page for explanation, some context.
'I was an orphan too,' the first line reads, in such neat penmanship that Ava almost mistakes it for a font. Her suspicions begin to ease, just slightly. Maybe this is what it's like for Yelena, to receive letters from lonely little girls.
'I know what it's like to not be wanted and forgotten. And what it's like to be valued by the wrong people for your unique skills.
The public will never be able to fully appreciate you for what you really are, Ava Starr. Maybe your teammates are incapable of it too, wrapped up in their own idealization of redemption.
You're more like me, aren't you? Knowing that there's nothing to apologize for. You did what you had to.
My reputation was once dragged on these pages, same as they're doing to you now. Some thanks for saving the city.
I've seen you at the press conferences, always off to the side in the shadows of your far less talented teammates. Once I thought perhaps our gazes met through the crowd like you were searching for a way to escape, but you looked away so quickly. Maybe another time the circumstances will be more appropriate to meet.
Do not make the same mistakes I did, in chasing after empty approval. And do not under any circumstances trust Wilson Fisk.'
Ava rereads it over several times, trying to determine her level of concern, between the final warning and the vague promise of meeting. She doesn't want John to be right. His protective instinct looms over her. But it's the closest she's felt to being understood in these last few months of being forced into the spotlight. She gets why Mel was wary of it, but then again she was a very normal sort of girl with probably very normal standards. Pretty as she is, Mel most certainly has received all sorts of unsolicited attention over the years to fend off. Annoying social media messages hitting her up and a few bad dates probably influenced her own aversion.
Ava's never received such attention, no expression of interest in her beyond what she was capable of. Most of her own experience with men was putting them straight into the dirt. To the point she can't even quite tell if this is even intended to be romantic, or simply a gesture of encouragement from somebody that felt bad for her for being ranked so low in a gossip rag. And the warning about the Mayor… well, it could just be a heads up from somebody who had been screwed over by the man, disguised as fanmail, to get through to her. Timely, given the upcoming mission.
She tries picturing the type of person who might have written this and their intention, tries picturing anyone that might have stood out in the crowds at all to have caught her attention for however brief a moment. But she can't. The lack of signature, lack of return address is suddenly more disappointing than concerning.
What sort of person might actually see her when she feels so invisible to the rest of the world?
There's a knock that nearly startles Ava out of her thoughts. "Ava." John's voice earns a defensive scowl that he's not even there to appreciate.
"What, your stack of adoring fan letters wasn't distracting enough that you had to come bother me about my one?" The scowl does fully translate to her tone though, as she quickly folds the letter back up to slip into the envelope.
There's no immediate response, and she worries for a second that he's already given up and left, except she didn't hear his big feet clunking off in defeat. "No, I was going to tell you that the team was going out for Indian in about an hour, but if you rather sulk in your room-"
"I'm not hungry," Ava calls back. Which isn't entirely true. She just doesn't like eating in public spaces.
"I could bring you something back," John offers, voice a bit strained. She can tell he's not wanting to turn this into a fight, that this was his attempted peace offering, but that she's at the edge of his patience with how deliberately difficult she always is. It doesn't seem to work in keeping him away, though.
"Maybe just some chicken," she finally relents. "And a mango lassi."
"Look, I'm sorry if I was coming off nosy and overbearing about the letter," John attempts, and she can hear his shoulder thump against her door to lean against it. Like he's expecting this to be a conversation.
Ava frowns, leaning right up against the door as well. Because it's easier than yelling through it. "You all can stop feeling sorry for me, okay?" It just adds more to feel bad about, really.
"I don't."
"Okay. Good."
A sigh, and it's strange to think that if the door wasn't between them that his exhale of breath would probably be warm against her cheek with how close they are otherwise. "Ava."
"I don't get what the big deal is."
"I'm worried about you."
"You just said you weren't."
"No, I said I don't feel sorry for you," he emphasizes.
Oh. That shuts her up for a second.
"The team keeps getting closer, Ava. Except you. It feels like you're drifting even farther away," John sounds hurt by it. She can't really understand why. She expects he'd be more interested in seeking Bucky or Yelena's approval before hers.
"It's not personal." And it really isn't. "If I didn't want to be here, I would've left long ago. You all know that."
"Can't I come in?" John asks after a long pause, softer than she expects.
"Can't you respect my privacy?" Ava asks in return, a small glance back to the interior of her room. It's so empty, outside the chamber. But she really isn't in the mood to answer questions about it.
He doesn't respond to that. Ava knows he's still there. She closes her eyes. "It's just overwhelming sometimes, alright? I'm not used to any of this. All the team bonding. Meetings, followed by going out to lunch, followed by somebody is going to suggest we play cards tonight. And I don't feel like I can keep up." And everyone seems to have plenty of fun joking and bickering and talking over each other without her contributions, anyway. "I do appreciate you all, I really do. And I know it shouldn't annoy me that you care enough to check in on me. I just get burnt out a bit, that's all."
There's another pause as John takes it all in, and then sighs. "And what if it's just me? Instead of the entire team to keep up with?"
"Just you," Ava repeats a bit skeptically. "Like, what. You want to take me out to lunch?"
"You don't have to say it like it's so outlandish for me to want to spend time with you. I'm going out to lunch with the rest of the team. I'll bring you some back. And maybe you can actually say thank you for once, and let me keep you company."
"I have to thank you for the offer you're forcing me to take?" Ava sticks her head right through the door, causing John to stumble back in surprise.
"Don't do that!"
Ava looks smug, phasing through the rest of the way into the space he's vacated. She leans back against the door, arms crossed. Trying to look casual, instead of quite so exhausted. "If I opened it, you'd have fallen right in," she points out.
Regaining his composure, John stands up a bit straighter, assessing Ava. Like he's always checking her over for some injury she's hiding.
"I haven't told anyone else about your eating problem, you know."
"It's not a problem, John. I just can't eat like the rest of you." No normal person can, honestly. Far too many super soldiers means the amount of food consumed between the team on a weekly basis is enough to drive Bucky to a Costco membership. She suspects he enjoys the bulk box store more than he claims. "But everyone starts assuming things just because I'm a bit picky. I promise I'm not starving myself, or worried about my weight."
"You are rather skinny," John points out unhelpfully. He doesn't even realize how much more so she is under the suit's thick layers.
"Because I've spent my entire life on the verge of death, okay? My appetite sucks from the pain, my internal organs get scrambled on a regular basis," his eyebrows raise at that description. "And I told you, I was kept on a very strict diet for so much of my life that most foods make me nauseous. Especially if I eat too much at once. And I don't feel better when people start… monitoring it."
John does recall a group dinner that they had early on, right after moving into the freshly post-battle renovated Watch Tower. When there was an optimistic but short-lived effort put forth of organizing regular team meals. It fell apart quickly for various reasons. But he does remember Ava getting up early to retreat, most of the food on her plate uneaten. He doesn't remember who made an offhanded comment about how she clearly didn't like the casserole monstrosity, or who even threw it together. He hadn't realized then how uncomfortable she really was to have attention drawn to it.
"Because you were raised in that lab, right?" John attempts at understanding. That's all he really knows about her past. That she was raised in a SHIELD lab, and went rogue after the agency's Hydra infiltration got exposed. He had seen a bit of what he assumed was the lab, back in the fieldtrip into the Void. But they were rushing through the shame rooms so quickly to get to Yelena and Bob, that there was really no time to stop and process what they had seen. Honestly he had assumed it was Bucky's trauma manifestation at first, by the way he had frozen up at the sight of all the medical equipment. But there was no mistaking the crying little girl for anyone else.
Ava hadn't talked about it after. There was so much going on, with Bob's amnesia of the events. With Valentina and the New Avengers announcement. With moving in, the countless interviews, and trying to organize themselves into a proper team. They had scrubbed up nice, and everything had been going along fine ever since. Sort of.
"Something like that," Ava admits, but doesn't seem inclined in elaborating further. She brushes a strand of hair back behind her ear, but he's seen her do it enough times to know it won't stay in place long.
"You should get hair clips," John suggests, suddenly.
"I- what?" It's such an abrupt change in subject that leaves her momentarily confused. Until the curls pops loose, and then she laughs. "Maybe so."
With her eyes scrunched shut from amusement, she misses just how smitten John looks. He recovers quickly. "I'm going to head out, you… do whatever it is that you prefer to do alone. Write back to your secret admirer I guess," and it's then that Ava realizes she is still clutching the envelope.
Her face feels slightly warm, and she shakes her head. "No return address, remember?"
"Didn't think that stopped a spy from tracking down her target."
"Hm, believe I'm not supposed to be engaging in such criminal activity, if I understood the briefings correctly."
"Didn't think that would stop you either," John shrugs, and she can tell he really wants to know more by how his vision keeps flicking toward it.
"I thought you were going," Ava reminds.
"And I'll be back, in a few hours."
"With chicken, and a mango lassi."
"How spicy?"
"Hm, one level hotter than whatever Yelena orders," she teases. Because Yelena prides herself on her hot sauce addiction.
"I thought you had a delicate stomach."
"Not for flavor."
"Right, because the British are known for their flavorful cuisine. I was trying to be culturally sensitive," John smirks.
"I'll have you know I was born in Argentina."
And that, apparently, is something that John had no clue about, by the way he tilts his head with a small 'huh.'
"Then what's with the accent?"
"I thought you said you were going," Ava reminds again.
"And by the time I get back, I hope you've researched how to say thank you." It's said in a joking manner, but it is the second time he's mentioned it. So Ava suspects there is a bit more to it.
"Sorry if they didn't train me to have manners in the lab, that must have been between the unethical experimentation and the lessons on how to kill people," Ava defends. John looks like he wants to say something, but he already knows what the response is going to be.
He leaves before Ava has to tell him to. She watches him retreat down the hallway, before backing through the door to her room again. This time when she enters the chamber, she powers it on, and lays down to recover.
---
The New Avengers leave the Watch Tower together, dressed a bit more casually as not to draw too much attention. But it's still obvious who they are, as they're stopped by paparazzi and fans alike for photos. Yelena's dressed in an eccentrically stylish yellow plaid coat. Bob in a nice tan pea jacket that she had picked out for him during her last run at the thrift shop. Alexei looks particularly slavic in a glaringly red track suit. And Bucky as always donning black leather because he came from the same boring edgy assassin fashion sensibilities as Ava, according to Yelena. John's in a nice navy cable knit, one that he had received years ago from his mother for the holidays back when she would still speak to him. Being Southern, and spending so much time out in the desert during the war, he doesn't quite enjoy the chill in the air. It's only the beginning of the fall season, so he knows it's only going to get worse from here.
He rubs his hands together, before shoving them in his pockets, following steadily behind the rest of the group. Always watching their backs.
Oblivious that he's being watched too, by a man with a sniper rifle. But his target isn't there, not with the rest of her team.
Maybe another time the circumstances will be more appropriate to meet.