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Let it be known that Ava can actually exist without her suit.
Sure, it was ever so slightly painful to have to be without it, what with her now near constant use of her phasing, but it was bearable. Way, way, more bearable than anything she’d experienced before Janet Van Dyne righted her body out of its quantum entangled mess.
Which is why it was pretty common knowledge to the team that Ava doesn’t appreciate other people meddling with her suit.
It was just…that suit, that technology, had been her reality for so, so long. The suit that knitted her back together at her affliction’s worst and soothed the aches in the every day. She clung onto it’s promise—the cure—the potential for true tangibility while she worked for SHIELD (in secret), and now relief from it while she works for SWORD (now no longer in secret).
And she’s aware, that regardless of how much quantum energy was given to her, she will never truly be tangible again. Not when she still phases through walls none of the others could cross or finds herself falling straight through her bed in her sleep. Not when her entire role in this dysfunctional team of theirs is to be able to disappear. She’s known about this reality since the day her parents were swallowed whole by the Quantum Tunnel—since the phasing and the fear and Bill Foster.
These days, it hurts just a bit to be thinking about Bill. The life he’d had to lead because of her, all because of this absurd sense of responsibility he might have felt to Ava’s parents. The way he’d genuinely cared about her when no one else in the world had, attempting to shield her from, well, SHIELD. The way he’d made sure to make life easier for her in any way he could, whether that be a quantum chamber or just that plain old teddy bear from all those years ago. The way he’d understood her, empathised with her and reasoned with her, even when she didn’t appreciate it or see it for what is was at the time.
He was the closest thing to family she’s had for years. Sure, being on the run and constantly in hiding didn’t make for the most stable domestic life, and Bill couldn’t go back to the academe under his real identity without raising suspicion. But he’d treated her like she was his own flesh and blood, and stood by her when the whole world was so keen to throw her to the side.
Bill had been the one to catch her when she’d fallen, taken her under his wing and allowed her to grow in the in between of SHIELD’s hidden agendas and the world’s unceasing cruelty. He’d taught her how to tinker with quantum physics and how to make the best pancakes ever. He’d taught her how to fight and how to settle down with a good book or two.
He’d been her home. Her family.
But then she watched Bill turn to dust right in front of her eyes five years ago on that god awful day, and she’d just. She couldn’t. She hadn’t known what to do. All that was left of Bill Foster’s genius and kindness was that goddamn fucking suit.
So yeah, it was about the suit, but it was also so much more than that. Now, she doesn’t know how to face Bill (who she does keep tabs on) and tell him about the years in between landed her right back where she was when SHIELD was still run the way it did: back to the thankless, cruel mercenary work, back to being a pawn. Now, she’s cosplaying as a superhero and trying her best to not have people connect the dots between Ghost, the New Avenger and Ghost, the mythic harbinger.
Now, she’s lost her family, not only once, but twice.
Which is why she just really, really needs to find her suit.
She’s just about phased through every room in this godforsaken tower, only slightly apologetic for frightening Bob—and not so much about spooking Walker—before she wound up in the room she was looking for.
Their armory was always a mighty impressive sight, fitted with their all their gear and weapons, their suits proudly on display. While Barnes had warned them against going in here unless it was for training or actual missions (something about Valentina and constant surveillance), the guy actually turned a blind eye whenever she phased into the room. Maybe he trusted her enough to not do anything stupid or reckless. Maybe, he also understood, in his own odd, grizzled way.
They haven’t really talked about it. But Barnes was once a weapon too. An object under the same systems disguised as different things.
Though, right now, she realizes, there is actually a Barnes in sight, alongside a very casual, yet very contemplative Queen Shuri.
Again, Ava shouldn’t even be surprised she’s here. She’s been here frequently enough to know that Her Majesty and Barnes have this whole dynamic going on. Yelena and Walker would just not stop talking (debriefing, they said) about her visits.
She seemed to be scrutinizing their gear rotation, her gaze sweeping across the various close range and long rage weaponry across the racks and shelves and—
“Sorry, Ava. Did you need anything?” Barnes asks.
Her Majesty seems to startle at her presence, looking towards Barnes in question. Ava approached them, aiming for a casual stride. “Just my suit.”
“One of those days?” He asks, cadence gentler than his usual gruff drawl.
She nods, and he silently steps aside, giving her better access towards the suit gallery. She thanks him with a wordless pat on his shoulder. She bows towards Queen Shuri in acknowledgement before heading towards the gallery.
She’s feeling better now, the closer she gets to the suit. Less nervous, imploding energy and more contained, measurable anxiety. She unlocks the case and begins to gently run her fingers against the material. The only truly solid weight she’s felt all her life.
It hasn’t been the suit Bill helped her make in a long time. So much of what was left of the original existing in patchwork pieces, sewn and reinforced together as each mission chipped away at it. But it was still there, at its’ heart. Beneath all the blacks of the suit and mesh keeping its structure together.
She presses her forehead against the hood—silently grieving.
It calms her down, to have this in her hands. Enough that she can actually hear Barnes’ and Shuri’s conversation across the room—
“This is what De Fontaine deems to equip her superhero task force? No wonder Everett calls her a psychopath. She’s sending you out there to die”
Barnes’ shrugs. “We’ve dealt with worse.”
Shuri gasps at that, seeming ready to tear him a new one when Barnes interjects.
“Relax, most of us have thicker skin than the average.”
“And Bob?” She asks, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.
“Well, I think you’ve seen what Bob can do.”
“So, you’ve brought me here to make Bob a suit?”
Barnes shrugs. “Well, yes. But really I brought you here ‘cause you know how to make a suit that can keep these guys safe” A pause, and then. “Even if this is the only way I can tell them I believe in them.”—
Ava couldn’t help but smile at that, hidden as it was in the suit she’d buried herself into. She’d noticed that Barnes really did seem to have his heart in this thing, in them and the New Avengers. She just hadn’t expected it to be so obvious when he talked about them to other people.
Was it that obvious to the world too? To the media? To Valentina? To SWORD?
“You softie, I knew you had it in you!” Her Majesty teases, and Barnes rolls his eyes.
“Yes, yes. Broadcast it to the whole room.” He says, deadpan. He probably knows that she can hear this. He also knows she won’t tell the rest.
She finds that his gaze has fallen towards her, and she can’t help but properly smile at him this time. There’s an earnestness present this time, something he doesn’t usually display to the team. Ava finds that it suits him.
Her Majesty seems to do the same, turning from her to Barnes before—
”Oh, Miss Starr! I just have so many questions about the suit.” Queen Shuri exclaims, her movements assured as she bodily drags Bucky towards the suit gallery. She hesitates for a moment. “If you don’t mind, of course.”
She looks between the Queen and Barnes, with the former grinning with a determined curiosity, the latter still exuding that earnestness in waves.
She thinks of the suit, of Bill Foster, of that promise all those years ago. She thinks of that “We can make it, Ava” and that gaping hole left in her chest when he disappeared.
And she thinks of the now, living with a group of genuinely unstable, but equally determined idiots. She thinks of breakfasts with pancakes and game nights. She thinks of their team’s slowly growing trust and slowly, but still dog-shit, credibility.
She thinks of this, of the capacity to help—of Bill’s belief in her innate goodness, of Barnes belief in their group, in Queen Shuri’s willingness to help.
All Ava had ever wanted was to help those closest to her, in some way. To repay them for all they’ve done. Maybe she can start by helping herself.
“Don’t worry, I don’t mind, Your Majesty.”
This is a start.