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The air outside the bodega had that thick Pennsylvania damp in it, like someone had wrung out a towel and left it hovering. Four months since the whole shitshow with Val fell apart, and the name New Avengers still felt like a joke. The Watchtower might as well have been a fancy cage with better lighting.
Yelena was already zipped into her jacket like it had somewhere to be. She walked with purpose, boots clicking on gravel that had seen too many winters. Every now and then she’d glance at her phone, not for time, just to make sure it was still there. Probably waiting for any pictures of Fanny eating John’s dinner that Bob took back at the tower.
Ava was beside her, moving the way she always did: like the ground was optional and her body was only borrowing the rules. Cold didn’t make her miserable, it made her… tight. Locked in. She said it was a comfort, like putting a lid on something. She didn’t say that out loud often.
They hit the parking lot trash-strewn edge of a strip mall and headed for the closest place that sold food without a security briefing.
Yelena glanced at her. “It’s not the end of the world,” she said, voice low, more to keep herself from getting annoyed than to convince Ava. “But seriously, three adults, one motel room, one shower that barely runs, and the TV is only infomercials for those… copper sock things. How is that the plan?”
Ava didn’t turn her head. She was staring at the bodega sign down the street, red letters buzzing in the fog. “John can’t be allowed to make it to a grocery store. He’ll probably poison Bob and Toni with those disgusting protein powder he uses.”
“That’s not even—” Yelena started, then cut herself off with a breath. “Okay. Fine. I hate that you’re right.”
Ava shrugged like it didn’t cost her anything. “He takes ten minutes to decide how he wants to look. Ten minutes.”
Yelena snorted. Not loud, not performative. Just amused in that dry, mean way she got when she could feel her own temper lining up properly. “And Bucky just sits there like a sad statue until the room feels too heavy to exist in. I swear to God he could stare a hole through the wall and act like it’s stealth. He really needs to talk to Sam about the whole 'Avengers' thing, it's getting exhausting seeing him mope like that.”
Ava finally looked at her, eyes flat. “Barnes is fine.”
Yelena lifted a brow. “That was such a convincing statement I almost believed you.”
Ava didn’t argue. She never did when it came to John and Barnes, she’d spend her energy on what actually annoyed her. Like nylon fibers and those Activia commercials.
They got to the bodega door. The bell above it chimed in an ugly way, like it was doing customer service as punishment. The clerk behind the counter didn’t look up. He was scrolling like his phone was keeping him alive. The store smelled like floor cleaner battling yesterday’s bananas, with something older underneath. Like cooling vents, metal, and stale heat.
“We need something edible,” she said over her shoulder. “I'm gonna look for those Kraft boxes.”
Ava drifted toward the refrigerated section. She liked the cold glass, liked the way the air in front of her felt like it stopped moving through her. Cold steadied her. It made her feel temporarily, imperfectly that she had edges. That she was allowed to be contained.
Her breath fogged the door, faint and temporary. She stared at it a second longer than necessary. The sight made her think of places she didn’t talk about. The chamber. The girl-shaped outline her mind still tried to inhabit when she got quiet. Even now, months out from everything, months since they’d moved her into the label people kept using for her, (semi) normal life still felt like borrowed clothing. Like if she stood still long enough, someone would notice the fit was wrong and take it away.
It still felt strange, being around people who weren’t trained to treat her like a threat who wasn't Bill or Scott and his weird little family. She could feel eyes sometimes, the way you could feel a storm rolling in before it arrived. She wasn’t used to it being curiosity instead of fear.
Then again, she was used to fear too. Fear was reliable.
“Look at this,” Yelena called.
Ava turned.
Two aisles over, Yelena held up a box like it had personally offended her. “They changed the noodles.”
Ava stepped closer. “Noodles are noodles.”
“They used to be normal shells,” Yelena said, offended in a very specific way. “Look at this. The shells are smaller. They’ll mush. You can’t—” She stopped herself, shook her head once. “Why would anyone do that to the public?”
Ava opened the box just enough to see the shape, then shut it again. “If you start a coup over pasta, I’m telling Toni.”
Yelena’s expression stayed flat. “She’ll side with me.”
“Not after what happened last time,” Ava said.
Yelena blinked once, then grabbed a different brand on instinct, like she’d already decided this wasn’t worth a whole argument. “Fine. Whatever. But we’re getting cheese powder that actually melts. If Barnes starts blanching vegetables again like the senior citizen that he is, I’ll—”
Ava tuned out for a second, because someone else’s presence pulled her attention.
A little girl, maybe six or seven, stood by the milk crates. Worn denim jacket, wide dark eyes, long curly hair. Lollipop stuck halfway to the wrapper, glossy and sticky. She wasn’t hiding. She wasn’t pretending she wasn’t staring.
She was looking at Ava like Ava was real and close enough to touch.
Ava’s first instinct wasn’t dramatic. It was practical: check exits, check who’s with her, check if this is bait, check if I’m about to get someone hurt.
But the girl didn’t look scared. She looked... Ava struggled to name it. Like she’d found something she’d been searching for and didn’t want it to disappear.
Slowly, the child reached into her jacket pocket and drew out a folded paper. It had been unfolded and refolded so many times the edges had softened. Then she stepped forward, sneakers squeaking quietly against the tile.
Ava went still. Her throat felt tight in that way it always did when she wasn’t armored with anger or jokes. Her body wanted to back away like she was the one invading a kid’s space.
But the girl held the paper out toward her like an offering.
Ava took it.
It was a drawing, thick waxy crayons, uneven lines that still somehow managed to feel deliberate. A tall woman with dark hair stood in front of a school bus. Grey lines, sparkly glittered crayon marks, the child had tried to capture the idea more than the look, radiated around her. The woman’s arms were outstretched, pushing back something enormous and dark, a shadow with no right to exist where it did.
Ava stared, unable to move past the shock of it.
“I saw you on the news,” the girl said. Her voice was small, but the store around them swallowed the rest of the sound so completely that her words landed clearly. “You saved my cousin. She told me you were a hero.”
Hero.
It hit like a hand on her chest; not painful, not quite gentle either. Just…there. Real. The word didn’t belong to her usual world. In Ava’s world, people used other words. Mistake. Ghost. Problem. Tool. Weapon. Disposable.
The drawing didn’t treat her like any of that. The child had colored her with a smile that didn’t match the reflection Ava saw in motel bathroom mirrors. The difference made her throat burn.
She tried to speak. Nothing came out at first. She managed, eventually, something thin and honest. “That’s…” She swallowed, then tried again. “That’s really kind. Thank you.”
The girl smiled, as if that was the only response she’d been waiting for.
Her brain scrambled for what are the right words, and found nothing useful.
A soft shift behind her. Yelena returned, moving into view now with a of mac and cheese and a family sized bag of potato chips tucked under her arm. Yelena’s expression shifted. For a moment, her usual sharpness didn’t know where to land.
Ava’s shoulders stayed tense, but the shaking eased. Not because she’d fixed herself, but because someone else had stepped in with the right kind of quiet.
Yelena crouched slightly so she wasn’t looming.
“That’s a very good likeness,” she told the girl, and her voice was gentle without being fake. “She really does look like this on TV. Though—” Yelena glanced at Ava, then back at the kid “—she usually has better posture and doesn’t smile that big. She's grumpy most of the time.”
The girl giggled, then turned and ran toward the front of the store, calling after someone out of sight. Her mom, her guardian, whoever was close enough to hear.
Ava stayed where she was, still holding the drawing. The hum of the refrigerator units sounded louder now, like the store had shifted its volume to match whatever was happening in her body. The fluorescent lights flickered once, then steadied.
“We should go,” Ava said finally. Her voice came out thick, like she’d swallowed gravel and found it hard to pass.
Yelena stood back up and fell into step beside her. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Barnes is going to ask questions if dinner isn’t where he left it.” A beat. “And if the noodles turn out wrong, we’ll have something to complain about for hours. It’ll keep him busy. We’re basically doing him a favor.”
Ava nodded, once, and tucked the drawing deeper into her jacket. Not just between layers of fabric, but between her heartbeat and her fear.
They walked back to the motel with the damp air pressing at their backs. Ava felt tired, still. She still didn’t entirely know what she was allowed to be. The tremor in her hands, small but constant, didn’t show up when she expected it to.
She realized that somewhere between the fluorescent lights and a child’s dark crayon eyes, she’d been seen without being targeted.
And the relief of that sat in her like something solid.