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Everything’s too bright. The smiles, the lights, the shimmery sequin dresses that everyone’s wearing. Too loud too. Everywhere Ava turns, someone wants to speak to her. Politicians, celebrities, charity owners. Her cheeks hurt from smiling, and her skin crawls whenever someone places their hand on the small of her back for a picture.
As her feet ache, Ava can’t believe she ever used to want this. First when she’d played dress-up with her mother’s nice clothes — hands clasped tightly in Catherine’s as she struggled to walk in heels far too big and too high for her — and then when her condition had worsened, and she’d spent nights flipping through magazines wishing for one day where she could dress in the glitzy expensive dresses she saw, enjoy a night without pain — maybe even dance with someone and not feel immediately exhausted.
Now that she’d been doing this all summer, it wasn’t quite what she’d fantasised it to be. She’s spent all of tonight faking her most polite smile for politicians. They seem to find her no matter what corner she disappears to or which pillar she hides behind. They flatter her, then flatter Val, and Ava doesn’t know whether it’s because she’s an Avenger, or she’s a an infamous spy now openly in Val’s repertoire.
She’s sure it’s the latter but lets herself believe it’s the former.
Anyone she could’ve had an honest conversation was either trapped in their own personal hell, or had cut and run after the first round of speeches.
So now Ava is stuck making nice with the same people who would have her either imprisoned for the rest of her life, or stuck back in their service. She maintains her polite smile, willing her facial muscles into submission even when she feels like she’s under a microscope.
Even right now with her back leaning against the wall, Ava feels exposed. Her gown for the night is backless, and it had slinky little straps instead of the sleeves she’d specifically requested.
“Ava, sweetheart, your arms simply must be on display. You can wear all the sleeves you want in winter, but we simply can’t hide these,” her stylist had said as she squeezed at Ava’s biceps, giggling in delight when they flickered a little at Ava’s discomfort.
As if the missing back, and missing sleeves weren’t enough, she’d also suggested Ava make do with a slit that ran up to her thigh.
“Such gorgeous legs Ava, we can at least give everyone a sneak peek,” she’d winked when Ava had complained.
And top it all off, her hair had been pulled back into a tight up-do, and she can feel the bobby pins pressing into her scalp.
Ava sighs, blowing a loose curl out of her face. At least Bob liked her look tonight. He’d told her as much three separate times with a comforting hand on the small of her back before Mel had dragged him away so he could sell his cover as one of Val’s assistants. The few times she’s managed to make eye contact with him, he’s already got his eyes locked on her, and only tears them away when it becomes clear he’s expected to contribute to the conversation.
She misses him. His laugh when she made a crack about a particularly ridiculous sounding appetizer and the warmth of his body next to hers when she needed someone to lean on.
The conversation blurs around her as she watches him nod solemnly, his hands clasped in front of him as he does his best not to fiddle with his fingers.
She can’t take it anymore. Not the boredom, not the discomfort, not the forced niceness, and certainly not having to settle for playing eye tag with Bob while Valentina dragged him around under the pretense of building his cover story.
Ava sticks around a little longer, and when she decides she’s earned a bathroom break, she excuses herself and slinks out of the nearest exit, relieved when she’s put some space between herself and the ballroom. She can’t get her heels off fast enough, leaning against the wall as she undoes the buckles on them then hunts for the nearest elevator.
She feels better once she’s up on the roof, where the only sounds are the traffic down below. She pulls her hair out of its intricate updo, sliding the bobby pins onto her dress straps as the pressure on her scalp eases. She leans over the railing, watching the lazy crawl of foot traffic below. A gentle breeze whips her hair around face as she watches people walking their dogs — some more successfully than others — and listens to their laughter float up on the wind. She watches as drunk friend groups head out for the night, leaning against each other for support and loudly proclaiming their plans for the night.
She loses count of the couples she sees walking with their hands intertwined, leaning into each other so they can kiss and giggle and whisper to each other, oblivious to the world around them as people on the sidewalk make room for them.
The minutes bleed into each other as she makes up backstories for the people below her. From this height, they look a little like ants, and every time she makes up a name she thinks of Scott and Hope and the ant-sisstants they’ve tried to introduce Ava to.
Her body responds to Bob’s presence behind her before her brain can register, leaning in to the warmth of him as he wraps his arms around her.
“You’re cold,” he laughs, when she puts her hands over his.
“I’m always cold. You know this,” she sighs. “That’s why I keep you around.”
She presses further into him, wondering — not for the first time — how he manages to make it feel like she’s heating from the inside out.
“Oh wow. I thought you were taken by my charming personality and boyishly good looks.”
She snorts before she can stop herself, and she turns around so she can cradle Bob’s face in her hands, tilting his face this way and that.
The lights on the roof make him glow a bit, and Ava hates how he still gives her butterflies.
“You might be less cold if your feet weren’t touching bare concrete.”
His hands settle on her waist as she lets hers lay on his shoulders.
“Heels hurt. You’re so lucky you only have to wear those,” she says looking down at his dress shoes.
He hums.
For a moment, it’s silent as they sway gently.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just needed a little space. It’s… a lot down there,” she responds.
“Figured. Started getting worried because you were taking so long to come back.”
She leans back so she can look at him.
“Did you miss me or something?”
“Yeah. Of course I did.”
He squeezes at her waist, and whatever smart retort she had dies before it can find her tongue.
“Whatever,” she says.
He laughs then, keeps swaying from side to side with her.
“I like your hair curly,” he says after a while, twirling it around his finger.
“I’ll make note of that,” she says, turning her head so she can press her lips to his knuckles.
“There’s a live band down there now. Maybe we squeeze in a dance then make a hasty exit,” he offers. He knows it’s a no when he feels her tense.
“Okay we’ll have a dance up here and then make our hasty exit,” he offers.
“To what music? The beating of our wild hearts?” Ava muses.
“Exactly. You know me so well,” he says as he begins an improvised dance across the rooftop, careful for her feet, and only taking his hands off her waist so he can twirl her around and watch the way the sequins on her dress scatter the light a little.
They only stop when they hear the door to the rooftop open.
“We’re getting food. If you guys would like to stop canoodling,” Yelena shouts, and Ava rolls her eyes at the smug smile she imagines on her face.
“We’re not canoodling,” Ava and Bob both say, but they make no effort to let go of each other as Yelena shuts the door with a huffed out complaint about how she didn’t even get a ‘thank you’.