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Chapter 31 – What A Pair We Make
A heaviness settled in Ophelia's chest as she sat with her back to the headboard. The spare bedroom darkening as the sun began its farewell voyage to the west.
The weight of Natasha's head on her lap gave the brawler some semblance of clarity, but the last day of events weighed on her mind like an anchor.
After the heavy conversation that had resurged unwanted memories, Natasha's exhaustion, both physical and emotional, caught up to her. The only upside to this shitshow of a day was the redhead's newfound comfortability around Ophelia. An invisible wall had seemingly collapsed after the reveal of her sordid past. And the fact that Ophelia, just as she promised, never ran away.
It felt like the creeping shadows from the setting sun mirrored the darkness that swirled in the deep recesses of the brawler's mind. With only half her armour removed, and the steady tempo of the Russian spy's breathing the only sound in the room, Ophelia pondered.
Unexpectedly, the bedroom door quietly opened, letting in a dishevelled Bruce with his eyes darting everywhere until they settled on Ophelia.
"Sorry, I was just looking for the shower." The scientist awkwardly announced, holding up his towel with a bright red face.
"It's an en-suite. Right there." Ophelia nodded to the closed bathroom door, offering a wry smile to him.
Rapidly nodding his thanks, Bruce was about to open the bathroom door, but he suddenly froze. His head bowed with his hand around the doorknob.
"We fucked up, didn't we?" Bruce morosely asked, his eyes screwed shut with his back to Ophelia.
"And on the same day too. I don't know if that's just bad luck or Maximoff being a bigger sadist than I thought." Ophelia dryly chuckled; waiting impatiently for the moment that brilliant oranges and soft pinks would dominate the skies.
"How does anyone trust us? I hurt people today, I trashed the city. And if Nat hadn't woken you up, our sun would have blown up." Bruce leaned his forehead on the door as he sighed.
"And I was doing so well." Ophelia sarcastically drawled, covering up the deep shame that welled up inside her at what she had almost done.
"They all saw, Lia," Bruce whispered brokenly, whirling his head to face the tired brawler. "Everyone saw me for what I am. How could I stay after everyone saw what a monster I was?"
"And what standard are you holding yourself to, Bruce?" Ophelia asked abruptly, with neither of them bothering to turn on a light as they looked at one another through the shadows.
"Are you comparing yourself to Steve? The guy who was a government drone until recently? Or Tony? He used to be nicknamed 'The Merchant of Death' before Iron Man. Clint? Are you comparing yourself to a literal assassin? Thor? Who was a warmonger for the last thousand years up? Me? The bitch that killed her father?" Ophelia incredulously questioned; her eyebrow raised at the meek doctor.
