𝕻𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖚𝖑𝖚𝖒 - [𝗦𝘁𝗲𝗽𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗦𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲]

𝐱𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘰

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 — to be a hero

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 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 that after so much death and disparity... Emilia would have gotten used to the feeling of mourning. You'd think that looking into the eyes of a corpse, of a walking ghost would have gotten easier with time.

 From her parents to the Ancient One. From Stephen... and now to Tony. Things did not get easier, and time certainly couldn't heal all wounds.

 In the days following the moment Tony Stark had given his life to save them all, things seemed thick. It was like the air had been swallowed by heavy molasses, as though they were all trudging through crystallising honey. Each step was braced, pushed away, resisted.

 Emilia couldn't so much as remember breathing. She couldn't remember how she'd gotten from kneeling upon the ground before her fallen friend, to sobbing within the Stark's cabin.

 Most of the heroes had gone home to finally reunite with their revived loved ones; T'challa and his little sister returned to Wakanda. Scott Lang and Hope Van Dyne had sought out Scott's not-so-little little girl. The others who didn't have a family awaiting their return, found solace within Avengers Tower for the nights proceeding.

 Emilia had tried to reason with Pepper Potts, she had tried to explain through tears and snivelling that she'd be just fine within the cool walls of the Avengers Tower but Pepper would have none of it. She simply couldn't allow their dear friend to mourn alone... and Pepper Potts decided that she rather needed Emilia in the room nearby as she slept within a cold bed.

 Emilia had blocked everything out, even as Stephen — who had most graciously accepted Pepper's extended invitation — flitted around her bedroom. He hadn't made a peep as he trailed the lengths of the wooden floor. His shaking fingers found picture frames, each one filled with Emilia and the Starks, Bruce Banner and Rhodey, even Nebula and Natasha.

 They were all tainted memories now, and Emilia hadn't spared a single glance at any of them.

 Emilia was silent as she sat there, at the very edge of her pristinely made bed. Not a single ruffle was in sight, each pillow was as fluffed as she'd left it before the battle. She didn't want to touch anything, afraid it might break as everything seemed to.

 It was hard to digest that in one moment, Tony had been there poking fun at a squabbling couple, only to give his life the next. She'd always see a harrowing sight upon thinking of him, yet no matter how hard she tried to think of the good... only charred skin and burnt features flashed before her eyes... they were ingrained.

 He'd left the world in pain... and yet somehow Tony Stark had made pain look peaceful. It had been his talent for quite some time, Emilia supposed.

 The bed dipped beside her, and as though those five years hadn't separated them... Emilia found her head toppling towards Stephen's shoulder. Second nature, muscle memory perhaps. They hadn't spoken properly, even still. She'd avoided him, he'd avoided her, they'd fought side by side... and then they'd mourned. There hadn't been time, and now they were afraid to take it.