joey looks over at him, eyebrows still pulled together slightly. "you're a jerk, you know that?" they both know that she's referencing several things at the moment, not just his words minutes ago.
"yeah," he tells her, shaking his head and looking a...
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JOEY LIES AWAKE FOR THREE HOURS IN HER ROOM AFTER HER RUN-IN WITH WANDA.
She's sitting on the edge of her bed, and for what's probably the millionth time, she's sniffling and wiping the tears away from the corners of her eyes with her palms.
She's not upset Wanda can read her thoughts— she's definitely embarrassed, that's for sure, but this isn't the cause of her tears. If anything, it's the cherry on top of everything else going on in her head.
Joey is just tired. She misses her mom, and the more she thinks about that, the more she just misses... the way things used to be. Before her two-year visit hiatus, her trips to the compound were nothing like this. Her training was minimal, and there weren't very many missions for the others. When there were missions, they were small enough that a few people would be assigned at once, and Tony could stay home for most of them to spend time with Joey. Joey misses these visits just about as much as she misses her mom.
The times before the Avengers have been long gone— where Tony and Pepper would take eight-year-old Joey out into Downtown Malibu, before the big move to New York, just for dessert, or let an even younger Joey play around with retired Iron Man equipment. But the times after that? The times that Joey can recall like they were yesterday? Those feel so close, yet just out of reach. Like the times that she and Natasha would stay up all night painting each other's nails, and watching movies, and talking about celebrity crushes; or when she'd drain the battery on her phone by FaceTiming Clint's daughter, Lila, who is a year younger than her and seriously the only person who understands Joey's life as the daughter of an Avenger.
Back then, when the compound was far less inhabited and far less unfamiliar. When she didn't have to worry about blocking off her thoughts, so no one could read them... even if they are primarily occupied with things that may have to do with a 6'0", annoyingly attractive, Sokovian speedster.
Just like that, Joey pulls herself out of her thoughts. She needs to get out of this room, out of her head.
She chews on her lip for a second in contemplation. Where can she even go? She doesn't want to risk running into him in the bathroom again, but that also rules out the balcony. It's— she checks the time— almost one in the morning. She can't go out to one of the living rooms or game rooms; she doesn't want to wake anyone up, and all of those areas are way too close to the sleeping quarters for comfort.
With a huff, and the pull of her hair coiling into a bun, Joey decides to head down to the gym. It's far enough downstairs that no one will hear her training, or crying, or whatever it is she ends up doing when she gets there, and it's late enough that no one else should be using it.
She looks down at the pajamas she has on right now: mauve leggings and a big gray tee shirt. Whatever, she thinks, before pulling on some socks and tennis shoes. She isn't even sure she's going to be doing any actual working out down there, anyway.
