"This is the beginning of a long journey for you and me."
"For our people to be the strongest in our Galaxy, we had to weed out our weak ones."
"No one is going to pull their punches. This isn't like the cartoons you watch on Saturday morning. The p...
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**
Four weeks.
Only 31 days since the decimation of St Louis.
31 days since The Blue Bullet vanished into the skies, never to be seen again. An entire month since everything about Mira Rohan's life had come crashing down, leaving her barely functioning.
On day 10, she and her mother had temporarily moved out of the screaming walls of their three-bedroom apartment, choosing to settle at The Tower for the time being to avoid the memories associated with their home. Somehow Avengers Tower was less torturous than being in that apartment.
Tony had taken it upon himself to hire them an interior designer, one who would completely re-do their entire home to make the crushing walls easier to stomach, to remove all evidence that Marcus Rohan had ever called it home.
Sitting on the rooftop of The Tower, Mira let her legs dangle over the edge as she worked on her calculus homework, ignoring the echo of her ringing phone which had been constantly lighting up beside her for the past 20 minutes. She loved her friends, she did, no doubt about it, but she couldn't keep listening to the sympathetic voices.
Given that Michelle and Ned didn't know about the monster her father was, they had been doing nothing but offering her condolences since the fake funeral. She appreciated it, but it was too much. While she loved Ned's grandmother's cooking, she couldn't handle another casserole and tearful apology for the loss of her father.
A week after the funeral, Sammy went back to St Louis which was under heavy construction as the city tried to pull itself through the ashes of destruction. Dropping him and his mom off at the airport had crushed her. During that first week, she had latched onto him because he got it more than most. He had known about her father, had dealt with his own monster of a father; he more than any of her friends had known that she didn't want apologies or sympathies.
She just wanted to hit stuff.
Hence why, he had taken her to a boxing club in Hell's Kitchen that Happy had told them about. She had punched bag after bag for hours every single day, her knuckles ripping and then healing over again and again.
Peter was...well he was Peter.
Peter Parker had always been so sweet, but it was like he had dialled the sweetness up to 200. He had been patrolling pretty much every night on the streets without a break for the past month, reassuring her that he had everything handled until she wanted to go back out there.
-If she wanted to go back that is.
He had done her homework for her for the first three weeks following the funeral and walked her back to the Tower every day after School despite it being way out of his journey home.
