Tili Tili Bom (An Avengers fanfic)

Chapter eighteen

I finish the book while I make myself dinner. I end up making spaghetti- it's a little crunchy, but edible. Every bite sticks in my throat. I turn the news back on, but there's nothing. Maybe they're coming home? The one relief is that the anchor isn't saying anyone's died. It's eight thirty when they get back. Steve limps into the kitchen, holding up Clint. "Hey," he says to me. I stand up, suddenly outraged. "Hey? You leave, without me, to go do God knows what, and you give me 'hey?' I'm part of this team too, y'know!" I'd punch his arm, but he looks bad enough as it is. I glare at him as I give him a bowl. Clint thumps into a chair and puts his head on the table. "Sorry," he tells me. The fight drains away. I slump into the chair. "I was worried," I whisper.

Steve rubs his face. "You had a rough night. I didn't want to risk you getting hurt." I snort. "Sure." They eat in relative silence, and it takes me a while to ask the question. "Where is everyone?" He gestures upward. "Med bay. They're fine." There's nothing we can really say. I study his face, taking in every minute detail. There's a large scrape running down his cheek, red and raw. Say goodbye. I don't.

Clint leaves. He takes the spaghetti with him.

I look outside. The sun sets softly over the skyline, skyscrapers jutting from the earth like bits of broken glass. I don't know how I'll miss it. I want to tell him why I will be gone, why this is happening, but I can't. I look back at him. He's frowning at me. "What happened to your throat?" he asks, concerned. I touch it, and spots of concealer stick to my fingers. Der'mo. "Nothing," I reassure him. He peers at it closer, and suddenly I'm reminded of Racks. "Please tell me the truth," he says in a hollow voice. And I do, I so want to tell him the truth, but I can't. This... This thing is inside me, and to acknowledge it is to give it a home, and I can't do that.

"I tripped," I tell him. "Didn't want you to worry." He doesn't look convinced. "Okaywellgoodnight," I spit out quickly before rushing upstairs. Im sorry, I want to tell him. I wish you all the best. I hope you win. I hope you get to be happy. I sit in my room a good few minutes and cry. I let everything out- every dead ember of hope, every drop of blood on my hands, every color I'll never see again. It comes out in a silent torrent- I keep the noise from rasping out. Tell them. I turn out the lights, then put them back on. I finish my book, wipe up my tears from the bathroom counter. I pace around, still in the sweater. I'm so tired, but I can't fall asleep yet. I... Tell them. I can't. Tell them. I'm so afraid. The thing inside me is in pain, but it is stronger than I have ever been. It will kill me, I know that. It wants to escape its hell.

I can't tell them, but, a part of me recognizes, I can't die. I will not die. I have not overcome so much suffering to die. I can't tell them, but I have to. I... I have to.

I creep out of my room, and down the dark hallway. I quietly knock on a door, then let myself in when there's no response. It's late, and he's asleep, but I need help. I hear him mutter something and cry out. "Bruce, wake up."

I shake him awake, and he responds groggily. "What..?" He puts on his glasses, a little startled that I'm here, but I don't care. "Charlotte? What are you doing up?" Even in the dim light, I can see his gaze roam over my throat. I take a deep breath. I can't do this by myself. I will not die.

"I need your help."