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THIRTEEN | COMMISSARY AMONGST COMRADES
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THE AFTERMATH OF GERMANY WAS A LOT OF VOLUNTARY SOLITUDE. What had once felt like a home now felt cold and empty—like a prison containing Dahlia McDeen to marinate in her thoughts until the end of time. Stark had tried to coax her out of her room with bribes but she hadn't so much as responded to his messages, he was partially to blame—it'd been his idea for her to do what she did. Dahlia felt so alone; those who had made being an Avenger worth it were trapped in a prison in the middle of the ocean. She couldn't even watch the press conference announcing their arrest all the way through without feeling nauseous. Seeing the love of her life and her best friend bound to submission, being loaded into a quinjet to their penitentiary. Knowing there was nothing she could do because it was her fault, she put them there. The gaunt, emotionless look Pietro bad worn was like an especially sharp knife to her chest. It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
It'd been about a week since she'd gotten back to America and she'd barely so much as turned the light on in her bedroom. It's not like they would see much light so why should she? Yema had turned particularly bitter, not moving from the corner of the room as she threw lecture after lecture her way. She could mostly tune it out, Yema was just background noise to her now.
She'd hardly heard much life in the Avengers compound, anyways except for the distant sound of a vacuum every afternoon. Every so often she'd hear someone stop in front of the door before walking away—she honestly hadn't cared enough to investigate who it was.
The blonde had been on her tenth episode of Teen Wolf for the day when her door handle began rattling. She hardly had time to sit up when Natasha Romanoff burst through her door. "Get up," she ordered, looking around for clean clothes. Dahlia sat, mouth bobbing open like a goldfish. When Natasha found a suitable outfit in the bottom of the girls wardrobe, she turned to frown at her. "Quick, and god, can we crack a window or something. Jesus, Dahlia."
Dahlia was confused. "How. . . how did you even get in? The door was locked. . . ?"
Natasha, who'd been opening every single blind and window possible scoffed. "Has the lack of vitamin D affected your memory, are you forgetting who you're talking to?"
