Away We Go. (Avengers Fan Fiction)

Chapter 8

Tony Stark's a.k.a Iron Man's P.O.V.

She sat down at the table, placing the stack of papers before her. Her eyes flitted briefly over the front cover before she moved on, really beginning to get into the important stuff.

She was maybe two minutes in when she abruptly pushed back from the table, jumping away from the papers as if they'd suddenly grow teeth and bite her.

Her hands trembled lightly and she crossed her arms in defiance once she noticed my gaze.

"Not interested," she said, shaking her head profusely.

"You hardly read anything!" Clint objected, motioning towards the untouched pages.

"I read enough," she snapped, the harshness completely lost when her voice shook.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to determine what had her so shaken up. I'd read over the exact same initiative and there wasn't anything fear provoking typed up.

"I advise you to re-evaluate your decision," Nick said, coming to stand beside her. He was just as puzzled as the rest of us, though he was more adept at hiding it.

"And I advise you to drop it," she snarled, whirling around to face him.

This girl was not the same one who'd been joking around with me just a few short minutes ago, nor was she the timid dirt ball who seemed to be afraid of her own shadow.  

She was actually...hostile looking.

In the blink of an eye Fury had a gun trained on the spot between her eyes, having taken up a defensive stance. The girl froze instantly, back rigid with fear.

"Fury..." I said, rising from my seat when his finger inched towards the trigger.

"Back up," he ordered her, and the girl obliged, taking ten huge steps backwards. 

She shoved her hands into the jeans pockets, casting her eyes toward the ground.

"Now, why are you so opposed to joining the Avengers?" Fury inquired, calming himself down.

"I'm not cut out for hero work," she muttered, running the tip of her shoe against the floor. 

"How would you know that?" I scoffed, giving her a dubious look. 

"I've tried to be one before and...it didn't exactly turn out as I hoped it would," she said, voice barely loud enough to hear. 

"Well, then you try again. Everyone has off days!" I exclaimed, trying to rid the room of the melancholy that seemed to be swirling around the girl.

"I– I can't," she mumbled, voice breaking. Her lower lip had begun to quiver, her lashes fluttering as she fought to blink back tears.  

"Who did you try to save?" Widow inquired, voice quiet and understanding. A tone she'd never used with me– figures.

"My...people," she said, raking her sleeve across the planes of her face, removing the few traitor tears that had managed to leak out. It had been a while since I'd seen someone so...broken. There really was no other word for it.

"People like you? Your family? Friends?" Natasha probed, only receiving a nod in return. "What happened?" she asked, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table. 

This seemed to be the last question she could handle about her past because she more or less exploded.

"I screwed up! I was stupid and careless and I screwed everything up!" she shouted, throwing her hands into the air.

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad–"

"I killed them!" she ground out, turning her tear laden gaze onto the now shocked Agent. "I tried to be the hero, I tried to help, and I got them all killed. My friends, my family– they're all dead because of me. Not captured, not injured, not missing– dead, all because I wanted to play the part of the hero. I can't– I can't do that again," she choked out, her eyes pleading for us to understand.

When no one responded, she briskly exited of the room, slamming the door behind her, but not before the sobs she'd been trying to hold back finally burst forth. 

Main Character's P.O.V.

I bit my bottom lip, nearly drawing blood as I raced around trying to find an exit. My cheeks burned with the shame of losing my composure in front of so many people. 

By the time I found a door that lead outside I could hardly see two feet ahead of me, the tears blending everything into a colorful blob of shapes. 

It was night again, the stars twinkling across the black expanse of sky. I walked for a block, dodging numerous agents, before finding a less used building which was in noticeably poorer shape than all the rest. I made it around to the northern side, which faced a rocky tundra of some sort, before slamming my back against the wall and sliding down onto the ground. 

"Stupid!" I chided myself, gripping my head in my hands. I hadn't meant to let that much information slip. Hell, I didn't want to give them any information. 

I hit my head against the wall –once, twice– trying to bash the memories out as they started snaking there way up to the forefront of my mind. 

By this time I was in the grip of a full out breakdown, ragged sobs tearing there way up and out of my chest. It had been a long, long time since I'd openly cried, and the years of pent up sorrow seemed to find this as the perfect opportunity to surface.

"I'm so, so sorry," I mumbled to the wind, the statement delivered choppily and with a rather hoarse voice. I cried even harder, realizing they'd never be able to hear me.

A few hours passed and I was thankful that they had sent no one to search for me. 

Weakness wasn't something I necessarily valued.

Sniffling a few more times, I made my way to my feet, brushing some dirt off the legs of my borrowed pants. I took a few deep breaths and tucked my hair behind my ears, trying to mold my expression back into the unreadable mask I'd grown so accustomed to wearing. 

I considered going back to formally decline their offer, no matter the consequences, but decided just leaving would be less of a hassle to both of us. 

They needed a hero, and I was the farthest thing from a hero that they could possibly get.