Revenge Turned Sweet

Epilogue 2: My Story Isn't Finished

I chew on my lip for a moment, pondering how to break the silence. I've been working on voicing what I'm feeling lately, it doesn't always come out correctly but the intention is there. So, I decide to say something I've never said to Peter. "It may not always seem like it, but I'm really glad I have you, Peter."

His eyes dart back down to the board and I bite the inside of my cheek, seeing his cheeks blush a dark red. I didn't mean to embarrass him. "Yeah, I-" he clears his throat when his voice cracks, "I'm glad I have you, too." He finally looks back up at me with a wry smile on his face.

"The scanner has been quiet," I muse, nodding toward the radio on his desk. "Spider-man must be doing a pretty good job lately." I grin when his cheeks redden even more so than the last time. He's really been putting an effort into everything he does, he got his GED, he's applying to NYU, and he's balancing all of that with spider-man. Sometimes, I don't know how he does it.

"Still haven't talked to MJ or Ned?" I ask, lowering my voice. It's a sensitive topic and I respect that he needs his time. But someone needs to check in.

He shrugs. "Looks like you won," he mumbles.

I stand up from his bed and push a breath out. If he doesn't want to talk about it, I'm not going to push it.  He's fairly good at avoiding questions he doesn't want to answer. He'll come to me when he's ready. "Well, then...that's my cue to leave!"

"Wait!" He exclaims and my eyes widen. "You don't wanna play again?"

My eyes bounce between the checkerboard and back to him. "I can't, I have something I need to do but I'll see you tomorrow, promise." I smile at him to reassure the fact that I'm not going anywhere.

"Tomorrow is good." The innocent smile comes back to his face. The kind that stretches up to his eyes and makes them wrinkle.

"Good," I mention and close my eyes. "I'll see you then."

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I actually find myself thankful for the cold weather in New York, if I hadn't worn a coat here, I would have froze in under a minute. Though, it is unusually warm for this time of year in Russia. Spots of green are visible through the melted snow when the ground should usually be frozen. I glance upward at the mass of trees, sunlight peeking through the snow covered branches, and take a long deep breath. It comes out shakily in clouds as I brace myself for what I'm about to do.

What I need to do.

This will give me closure. Or- a sense of it, at least. Maybe that's what I need to finally move on from all that I've left behind. "Прошу прощения," I mumble, clearing my throat. It feels like sandpaper.
•"Excuse me," •

The stuffy man behind the marble desk brings his eyes up to mine. His uniform is grim, a dark grey jacket and black pants that are far too small for him. His hair is combed over to the side to try and hide the bald spot forming on the crown of his head. The craters in his cheeks indicate a habit of skin-picking as well. He sets down his mug, as if to gesture that I've attained his attention. "Где Ивановы?" I ask weakly.
•"Where are the Ivanovs'?"•

He claps his hands together a few times to rid them of crumbs and clears his throat. I grip the edge of the high desk with all of my strength as he types the name into his computer. I need to do this, I cannot back down. He hums and his eyes light up, telling me he's found what he's looking for. "Строка 37, сзади," he responds with a sorrowful look in his eyes.
•"Row 37, toward the back,"•

I smile at him. "Спасибо." I hurriedly walk outside and welcome the brisk air back into my lungs.
•"Thank you."•

I keep my eyes low as my feet carry me toward the back of the large lay of land. The snow crunches under my boots with every step, almost reminding me to breathe. I pass each row marker and the closer I get to thirty-seven, the lump in my throat grows that much bigger. My feet come to a stop when I come to marker thirty-six, my breathing becomes ragged and my palms begin to sweat.

Nadya, no.

I need to do this. I'm going to do this. It will help. It will help me move on. I force my feet to continue moving, reminding myself of the words my mother used to tell me about fear. Like snow, it's cold and uncomfortable but we can't let it freeze us. That is, after all, what the snow is for.

Marker thirty-seven.

I make a sharp left and finally lift my eyes. Reading every name engraved on the small stones until I come to three that have my last name on them.

This is it.

I approach my mother's grave with caution, there's no body buried here, but somehow it still feels as if she's there. Listening, watching, waiting. I bend down and place the bouquet of roses on the cobblestone, swatting the snowflakes away from the 'Beloved mother and daughter.'

Without thinking, I lay my palm flat against the stone, feeling the cold spread throughout my body. "I miss you so much, mama," I whisper, feeling a warm tear fall down my cheek. I take my hand away and feel a fraction of the weight lift off of my shoulders. I never had the money before to give them a proper resting place.

I have no idea where their bodies were taken. I just have these stones, I believe that's comfort enough. It kills me not knowing where they are, if they were buried or cremated, or if they're still lying in a morgue somewhere...forgotten.

I move over just a bit to the next and feel the wind get knocked out of me. I knew this one would be the hardest, I knew it would hurt me the most. Andrei, 'brother, son, friend, loved by all.' I wish I could have requested more to be put on the small stone. He was so much more than that.

He was an avid comic book reader, a snowman building champion, a curly-haired genius that could've given Tony Stark a run for his money.

He was so much more.

Again, there is no body down there. My brother's body is not here. I wave my hand and a choked back sob escapes my mouth when the rocket ship I used to conjure for him appears. He used to lie in my bed beside me when I read and ask me to conjure images for him.

He couldn't read just yet, so I would oblige his requests. Creating werewolves and submarines and ships that were on crusades we could only dream of. Today, I chose a rocket ship. Because he always said he wanted to be an astronaut, well, after he became an Avenger.

"Andrei," I whisper, my voice shaking. I sniffle as I ponder what to say next. "I'm not sure if you can hear me, but I have to say I'm sorry." I grit my teeth together as my voice betrays me, tears streaming down my face as the wound in my chest tears open at the seams. "Not only do I have to...but I need to. You deserve an apology... more than that."

"I should have fought harder for you." I shake my head, reliving every single possibility that if I hadn't frozen in that moment he would be alive. "I should have protected you in ways that Mama and Papa couldn't."

"More than that, I wish you could see the world, Andrei. See how beautiful and frightening it can be. The stars are so bright, especially during the summer, I hope you've seen that." I laugh to myself for a moment. "I'm not even sure you would recognize me anymore," I mumble, "but I hope you would be proud of me."

"Hey, you'll never believe it but..." My hand brushes the snow collected off of the top of the headstone before I continue. I wipe the tears from my cheeks.

"I was an Avenger. For a little while." My grip on the stone grows so much I fear I may break it. "I wish you could have seen it..." I trail off, looking down at the snow and back up. "I think I avenged your death, Andrei. At least, I hope I did."

"I hope you're at peace now, with mama. Maybe even saying hello to Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff. I just know they would have loved you. They would have loved you more than I ever could have." I gather all of my strength and stand from my crouched position. The rocket ship dissipates into the air as my focus shifts. "Say hello for me. I'll be back soon, I promise."

I don't need to look at the next stone. I just need to say the words. I stick my hands into my pockets and take a steadying breath. There is a body in this grave. No matter how damaged it may be from the pain that I caused. What I say will matter. "I wish we could have had more time, dad. I wish you saw me as your daughter and not a weapon," I mutter, quietly, keeping my eyes away from the headstone.

"I won't say I'm sorry, but I will say one thing..." I trail off and turn away from the stones.

"I forgive you."

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