A Distant Memory (Remastered)

~ return ~

How bad it really was.

Scars upon scars. You knew the worst were on your back. You didn't dare turn.

Your fingers shook as you turned the shower on.

The moment the hot water hit your skin, your breath caught. The steam wrapped around you, too warm, too real. It hit you all at once—the silence, the safety, the cost. The weight of survival.

You leaned against the tiled wall, and your knees gave out.

The sobs came without permission.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just cracked and hoarse and buried. You covered your face with your hands, pressing your palms into your eyes, like you could push it all back inside. But it kept coming.

You didn't cry often. Even when you knew you needed to. You hold it in, building over and over until one day it all hits you. You always kept a brave face.

The reunions with your family. The image of your reflection. Seeing Bucky.

And the seven months of pain. Hits you all at once.

Images. Screams. The cells. The restraints. The torture. Alonso Denali's hands touching you. Thor's voice calling your name from the other room, trying to get to you when he heard you scream.

Dhaka's people had broken you in ways you didn't know you could break. Not just physically. They took something. Time, pieces of trust, pieces of you. But you survived.

You remembered Thor, bloodied and furious, dragging you out of that hellhole. And you remembered the way he carried you when you couldn't walk.

You cried harder.

And you weren't the only one.

—

Down the corridor, at the other end of the east wing, Thor sat on the shower floor in his own room. Water rushing down over his shoulders, mingling with old bruises and new scars. His hands rested on his knees, palms open, eyes closed, tinted red water falling down his sides.

Numb.

He didn't cry. Not visibly. But the pain was there.

His mind was stuck in the cell. The chair. Your screams. The look you gave him when he thought he wouldn't make it. The broken edge in your voice when you said, "Don't leave me."

He hadn't.

You'd made it out. Together. And still, something inside him hadn't left that room.

You were the only reason he did.

He was reluctant to move. Like the sting of the water on his back kept him still. Wrapped up in chains.

He knew he needed to let it out. It had only been building behind his eyes. Jaw tight. Breath shaky.

But he pushed it down.

Another layer added. And all he could think about was you — down the hall. Feeling the exact same way.

—-

Fresh clothes. Damp hair. The scent of real soap clinging to your skin for the first time in months.

You stepped out into the hallway, Thor waiting just like he'd promised.

Your eyes met, and there was no need to speak. There was a shared understanding in that glance—you were both still bleeding in ways no medic could stitch up.

He could tell you'd been crying.

And you could tell that he pushed his back. Stayed strong and didn't release it.