Inheritance of ash

Distraction

The chaos of dinner slowly gave way to the quiet hum of cleanup. Plates scraped, chairs screeched, and the dishwasher gave its valiant last beep as it reached capacity.

Vicky stood beside the sink, sleeves rolled up, warm water rushing over her hands. It was mechanical, repetitive — scrub, rinse, dry, stack — and right now, that was exactly what she needed. A small distraction that didn't talk back. That didn't ask how she was. That didn't ask if she'd found a note in a drawer with shaky hands and a storm behind her ribs.

Behind her, people drifted out of the kitchen in clusters. Wanda and Vision were heading toward the library for some chess rematch. Clint and Kate were still arguing, quieter now, but mid-banter as they loaded the dishwasher. Tony was gesturing dramatically at Pepper about building "a non-toxic nursery with enough smart tech to make NASA nervous." Peter had gone to take Bob out.

Bob.

As if summoned, the tiny kitten trotted back into the kitchen, tail upright like a flag, meowing once before circling Vicky's ankles like she was the center of the world.

"Hey, little dude," she said softly, drying her hands on a towel and scooping him up.

The phone she'd been so excited to get back earlier now sat untouched on the counter. What good was it anymore? It had stopped being fun the moment she saw her face plastered across article thumbnails and zoomed-in, unflattering paparazzi angles. Skylight, they called her. That name didn't feel like her anymore. Not tonight.

The window revealed the start of snowfall outside. Light, soft flakes drifting down in lazy spirals.

"Guess we're going for a walk," she muttered, tucking Bob under her arm and grabbing her headphones off the charger.

She left quietly, pulling on a coat and slipping out a side door with barely a sound.

The air outside was crisp, sharp enough to sting, but she welcomed it. The snow crunched under her boots, and Bob, wearing his tiny winter vest like a prince, padded along beside her. She hit play on her headphones. Jeff Buckley. Always Jeff Buckley. His voice filled the space in her head, and she welcomed it like a tide.

She hadn't gotten far when—

fwip

A snowball hit the ground about a foot in front of her.

She paused, eyes narrowing, and turned.

Pietro stood behind her, grinning smugly, arms crossed. He didn't even try to hide.

"Do you ever not follow me?" she asked, pulling her headphones down.

"I was bored," he said, stepping closer. "And cold. So I thought... maybe you'd warm me up with your charming company."

"Go bother Kate."

"She's hiding from Yelena."

Vicky turned and kept walking. Bob trotted between them like a tiny referee.

Pietro jogged to catch up. "You okay?"

She didn't answer.

He smirked again. "You know, the silent treatment only makes me stronger."

"Pietro."

That stopped him.

Her voice was sharp, sharper than she meant it to be. Not yelling, just... edged. Her shoulders were tense. She wasn't even looking at him.

"...Sorry," she said after a few steps. "I'm just... not in the mood."

He was quiet for a second. Then, a bit softer, "I noticed."