Inheritance of ash

False calm

"Sure. My eardrums just decided to retire out of nowhere."

She rolled her eyes but smiled.

Clint stopped fiddling with the piano and looked at her, serious now — but not too serious. "You play that no-name song again?"

Vicky blinked.

"...Yeah."

"Sounded good."

"Thanks."

"Also creepy."

"Yeah."

They both fell into silence for a moment. Clint stretched his back with an exaggerated groan and looked around the room like he'd never been there before. Then he pointed at the drums.

"You actually try them?"

She gave him a flat look. "Define 'try.'"

Clint smirked. "Hey, give it time. Took me six years to learn how to juggle knives."

"Why would you even—"

"Exactly."

Vicky laughed softly.

Outside, the sun had started to sink lower, streaking the room in orange and pink. The shadows on the walls looked softer now. Less haunted.

And when Clint eventually wandered out, claiming something about needing to find his other sock and why was Mjolnir still on a yoga mat, Vicky stayed behind for a while longer.

She didn't go back to the drums.

But she did sit down at the piano again.

And this time, she played that no-name tune with her eyes closed.

⸻

The kitchen was empty except for the low hum of the fridge and the faint sound of Fleetwood Mac playing from somewhere far off in the tower — probably Wanda's yoga playlist.

Peter padded in quietly, towel slung over one shoulder, his hair sticking up in odd directions from an earlier downward dog. He muttered under his breath, still catching it from Wanda for giggling at the word "chakras." He grabbed a glass from the cabinet, ran the tap, and let the cold water spill in. The pipes rattled faintly above.

He barely got the glass to his lips when a voice behind him cut through the quiet:

"Look at that. A boy hydrated. The bar is so low these days."

Peter nearly dropped the glass.

Tony was leaning against the island, arms crossed, sunglasses still perched unnecessarily on his face even though they were inside and it was, in fact, overcast.

Peter blinked. "Aren't you supposed to be in yoga too?"

"I'm meditating from a distance," Tony said. "It's a revolutionary new technique. Involves absolutely no effort, complete silence, and hiding in the kitchen for thirty-five minutes until Witchy forgets I exist."

"She definitely won't."

"She definitely will," Tony replied, then opened the fridge and pulled out an energy drink that looked like it belonged in a lab, not a grocery store. "She can't kill me if she can't find me."

Peter snorted, sipping his water.

Tony leaned on the counter beside him. For a moment, he didn't say anything else, just tapped the side of his can with one finger. Then, in that casual-not-casual tone he was famous for:

"So. Vodka."

Peter's throat closed.

He set his glass down slowly. "What about it?"