Who Am I? » [Stucky]

186. Final Farewells

Waiting extraction on the mountaintop was gloomy, being slowly soaked by the bullets of rain that showered from the sky, with the burning heat of the fire-engulfed mountain just out of reach. The flaming wreckage almost seemed tempting, it’s luminescence tantalizing like flies to a lamp and the shelter it offered like a palace to a homeless man.

Soon enough, drawn to the beacon of revolving red smoke, the Quinjet landed at the peak of the twin rocky outcrop; rescuing the sodden survivors. It whisked down to checkpoint two, rescuing Grant, Lance, Alfonso and a rather bare Bruce Banner. The grey haired scientist was bundled in one of the agent’s thermal coats in oversized pants stretched by his hulk form, his hair squiffy and knotted and shivering like a jitterbug.

The news hit Coulson hard, and shocked the four men who had escaped at the foot of the base into silence. And the sopping wet journey back was miserable, everyone plunged into a session of hushed mourning, all feeling fatigued from the challenging battle. Many were ministering to their wounds, mummifying their injuries with bandages, sloshing alcohol anti-septic over their exposed lacerations and injecting shots of adrenaline, anti-haemorrhagics and painkillers. Some clung to their significant others, knotting hands and uttering words of compassion and commiseration.

Returning to the base was surrounded with the same dreary solace, discreet mumbles the only exchanges of words and packing up was wrapped in the same wordlessness. Goodbyes were fleeting, a brief tangle of arms and pecks on cheeks. Slips of torn scrap paper were traded, scrawled with digits of mobile phone numbers and addresses and one by one members of the Avengers/S.H.I.E.L.D hybrid slipped away – though some remained, in a lack of any place of their own to reside. Each were dropped off back to their local airport and returned to normality.

They returned to the cold walls of their apartments and homes, an absence of central heating with their vacation of their residence. Some, like Tony, returned to loved ones and shared endless soppy endearments with their significant others, others, like Maria, were condemned back to isolation. Familiarity was a luxury they revelled in, and sinking into the sheets of their bed and reacquainting with their mattresses. Relaxation was resumed, returning to a quieter life, free of threats for a while.

But once again, they assembled to commemorate the passing of a friend lost upon the way, one who didn’t get to return home, to resume ordinary life and to live.

The graveyard was dismal, but restful. Antoine would be sleeping in peaceful pastures, where the grass was lush and green, where trees sprouted with vitality and the mead was scattered with the first golden flush of daffodils of the Easter.

Everyone was clothed darkly, black dresses were slotted onto the hourglass figures of the women, and sumptuous suits were fitted onto the men; coupled with dark glasses and black hats. But the sun floated high in the sky, shining down on the varnished mahogany coffin with the golden plate hammered into it, honouring the life past.

Steve cleared his throat at the head of the coffin, unrumpling a folded sheet of paper from his breast pocket and raking his eyes over the toiled words scrawled across it. The congregation rose for the speech and all eyes rested on the Captain.

"I haven't known Antoine for as long as many of you, but I'm honoured to be able to participate in his eulogy in such a significant capacity.

Antoine was young, so young, too young. And for someone of his age, he saw and did an awful lot. He followed in the generations old steps of his grandfather, Gabriel Jones, an age old companion of mine. He lived up to a grandiose forerunner and usurped the role with dutiful tenacity. He was worthy of the title of his grandfather, a Howling Commando. He was the spitting image of his decorated descendent and a remnant of his soul. He was the embodiment of the shield ideals; chivalrous, courageous, and selfless to the point of sacrificing all a man can sacrifice - his life, for those he valued, friends and country. What's more, the world.