Returning to Boston, the place where I spent the first twenty-four years of my life, feels like stepping into a portal between place and time. As I sit in the back of an unmarked police car, the historic architecture and skyscrapers form a backdrop to my mixed emotions. This is the city I spent my formative years, where every street corner cherished memories and every cobblestone whispers secrets from my past. Yet, after years of yearning to come home, I find myself feeling out of place.
As the car makes its way through the bustling streets, I find myself feeling like a stranger in my own hometown. The Boston I knew was frozen in time, kept preserved in the recesses of my mind. The one I'm returning to has evolved and carried on during my absence. In my mind, I had hoped it stayed the same, making me feel like I never really left in the first place. But unfortunately, I, too, am a victim of the unrelenting march of time.
Through the window, I watch the swarm of people on the sidewalk, their hurried pace and busy lives a stark contrast to the world I remember. The bustling crowd has a collective energy, a steady movement forward, like they're being pulled by an invisible force. Their lives have a purpose, their journeys mapped out. Unlike my own, which feels like a rudderless ship tossed out into a stormy sea.
This is a homecoming of sorts and yet, it's like stepping into uncharted waters. It's as if I'm stuck between two worlds; one filled with memories of a time where my biggest concern was passing my piano exams and the other a chaotic, uncertain realm where I was a pawn in a sinister game. Despite my legal pardon, an uneasy feeling lingers. My future remains a mystery. Although I know that I am pardoned, I have this overwhelming feeling that it won't fill the empty void that grows within me. Having been accustomed to a life of chaos, the idea of domesticity terrifies me. The steady rhythm of a 'normal' life feels foreign, like learning a new language.
As the car navigates the city streets, I find myself thinking about how I'll fit into this new world of mine. The memories of my time on the run, aiding others in their fight for freedom, and the battles that have left their mark on me, all of it coalesces into a looming question: can I truly escape the chaos I left in my wake? Will I ever be accepted into a world that had once turned its back on me? Boston, once my sanctuary, now mingles with the ghosts of my past and the frenetic life of my present.
The car comes to a deliberate halt in front of the John W. McCormack Post Office and Courthouse. It stands as a formidable monolith in the heart of the city. Its neoclassical architecture, adorned with majestic columns and intricate stonework, leads to its historical significance. The massive stone structure hovers over the city, a symbol of the government's unyielding presence. To me, it's daunting; it's a place where rules of the world are established and enforced. The sight of it triggers an array of emotions within me–fear, hesitance, and a sense of insignificance against the backdrop of the grand institution. I swallow hard, knowing that I have to face the facts of my ever-present past and hope for a different future.
With a deep breath, I exit the car, being greeted by the crisp New England air that I'm all too familiar with. Just ahead, two officers wait for me, their uniforms clean-cut and stern expressions noticeable on their faces. They motion me to follow them, and I oblige, walking behind them as we make our way through the grand entrance. Every step I take echoes in the grandiose hallways, the sound reverberating in my ears as we make our way to the hearing room, where my conditions will be determined.
My steps lead to a heavy wooden door, and the officers give me a slight nod before they push the door open. It creaks open, revealing the hearing room and the members of the board sit, awaiting my arrival. My heart is pounding in my chest, as if it's trying to break free from the cage of my ribs. This is the room where my past, my deeds, and my future will intersect and be weighed.
The room is colored with deep mahogany accents and plush leather chairs. A long, polished wooden table stretches before me, and the board members sit on the other side. Their faces are serious, professional, creating a contrast to the chaotic world that I'm accustomed to. Unbeknownst to me, they want to help guide me back into the world, but I am petrified of what comes from this meeting. Their stares bare into me as I make my way towards the empty seat across from them. The memories of my past misdeeds flash before my eyes, and I can almost hear the whispers of Hydra's influence. But I am not that person that sits before them.
Because anywhere is better than being in the clutches of my maker.
"Thank you for joining us today, Miss. Rawlins," a gentleman in his late forties addresses me. "You have been summoned before this board to discuss the conditions of your pardon and the requirements for your reintegration into society. We understand the gravity of your situation, and we appreciate your willingness to participate in this process. Do you understand your rights?"
I nod in acknowledgement, knowing that whatever I say here will determine my next step forward. "I appreciate the opportunity to be present for this hearing. I stand before you, committed to step forward on a new path. One that I hope comes with healing and redemption."
At once, they all flip open a file, one that contains vital information about myself. My name flashes on the cover as they turn the page and the sounds of their pens clicking fill the room. The collective focus on the details of my life, in its entirety, is a poignant reminder of the significance of their hearing. I've been on the stand during court cases, but during that time, I was only explaining the significance of my findings. This, however, determines whether I can return to a life that was stripped away from me.
The same gentleman looks up from the file, a somber smile takes form as he looks at me. It's almost as if he feels for me, but it is quickly exchanged with an unreadable expression. He clears his throat before he speaks, "Miss. Rawlins, the floor is now open to you. Please feel free to begin your remarks, share your perspective, and provide insights to your journey."
I give them a nervous smile. Taking a deep breath, I reach into my jacket pocket and retrieve the folded piece of paper that I've brought with me. It entails all the little details I'd like to share with them about myself. Carefully, I unfold it and place it on the table before me, silently rehearsing the things I will disclose to the board. They observe my nervousness, but also, they see my willingness to be cooperative with them. My heart pounds in my chest, and I begin to nervously tap my foot.
"Well, I'll start at the beginning. I'm Dr. Avalon Jane Rawlins, a forensic scientist by trade. I never imagined I'd be entangled with Hydra, but it all began when I discovered their dark operations during World War ll. I learned of what they were really doing, which turned into me uncovering information about their Winter Soldier program," I explain, slowly becoming more comfortable with talking about my past. My eyes glance down at the paper in front of me before I look back up at the board. "I tried my best to keep this information to myself, but unfortunately, my father, who had connections to Hydra, discovered my research. It was my own father, Dr. Lorenzo Rawlins, who gave me over to Hydra and orchestrated my disappearance in 1949. He faked my death to keep me silent, and in doing so, condemned me to a life I never asked for."
"This is certainly an unexpected turn, Dr. Rawlins," a younger woman of the board speaks up, her curiosity peaking. "Your file doesn't disclose your father's involvement and the extent he went to silence you. Please, continue."
I take a moment to gather my thoughts before delving further into my past. The room falls into a brief, contemplative silence. My eyes dart to the images on the walls, capturing the details of a beautiful Boston skyline in the setting sun, a stark contrast to the dark tales I'm recounting.
"During my time at Hydra, I was subjected to countless procedures and experiments to see what I could withstand. With procedures came the brainwashing, and I was stripped of my true identity. Forced to train day in and day out, I became Hydra's left hand, The Red Ghost. I was an operative who thrived on chaos and knew nothing but violence and destruction. They wanted a weapon, so they weaponized me," I recount my time with Hydra. Although there's more to my story, these are the details I'm willing to share without feeling like I'm reliving it. Folding my hands on the table, I continue once more, "For nearly seven decades, I was a pawn in their sinister game, taking lives without remorse, fueled by their conditioning. I committed acts I can't comprehend now, yet I can't escape the memory of every life I took. I was their harbinger of chaos and no man stood a chance against me."
The room falls silent as I finish this part of my speech. All six members of the board stare back at me quizzically, getting a side to the story that they couldn't read in a file. After all these years, after decades of not having a voice, I stand here, finally given the opportunity to explain myself. Finally given the opportunity to share my truth in hopes of someone listening to me. It is a story that I never thought I'd be able to share with those with authority, but here I am, at last, given a chance for redemption.
"Dr. Rawlins, your story is captivating and unexpected. We appreciate your honesty and candidness," the same woman who spoke previously, a newfound look of understanding takes its place on her hollow features. "To delve deeper into your past, can you give us insight into your collaboration with The Winter Soldier? We are particularly interested in the dynamic of your relationship."
I expected this moment to come. I knew that my involvement with The Winter Soldier would be a pivotal part during this hearing. My time working alongside him was a majority part of my time with Hydra. He had a hand in creating what I became, but it was never his fault. The Winter Soldier, despite his own tragic history, was a mere instrument to Hydra's malevolence, just as I was. And I know his story all too well.
"The Winter Soldier and I shared a complicated history. He was my mentor in the dark arts of assassination and espionage. He honed my skills, turning me into a weapon capable of executing Hydra's orders without question. He trained me rigorously, instilling the skills and instincts I needed to succeed in this ruthless line of work. I was his shadow, his prodigy, and in due time, we became a deadly duo," my voice feels strained as I talk about my past. Especially when it comes to the man who I've come to love. Who I care for. But I can only speak of him as he were then. And even then, I didn't see him as a monster. I continue on, "Wherever he went, I followed, like a silent specter of death. Our partnership was a dance of darkness, one that embodied the very essence of evil itself. Yet, you know what happened next, and I'd rather not delve into those details today."
I am aware that what I've shared here is merely the tip of the iceberg, a glimpse into a much darker past. There are parts of my history that have yet to be unveiled, parts that are intertwined with my former partner, with Bucky Barnes, and parts that I never want to reach the surface. The board members remain silent as they jot down notes, their faces unreadable as they absorb everything I say.
Then, the man's voice breaks the silence, his question a departure from the expected narrative. "What did you do when you weren't co-operating?"
I blink in surprise, my expression one of utter disbelief at the question, and then I reply, almost deadpan, "I was asleep," I have to keep myself composed as I respond. These are things the average person wouldn't understand, but I digress. They look at me like I have three heads. I sigh, knowing I have to explain the situation. "I was kept in cryostasis for the better part of seventy years. I was used when I was needed. Biologically, I am 24."
I let my words linger throughout the room. The weight of my confession presses down on them as they finally realize the complex nature of my history. Of my dark past. It's a somber moment, their eyes reflecting empathy towards me, which is something I wasn't expecting. In my mind, I thought they would assume I chose this life for myself, but I tend to forget that there are good people still left in this world.
After a brief pause, I decided that this is my chance to speak up once more. To further prove myself worthy of this pardon. "I am not a criminal by choice, but I do understand the importance of accountability. I know what I've done, the crimes I've committed, and the lives I've taken," my gaze doesn't waver from them. "But I am also a victim. I had my entire life taken from me."
And for the first time in my new life, I feel like I've accomplished something. I've managed to let my voice be heard without other deciding factors. There is no one telling me what to do, say, or think. And for that, it is overwhelmingly rewarding. The board members pass glances with each other, talking to one another in hushed voices that I cannot pick apart. Their voices are a mere murmur as they exchange thoughts and comments about my testimony. Their moment of deliberation allows my anticipation to run wild throughout the room. I wait patiently, waiting to hear the conditions that they'll decide for my future.
After a few minutes of their hushed conversation, the stern woman reverts her attention towards me. "Dr. Rawlins, your testimony has provided us with a unique perspective of your life and your experiences. It's clear to us that you've been through a tremendous ordeal, and we believe that it is essential for you to be offered a chance at reintegration in society," her tone is firm but not unkind. "The conditions of your pardon will be as follows: Your criminal record will be expunged. However, you will be required to attend weekly therapy sessions to aid in this process and to address the trauma you may have. We will also provide you with support to rebuild your life."
I exhale a breath I didn't realize I was holding. Relief washes over me as I acknowledge that there is a chance for redemption, a path towards reclaiming the life that was stolen from me. Excitement bubbles within my chest, like a dormant fire suddenly rekindled. I am filled with an eagerness to embrace this newfound opportunity, to start anew and rebuild the life I was denied for so long. But what strikes me most is a profound sense of awe. Awe at the understanding that the board has shown me. Awe at the possibility of reuniting with my past, the chance to understand who I once was before I became the Red Ghost.
As the conditions of my pardon come to a close, the woman who has been leading the proceeding reaches beneath the table, retrieving a box and pushes it across the table. The box is unassuming, and I can't help but feel a sense of curiosity and trepidation about its contents. I reach for the box, my fingers hesitating for a moment before I lift the lid.
As the contents are revealed, a rush of emotions surge forward as I discover what lies within. My gaze falls upon personal belongings that I thought were also victims to time. Inside, I find my Hydra uniform, a chilling reminder of the life I'm trying to leave behind. There's also my mother's will, a strong connection to the family that I never got the chance to say goodbye to. My fingers skim over my file, the extensive documentation of my time as the Red Ghost and my life as Dr. Avalon Jane Rawlins.
And then, there is a set of keys. A mysterious collection that fills me with confusion and uncertainty. These are keys to a part of my past that I have yet to uncover.
The woman sees my confusion as I look up at her, questionably. A soft smile forms on her lips as she begins to explain the significance of the keys, "Avalon, those are the keys to your childhood home. The same place you grew up before your life took an unexpected turn. It is yours if you choose to return."
Tears brim in my eyes as I look at the box of belongings, at the keys to my childhood home, and I am overwhelmed by the weight of this moment. It's a rare instance where hope and redemption outshine the darkness of my past. This is exactly where I need to be. The idea of returning to the place where I grew up is overwhelming, but a necessary step in my recovery. It stands as a connection to a life that I thought was lost to the abyss. I nod in acknowledgement, utterly grateful for this unexpected opportunity to reclaim a part of my past.
As the board's final words of understanding and compassion linger in the air, I can't help but feel eagerness stir within me. With a mixture of relief, excitement, and awe, I clutch the box of belongings to my chest and look at the board.
"I've waited a long time to go home."
a/n - HELLO MY FRIENDS!!! I have been so excited to write this sequel, and IM COMING AT YOU WITH MY VERY FIRST CHAPTER!!! I hope you love this story as much as I do :)))) let me know what you think!!!! -k