Ms. Jenny White bored him. Peter was never one to enjoy literature that required him to look for a deeper meaning. He found it useless as he preferred to take things at face value.
He was one more hypothesis about the nature of Basil Hallward and Dorian Gray's bond away from dozing off. To him it was simple: the painter likes Dorian.
The door swung open, the principal's bald head and bushy eyebrows came into view. "Excuse me Ms. White, Nayla Mukhtar's presence is required." Peter's head perked up at his announcement, along with some murmurs shared between the other pupils. "Gather your things as well." The principal gave one nod to Nayla.
Nayla mentally groaned as she stuffed her notes into her bag. Unlike Peter, she really liked English literature class. Picking apart phrases and stringing tens of possible meanings. She was an analyst, nothing is as it appears. To her, meaning is in the eye of the beholder, meaning is interpretation. And she interpreted being pulled out of her favourite class as the first move to initiate a war.
Nayla nodded at Peter as a silent goodbye. Her thunderous footsteps echoed confidence and a slight air of arrogance across the classroom. Ever since MJ told Peter of Nayla's admirer, he became conscious of the eyes that trailed her. Their lingering dialated pupils only turned away when she was out of sight. He rolled his eyes in annoyance. He couldn't really blame them for gawking, could he?
She followed the bald man through the school's hallway, his head reflected the overhead lights. Shampoo or soap? The question held more weight to her than the purpose of life itself.
The principal opened the door to his office as a certain redhead had her feet propped up on his desk. "Hey fellow trainee." Natasha teased Nayla. "Thank you principal but we need to get going, it is urgent." The man smiled back, "No worries Ms. Romanoff, stay safe kid." He bid them goodbye as the two marched to the school gates.
"What brings you here?" Nayla questioned, eyes trained ahead onto the sleek black car. "Geez I thought you would be more happy to see me." Nat shoved her with her shoulder. "You didn't even let me have lunch!" Nayla groaned. "Calm your tits down angry birds, I will get you something on the way."
Nat buckled her seat belt, "What's the real deal Nat?" Nayla questioned. "We need your testimony in court against Ross." "And no one told me beforehand." Nayla stated, slight irritation as she felt her everyday life slipping through her fingers. Normalcy had always be foreign to her, but now it became a silly little daydream."In my defense, I was just informed too."
Nayla pulled off her mask as soon as she stepped foot on the compound. It was not as entertaining as Divorce Court or Judge Taylor. The trip up the elevator was silent. She watched the numbers increase as she itched to reach the residential floor.
She was sat on the floor, her back flush against her bed and facing the vast greenery that stretched across the compound. So much had happened in the span of two months. She absentmindedly twirled the ring on her middle finger, the bright ruby orbited around her finger like the loyal satellite it is.
Nayla swiped her thumb across the bright gem, the action sent an ache through her chest. She raised her head up, caging the tears behind her eyelids. Engage with the pain as a motive.
The ring was her grandmother's gift for Nayla’s 14th birthday. At that time however, it was a size too big. She loved jewellery, another trait that the girl picked up from her grandmother.
She recalled how her grandmother took her shopping and insisted on getting her pure gold jewellery as she claimed that it brought out the warmth of her skin and the honey of her eyes.
She remembered how her grandmother's hands felt against her shoulders as she stood behind her. Both their eyes trained on the multiple stacks of gold necklaces draped from Nayla's neck through the shop's mirror. Nayla chose one necklace, as she glanced at her grandmother in hopes of approval.
"Good choice honey, minimalism is the death of beauty." Her grandmother smiled at her, as she took the intricately detailed emerald encrusted necklace and headed to one of the employees. Her grandmother was always draped in accessories and soaked in oud or musk perfumes.
"I haven't forgotten of my promise, I never will." Nayla whispered into nothing. She headed towards her walk-in closet. In the farthest side to the left, she kept her grandmother's jewellery chest.
She sat on the floor, sifting through the the collection of gold bright jewellery. She stacked multiple rings across her fingers, but voted against necklaces and earrings as someone could rip them off of her during missions.
A golden tennis bracelet caught her eye, it strung together various bright precious stones together. It was her grandmother's favourite. She smiled as she remembered how her grandfather ordered his wife a custom made bracelet because none of the ones displayed in the store interested her.
As she examined the gems, she saw a small dark stain. She scrubbed it off with her fingernail, wondering what it could be. A sense of deja vu hit her as the bracelet glinted under the light, the same way it glinted the morning of the incident.
The crime scene cleaner must have missed a spot.
Nayla's breath quickened as her lungs tightened. Her hand shook as she stared at the bracelet in hand. She couldn't. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't tear her gaze away. She couldn't stop the images flashing before her eyes.
The lights dimmed, stealing the sparkle from the bracelet. Her head shot up in confusion. The light was dim and out of reach, she heard someone sobbing. Her surroundings sharpened and settled. She didn't need to guess where she was, she already knew. Her home.
She clutched the bracelet in hand as she stood over a slightly younger looking version of herself. Younger Nayla latched onto the corpses, facing the ceiling as a blood curdling scream ripped through her.
Meanwhile, the tiles of each and every floor started submerging in a thick ruby liquid. Natasha was first to sprint to the common room as the rest filed in. Wanda and Sam hopped on the kitchen island; Steve, Thor and Bucky on the stools. Peter crawled on the wall while Tony, Clint and Vision took the large couch.
"Why the fuck is the floor bleeding?" Sam was first to speak up. All shared a look, clearly no answers or explanations to be given. "And the walls are bleeding too now." Banner walked in, mouth agape as he watched blood trickle down the white walls.
Peter shivered as blood droplet landed on his shoulder, "Great, it is the ceiling too." The soft splatter as blood dripped onto the crimson lake further disturbed the heroes. "Where is it even coming from?" Tony wondered. A voice, barely over a whisper echoed across the compound. Its voice raspy as sharp inhales and sobs disrupted it every now and then. It was in a foreign language that none recognised.
Tony opened his mouth to speek but closed it as Sam signalled him to stop. The language was familiar to Sam's ears yet slightly foreign. Arabic, it was arabic as it clicked to him. The dialect was very different than what he was used to when he was serving in Iraq.
"What is it saying?" Steve asked Sam who was frowning as the meaning behind the words registered. "No no no please no." Sam muttered, the sorrow he heard from the voice slowly poisoned his insides. He took a breath and winced as he heard the voice sobbing louder.
It cried again louder. "It says wake up, don't die. Please don't die. Come back to me. I beg the gods of you to not die." Sam couldn't bare to look anyone in the eye, he kept his gaze solely on the puddle beneath him.
A shreik jolted everyone as the light flickered and buzzed. The Avengers sprang up and stood in defense positions, a habit ingrained in the back of their minds.
"Thi- this sounds like Nayla." Natasha stuttered as Peter finished the sentence for her. "Illusions." Wanda turned to the rest of the group. "I don't think she is conscious, she usually has great control." "We need to wake her up." Peter said. Natasha nodded at him.
"Peter and Wanda come with me, the rest of you should stay here. I don't think she would appreciate everyone being there when she wakes up." Natasha ordered as she marched out, Wanda and Peter followed.
"I will wake her up." Natasha said, as they stood in the elevator. "Gently." Wanda warned. Peter was deathly quiet. He knew her family is dead, yet he never pried to know how they died. Up to this moment, he didn't know that she had the powers of illusion. He realised there is so much that he doesn't know about Nayla. All the center pieces of the puzzles were missing. His stomach threatened to launch out his lunch as her cries rang once again in his ears.
The elevator halted to a stop and the three took cautious steps towards Nayla's door. Natasha apprehensively pushed the door opened. Her head tilted in confusion as they came face to face with a giant window. The structure was vaguely familiar to Natasha.
"What's this?" Peter furrowed his brows. Amusement painted itself across Nat's features, "Her home, Peter." They could make out Nayla's back facing them through the dim lighting.
"Step aside." Peter shrugged of his hoodie and wrapped it around his fist to shatter the window. The three hopped inside.
Nayla was as still as a statue, as she stared at her younger self cradling her dead grandparents. Peter couldn't bear the sight, it sent a wave af nausea through him. How could the world be so cruel? He saw "Nayla" crying and holding her family in her arms. The bodies look disfigured, the windpipe of one was exposed and shaking with the sobs that shook through "Nayla".
He walked infront of Nayla, her face hardened with agony and sheer horror, eyes glossy with unshed tears and grief. "Nayla, Nayla wake up." Natasha whispered. Wanda's eyes couldn't control their own ache as tears raced down her cheeks one after the other. Maybe it was for the bodies, maybe for Nayla or maybe it was for Pietro.
She didn't move, Nayla didn't even blink. She was still. Peter held her face in his hands. His thumb gliding over the burgundy lines. "This isn't real Nayla, it isn't real. Just a memory, a bad memory." His voice was soft, so were his eyes. Her eyes slowly trailed to look at him, "Peter?" She asked as she finally remembered how to breath properly. "Yeah. It is me." He smiled at her earnestly.
Their surroundings turned back to normal. Her house fizzed into non existence, the blood drained into oblivion. "I couldn't save them." She whispered as tears flooded her eyes for the first time in over a year. Natasha motioned for Wanda to follow her out. "I couldn't I couldn'tsavethem." She blurted out as sobs tore through her.
Peter kept her flush to his chest as he gently pulled her with him to the ground. She clutched onto his shirt as her tears seeped through his white shirt. He didn't know what to say, nothing he would say would ease her pain or heal her grief away. So he held her tight as he could and rubbed her back.
Almost an hour later, her cries subsided. Her breathing regulated as her grip on his shirt loosened. Peter slid an arm under her knees and scooped her up. He placed her on the center of the bed, making sure both her wings were tucked in as well.
He opened his mouth as he racked his brain searching for something to say to find nothing. Instead he placed a kiss on the back of her hand and wished her a goodnight.
The tension around the dining table was thick, the awkwardness left no room to speak. Everyone lost their appetite. Guilt and regret stabbed Steve, how could he be stupid enough to treat her like that? How could he be careless enough to treat her like that when she just came home to a blood bath? He played with the food on his plate as her cries played non stop in his brain.
"She needs a break." Thor broke the silence, his voice challenged to be stood against. No one disagreed. "I'll talk to her principal." Natasha offered. "Thank you Lady Natasha, I will take her to Asgard for some days. I hope it helps." He responded. The dinner went on, clanking of the cutlery against plates filled the dining room. Yet most of the food was not consumed.
Nayla's bedroom door swung open. "LADY NAYLAAAAAAA! WHAT A GLORIOUS MORNING TO WAKE UP TO!" Thor barged in, clad in his royal asgardian armor with his bright red cape flapping behind. Nayla sprang up from the bed, sitting at a 90⁰ angle just like a mummy reawakening.
She glared at Thor who seemed rather unphased as he interrupted her deep slumber. Thor's smile fell as her her eyes lacked their glint of mischief and playfulness, "I'll shred you to pieces." She seethed.
Thor did not look behind him as he knew Nayla is out to get him. His slow and cautious steps back morphed into a full on sprint. He ran faster than when the ogres of Vanneheim chased him down the thick forests. His heart beat faster as he knew that it was only a matter of time till his companion would catch up to him. His eyes widened in confusion as he could only hear his own footsteps ricocheting off the corridor's walls.
He looked behind him to see Nayla flying, arms stretched ahead. "Oh by the feiry crotch of Surtur!" He panted under his breath. This will last even shorter than he anticipated. He was right as Nayla took a fistful of the soft velvet cape and yanked it.
Thor's body made contact with the floor harshly, coughing and attempting to steal some oxygen back into his lungs. Nayla landed gracefully infront of him, eyes glowing and a staisfied grin pulling her lips. Thor raised his hand, she raised an eyebrow in amusement that prompted him to explain himself. "Let's not murder eachother on this fine morning, shall we?" His voice was rushed as his words tumbled out at the expense of his oxygen intake.
"Nothing is for nothing, everything has a price." Nayla tilted her head, arms crossed at her chest. "We are going to Asgard!"
A/N: I am still writing new chapters, I can't starve you of Nayla. Anyway, PLEASE TELL ME YOU GET THE QUOTE "NOTHING IS FOR NOTHING, EVERYTHING HAS A PRICE." I am hinting something here btw ;)