SHE WAS ENJOYING HER VIRTUAL SCHOOL. She found that, whenever she wasn't spending time with anyone, she was pulling out her tablet which was practically glued at her side to start working, learning more complex math and grammatical rules beyond conversational rules that were taught to her by the others who wanted her to learn how to speak more than two sentences at a time. She learned more than she needed, and it was all she ever wanted.
"What are we learning today?" Clint asked, bounding over to sit on the armrest, peering over her shoulder to see what she was doing.
She smiled as she showed him the math she was learning—she was skipping through elementary school education quickly, but Tony warned her that high school and college would be much more time consuming. Clint smiled and leaned forward, mumbling to himself as he tried to figure out the answer, pressing one of the buttons and shouting with triumph when it turned green.
"I'm a genius," he proclaimed, and Steve laughed, the blond having taken to sitting next to her and doodling, though he often studied history with her when she did, as he had missed a good chunk of history when he had stopped living through it.
While she had taken to learning as much as she could, and it was working, she couldn't help but think back to who she was as a person—or lack thereof.
Even though she had adjusted well to the Tower, no longer afraid of what they would do to her should she say something wrong, she now had to worry about what she would do to them.
She had yet to start dreaming, but she would often have thoughts, while she was getting ready for the day or eating her food by herself, of hurting the people in the Tower. She didn't want to, but she couldn't keep her thoughts at bay, and found herself constantly worried about the safety of the people around her.
She had killed people. She had hurt them. Serum or no, the blood was on her hands, she was still the one who hurt them. That wasn't going to change.
More still, she wasn't sure if her mutations were all gone now that the serum was no longer in place. What had been detoxed was her compliance, her synthesized mutations could still be in place, but she didn't want to mention them to anyone; she didn't want them to change their minds.
So she kept quiet, sitting with Natasha and Clint as they continued to search for her masters, and she wasn't even sure if she wanted them to be found; she just wanted to move forward with her life, whatever she had of it.
Still, she couldn't help but wonder if all the work being put into keeping her alive was worth it; maybe it would be better for everyone if she was simply allowed to die.
"Hey," Arabella called, breaking her out of her reverie.
She looked up to find the girl stepping into the room, though she didn't look as cheery as she normally did, turning her attention to her. "Are you okay?"
She nodded, shrugging lightly. "Yes, why?"
"I don't know, there's just...something. Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, and she wondered if, perhaps, Arabella was aware of her thoughts and was worried for the safety of everyone in the Tower.
But it seemed as though she was worried for her rather than of her, and that gave her some form of comfort, but that soon raised the question of whether or not she should voice her concerns about her being allowed to stay at the Tower.
"Well, if you need to talk to someone..." Arabella said lightly, just staring at her, and she wondered if there was something the young woman knew that she wasn't telling anyone else.
º º º
"Bruce, I don't think you should keep trying to save me."
Bruce's hand slipped from where he was going over his notes, a long, painful pen stroke crossing over his paper. He barely paid it any mind, however, instead turning his attention to where she was perched on the table in shorts and another one of his sweaters, her tablet closed on her lap.
He sighed, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to tamp down the headache already forming. "What do you mean by that?"
She took a deep breath, sighing. "I don't know if my mutations are gone. I mean, I can't see as well or hear as well, but that isn't to say that I'm still not as strong, I'm still trying to see if my ability to retain information is just the same as it used to be, I could still be a danger to you and everyone else, and I hurt people."
"So that means you deserve to die?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, "Because you hurt people when you had no control over yourself?"
"But I still hurt them," she pressed, "You don't understand—"
"I understand better than you think, because it's one thing to see it and be unable to do something, but it's another to wake up to find that you've torn down buildings and killed innocent people," Bruce said, staring down at his notes, taking deep breaths, and she felt a sharp spike of fear in her stomach and she immediately reached out, ready to push herself off the table and run at the first sign.
Bruce was able to calm down, however, but pointed towards her. "You see? I hate that. Not you, but the fear. Because it's true, there's a monster inside of me and, damn it, he and I aren't on the best terms. I think he likes me, maybe, but he's looking out for himself. I shove a gun in my mouth, he spits out the bullet, you don't know what it's like, I want to die, I just can't."
"But I can," she argued, and he shook his head furiously, waving his hands.
"That is not what I mean, no, what I'm saying is is that it's not your fault and you shouldn't—" he stopped, sighing as he buried his face in his hands, trying to find his words, and she let him, waiting for him to justify why she should be allowed to live when all the other people she hurt weren't.
"You didn't want to hurt those people and I didn't want to hurt those people, so no matter what you think, you don't deserve to die," he said, finally, dropping his hands onto the table, "That's the shortest statement I can make of it, because I realize using myself as an example isn't smart, because your situation is different than mine."
"But you have more reason," she argued, because she needed to find some way to convince him that she deserved to live just a little bit less, "Because this is another side of you. That is a monster you have no control over, the hands that hurt people weren't your own."
"But it wasn't your intention or your choice to hurt those people," he argued, reaching out to touch her arm, "Listen. I don't need you to justify anything to me, I'm fine. What we need to focus on is you."
"I could hurt you!" she cried, ripping her arm away, "You don't know that I can't, I have these thoughts, I don't like them, but they're there, and I see myself hurting you here or in your room or in the kitchen, and it scares me, I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't," he said, reaching out towards her arm, wanting nothing more than to touch her, "You won't, because you don't want to hurt people. You won't, because you're a good person, and you weren't responsible for what happened to those people."
"If I wasn't, then why could I see?" she demanded, and he sighed, shaking his head, now holding onto her arm.
"If you could do it again, without the serum, without the compliance, without anything except the clear head you have now, would you kill them?" he demanded, forcing her to look him in the eye.
"Of course not—" he began, but he stopped her, holding up his hand.
"There. Right there. That's what I'm talking about," he said, releasing his hold from her arms, because he was holding her much too hard, but she could hardly feel it, her entire body thrumming.
She sighed, turning to look down at her feet. "Just let me die, Bruce."
He sighed as well, shaking his head and taking her hands in his own. "No."
º º º
She didn't want to work. She didn't want to do anything, and she hadn't. She just stayed in bed, staring at her wall while the Food Network played in the background, and she wasn't sure how much time had passed since she had woken up, but she found she didn't care.
She was wrapped in a blanket Bruce had given her—he had taken up knitting at one point for a hobby and had kept the blankets he had made—and that was a double edged sword; it provided her comfort, but it reminded her that there were people in her life that she cared for—and she had just learned what it felt like to do so—that she could hurt.
She heard a knock on her door, pulling her out of her thoughts, and she softly told JARVIS to let them know they could come in, clearing her throat and preparing to have a conversation, though she continued to face the wall, her back to her door; if someone was coming to kill her, she'd rather not see it coming.
"Hey," Arabella greeted softly, pushing the door open and letting in light, "Are you oka—Never mind, I'm pretty sure you're not, so I'm just gonna come in straight and offer some help."
She turned around to look at the younger woman who moved to sit on the bed, and she moved to sit up, leaned against the headboard. The room was dark, but the glow from the TV let her see Arabella's face to some extent, seeing the sympathetic smile the young woman was offering to her.
"You've been having some issues with yourself as a person?" Arabella asked, though it sounded more like she was beginning an explanation, "I don't know, you mentioned that you're looking for a name, and I've just had this feeling...I don't know, you don't really think you're a person, huh?"
She shook her head. "I never had a life, I have no name, I'm a human, not really a person."
Arabella paused, pointing towards her, her eyes wide with surprise. "That was deep. But, yeah, that's what I'm saying, and of course you're working towards it with your education and continuing to live, but...you know, if it helps, I can give you some memories."
She blinked, frowning as she looked at the girl, trying to understand. "What do you mean?"
"I have chaos magic," she explained, raising her hands which began to emit a purple glow, "And I have the ability to implant a life, in a sense. It won't change you as a person, but you'd forget a lot of what you've done when you were forced to kill people. You won't forget that, unless you want me to erase that part of your life, and you won't forget how you met us, but it'll give you the illusion of having lived a full life. It would meld with your real life and circumstances, but you'd remember a childhood and growing up, you'd have a life, in a sense. Maybe even a name, depending on how it molds to you."
The girl finished, clasping her hands together from where she had been waving them around while she spoke. "If you want, of course, but it is an option."
"If I die, I would at least die with memories of a life," she said, staring down at her sheets, and Arabella nodded, though she didn't seem to like the sound of her dying.
She continued to stare down at her sheets, thinking to herself. If she did this, she would be able to have memories, it would affect how she was now, she would, at least in her mind, have had a life, and she could continue to live the one she had now, but it would continue a life rather than start it. She could ask to forget all about what she did to those people.
Then she caught sight of Bruce's blanket. If she did this, it wouldn't be authentic. It would be a fabricated life with memories that weren't her own, she would be running away from a truth of herself, and no amount of memory erasing would take back what she had done to those people, what had happened to them.
This was her life now, and she might have lost more years that any person should have, but she would rather start her life with people she met with memories that she lived rather than with people she didn't know with memories that never happened.
She sighed, looking between her sheets and the blanket, unable to decide what she wanted to do. She wanted nothing more than a life, and there was nothing to say that she would live long enough to have a life, and she wanted nothing more than to forget all that had happened to her and all that she had done, but she didn't know if she wanted to fabricate a life simply for her comfort.
She raised her head to look at Arabella, sighing as she forced herself to make her decision.
º º º
"Bruce," she called out, stepping tentatively into the kitchen where everyone was having lunch.
"Hi," he said, rising from his seat and everyone looked up as well, most likely aware of what Arabella had offered for her, "Did—Do you—Uh, um...How are you?"
"Good," she sighed, taking a seat at the table, reaching out towards one of the bowls.
Everyone stared at her expectantly, waiting for her to give any sort of explanation, and she waited until she had gotten all of her food, as she wanted to make sure it wasn't taken away once she had given her response.
"I still think I deserve to die," she said, addressing him directly, "And when I do, I would rather be fully aware of what I did."
Everyone continued to stare at her, confused and bewildered at her response, and Bruce only sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"I guess we can work with that."
AUTHOR'S NOTE
So I finally had her tell Bruce about her mutations and we had them start talking about the bit where she lowkey hates herself because of what she did, and I touched on Bruce feeling the same, and I know it was short and rushed, but there'll be other chapters with the same content, we're building up, this wasn't the end of the conversation, it was just the beginning.
Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!