I swung my fists, ignoring the spikes of pain as each new punch collided with the material of my third punching bag. My knuckles had split and bled long ago, my own fault for forgetting the protective gloves and tape in my emotional state. I continued in a flurry of sloppy but forceful jabs at the bag, feeling the tears streaming down my face and only getting more upset for letting myself cry. The usually grey punching bag was smeared with red from my hands, and my body begged for sleep, but I denied myself the relief. I stood in the centre of Stark's gym, with no lights on, only the faint, dim glow of moonlight through the skylights.
This was my fault. My fault. The phrase repeated itself in my head with every thud of my wounded fists. My. Thud. Fault. Thud. My. Thud. Fault. Thud. My. Thud. Fault! BANG. Breathless, with tears flooding my face, I lost my angry rhythm and just hammered my bleeding fists against the bag until I couldn't breathe for crying. The bag fell from the thin rope I had tied it up with, and fell to the ground. I stood in silence for a moment, and then dragged it a few feet to my right, where another rope hung ready. I tied it up and resumed my attack, tears falling silently again.
I had been relentlessly attacking the bag for nearly four hours, when the door to the gym opened, and a familiar face entered the darkened gym. Growling, I ignored the intruder and doubled my efforts, pounding unceasingly on the bloodied leather. I moved around the bag to put my back to the blonde that had found me, and grit my teeth as I continued to throw punch after punch.
Hearing footfalls behind me, I circled the bag again to put a little more distance between myself and my fellow Avenger.
"Kite." My friend spoke with a calm voice, but the concern I detected in his tone only upset me more. I didn't respond. Thor said my name a second time, but when no reply came, he darted quickly around the punching bag and grabbed my wrist. Immediately, my free fist directed its next hit at his chest, but he caught that arm too, and clamped my wrists together in one huge hand. I struggled and swore, but he held me steady. I wrenched my arms backward, and he let go, afraid I would hurt myself if I pulled away too hard. I peppered his chest and stomach with blows, but he barely swayed on his feet, and simply allowed me to punch him until I calmed myself down.
Eventually, though the streaming tears kept up a heavy flow, my outburst of violence toward my friend slowed and became weak, as the sobbing took over. As my arms dropped to my side, he wordlessly wrapped his strong arms around my shoulders and pulled me into his warm chest, laying his cheek atop my head. I began to register the sting and burn of my abused knuckles, and cradled my hands against my stomach as I cried into his shoulder.
"My fault." I mumbled into his chest. He gripped me tighter.
"No, Kite. None of what happened yesterday was your fault." He murmured, running a soothing hand up and down my spine. A sob pushed past my lips, muffling itself in the fabric of his shirt.
"They're dead. Because of me." I whispered, hating to hear the words out loud. He pulled away just enough to look into my eyes, and gripped me by my upper arms.
"Kite, you did everything possible to save them. Its not your fault that the building collapsed before you could get to them. We barely got you out alive, it's a miracle you were only injured." He said gently, gesturing to the bandage that encircled my midriff, just visible beneath my vest and above my shorts. Looking to where my bandage was covered by clothes, Thor saw spots of blood seeping into the material. Frowning, he lifted my vest a little.
"Your stitches are damaged, we should find Bruce…" He began, but I cut him off by yanking my shirt back down. Unfortunately, that only served to show the demigod my shredded knuckles, and he carefully took my right hand in his, turning it to see the damage.
"These will need seeing to as well." He mused. I pulled my hand from his loose grip, muttering that I was fine, that I just needed to sleep. I turned to walk to the door, but he caught my wrist.
"Kite, let me help. You're hurt." He said in a deep voice that was calming to me. I stared at his clear blue eyes, and seeing nothing in them but a desire to protect me from myself, I sighed and nodded. He wrapped a warm, muscular arm around my shoulders and we walked slowly to the door. I winced at every step, the pain of my injuries beginning to register properly.
We stepped into the elevator and Thor pressed the button for Bruce's floor in Stark Tower. As the metallic hum of the moving lift began, Thor told me again that it wasn't my fault that a family of four had died the day before. I had received the order to retreat, but I ignored Fury and bolted into the collapsing structure. There was a mother and her three children trapped on the third floor, but I only made it to the second before the building had caved in and killed them. I was knocked out, and had sustained a gash to my midsection, and it had taken Stark nine hours and the help of six suits and the God of Thunder to pull me out of the wreckage. I sighed and leaned against him, tired and upset, but too worn out to cry or throw more punches.
He pulled me close to him and kissed the top of my head, and I rested my cheek against his chest. I closed my eyes and hugged him gently around the waist. Before I realized what was happening, I had dozed off, and Thor had scooped me into his arms and was very carefully carrying me to my room, asking JARVIS to send Dr Banner to patch me up. As I slept, I could have sworn I heard Bruce's voice saying to Thor that it was a good thing he was brave enough to go find me, or I might never have stopped punching that bag. I smiled into my pillow as Thor's deep chuckle lulled me into a deeper sleep.