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PRESENT
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I don't know what's happening to me. There is too much light headedness, too much of the icy-blue fate; my head feels like a balloon filled with only the densest, most cleverly disguised poison air. Pungent with wild things. The kind you shouldn't, but have to, breathe in. Soft and falling around my shoulders is a cloud I can't penetrate. The air is too thick. I am getting carted away in it and the colors don't match.
That's when I feel my chest breaking under a pair of hands and something; an organ, maybe, my heart - jumpstarts. I imagine two hearts; one an emoticon shape, bright pink and cartoon. The other the real deal; a pumping mass of tissue the color of old blood and roadkill drying in the sun. One of these is not like the other and I get the distinct feeling it may not have been working a second ago. Maybe I wasn't unconscious like I thought.
Maybe I was dead?
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YESTERDAY
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I was hanging from the ceiling with my feet. May's sprawled across the couch with her second glass of wine. "And then what?" she asked tiredly.
"Well, then, Tony told me I was done, and the fight ended - for the most part. I mean, what I was meant to do, anyway. I was just there to put another super-strong person on his side, not enforce any laws or arrest anyone. No one was really trying to hurt anyone, just stop them, to convince them to turn the metal-armed guy in for killing the King of Wakanda. Of course they didn't actually tell me that until later. Super annoying. But they were friends, you know? They saved New York when the aliens invaded. As a team."
"Would you consider them friends?" she asked bitterly. "Someone who asks you to help defend the universe until you have a disagreement? And then they turn on you?"
"No, Aunt May," lowering myself from the ceiling and sitting on the floor beside the couch. "It's not like that. Really."
"Being with this team is going to get you killed," she whispered, taking a generous gulp of the last bit of wine. She looked down at her glass as if it personally insulted her.
"Do you want another one?" I asked carefully.
"Forget it," she snapped, setting it down a little too hard on the end table. "What happened after Germany? Were you involved in that shit with the Stark plane that went down on the beach?"
"I might have been the reason it went down."
"Jesus Christ."
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Thanks for the follows, you guys! More to come!
