This really was the last thing Celia needed. It felt like every time she had solid footing, something came and pulled the rug out from under her. And this time, it was something inside her that was at fault.
After she'd finally gotten free of her old life, Celia took the time to learn more about herself. And not just her likes and dislikes, since she'd never really had the opportunity to have opinions, but also her body. It made her feel more in control when she knew how much weight she could lift casually, or how far she could run before getting too fatigued. Even the sillier stuff, like her complete inability to do the splits or the one knuckle that always cracked. Just knowing what to expect from her body was a comfort. But all that had changed after the elevator.
Celia was getting more used to what her body could do, since it was mostly positive. Of course the sleeping thing was a distinct drawback, but she could accept that now. It seemed like an even trade off for her new abilities. But while she could learn to accept the physical changes, she hadn't considered there would be any mental ones.
Her brain had always been the thing Celia could rely on. During the years with her parents, she held onto the fact that she knew what they were doing was wrong. And she used that brain to figure out ways to make life bearable before she was able to get out. She developed strategies to keep her parents happy and excelled in school to prepare for her future. She did the same with her ex husband. Celia was a thinker. So what the hell happened in that diner?
Being a bit unpredictable had become a point of pride for her, because that kept people on their toes. Celia liked that she could surprise people in different situations. She'd used some of that skill after her kidnapping by the Shield agents. Sure, she was rescued, but she'd kept herself alive by using her mind. What if that was failing her now? What would she do if she couldn't trust her mind anymore?
Celia got through the rest of her work day without much issue. There really wasn't a lot of touching involved that she couldn't take care of one handed, and no one asked her any questions about the gloves. There had been a bit of pain whenever she did have to move her hand, but nothing debilitating. Celia had dealt with more inconveniently placed stitches in her lifetime, so this was more of a mental struggle.
And now she had to deal with talking to Bruce and Steve about this. Celia knew that Steve wasn't going to see her as a dangerous monster, but the sad understanding she was expecting from him seemed just as bad. She hated being seen as something broken and needing to be fixed, especially when it was coming from him. Steve was going to blame himself for this, since that was the cycle they always went through when something new cropped up with her. And she was desperately tired of that cycle.
Celia said her goodbyes to everyone as she left the office, covering her hand with a jacket again. One of these days her weirdness was going to give her away, but that was a problem to deal with another time. Now they had to deal with her new penchant of shattering glassware.
"Jarvis, can you take me to where Bruce is please?" Celia asked, leaning back to rest against the side of the elevator. Bruce was a scientist and not a medical doctor, but it didn't stop them all from going to him with any sort of physical injury. And he didn't stop them, beyond a few token protests here and there. Now she was going to him for mental health advice. It didn't seem very fair that they were making him wear all these different hats, but she didn't think she'd be able to get away with playing this off.
Jarvis deposited her on Bruce's lab floor, so Celia made her way to the familiar space. She usually ended up leaving there with good results, so hopefully the trend would continue. Celia found Steve sitting on the couch where they'd discussed her sleep issue all those weeks ago, looking just as nervous as he had that day. Bruce was doing something at one of his tables that Celia probably wouldn't understand.
"Hey, are you okay?" Steve asked, springing up from his seat the moment he saw her walk in.
"I'm completely fine. Still got all my fingers," Celia brushed off, pulling her hand out from where she had it covered. Steve grabbed it as soon as she was close enough, inspecting it for himself. The outer bandages were still white, so she considered that a win.
"Not losing any fingers isn't really what I'd consider a high standard," Steve scoffed.
"Well, considering I'm already losing my marbles, I gotta learn to appreciate the little things," Celia chuckled, wincing at Steve's stern face. "Too soon?"
"For your sense of humor? Yes," Steve sighed, leading her back over to the couch. "Can we have a serious discussion about this?"
"Sorry, yes," Celia relented, settling down into the corner of the couch and setting her injured hand on the arm. "Where do we start? Because I've got to say, if we're trying to work through all of my trauma, we're going to be here for a long time."
"Celia-"
"Sorry," Celia repeated, tipping her head back in resignation. "It's just easier to deal when I pretend like I don't care. I've spent so much time trying not to let myself get crushed under everything that the idea of dredging things up stresses me out."
"How about we start a little more recent then?" Bruce suggested, pulling a stool over and settling down in front of her hand. He gave it a quick inspection, but didn't mess with the stitches yet. There was a lot more talking in her future before Celia would be able to sleep. "Has anything like this happened since you came to the tower?"
Everyone always referred to that event in different ways. Since Celia came to the tower or the thing in the elevator or when she met Steve. No one ever said the actual words "shot in the chest." Celia couldn't blame them, since she didn't like to talk about it either. But it just showed how everyone was prone to not really talking about things, just like her.
"Shattering glasses in my fist? Not that I recall."
"Maybe not that extreme, but still something unusual?"
"I don't know. I mean, would I know? I didn't know anything was wrong before Steve snapped me out of it."
"Well then, maybe this is the first time it's happened."
"I'm not sure about that," Steve said hesitantly. He stood up and paced a little, like he was gearing up to open up about what was on his mind.
"When?" Celia asked.
"The clinic party," Steve whispered, grimacing at having to bring that up. "When that creep was talking to you."
"What happened?" Bruce asked, looking between the two of them. "I remember what you said about his inappropriate question, but what happened after he said it?"
"Nothing. He was just talking to me, and then I was talking to Steve."
"That wasn't all of it," Steve murmured, rubbing his hand across his cheek. "You had this look on your face, like you weren't even there. It was the same one you had in the diner." Celia wasn't really sure what to say. Had Steve been keeping notes in his mind of signs she was about to crack? Was she annoyed or relieved that he hadn't brought it up to her before? It didn't really matter anymore, since it was out in the open now.
"Okay, two times is a little more worrying, but-"
"That first day training with Clint and Natasha," Celia admitted. Might as well get everything out now, instead of dragging things out even longer.
"What do you mean?" Bruce asked.
"When I got back up to Steve's floor, I was convinced barely any time had passed. A half an hour, tops."
"It had actually been hours."
"Back then I thought that I'd just gotten so caught up in the workout that I didn't realize how much time passed. But this is making me see things a bit differently."
"Okay, so what were the triggers each time? At the party, it was the man being gross. What was it today at the diner?" Bruce questioned.
"I heard one of the waitresses talking and it brought up some stuff," Celia said quietly. She didn't really want to go into detail about it.
"What about during the training session? The diner and the party make sense, but what was it about that workout? And has it happened since?"
"It's going to sound stupid," Celia chuckled, shaking her head in embarrassment.
"It won't," Steve insisted, finally sitting back on the couch next to her. Celia shot him a quick look, but kept her eyes pointed toward the floor for her explanation.
"Natasha was testing me, and I didn't really realize it at the time. She kind of got into my head," Celia mumbled, rubbing the back of her neck. "It was dumb, but I just got lost in the idea that if I didn't do well, I'd be failing."
"She couldn't have expected you to be on Avengers level stamina right off the bat," Steve said.
"It wasn't about me failing myself, it was about me failing you," Celia admitted. "If I didn't run further, I'd be letting you down. If I didn't carry that dummy longer, I wouldn't be good enough. And just the idea of not being able to be who I needed to be brought up all of these old feelings, and that was all I could think about. My whole life I heard I wasn't good enough, for so many reasons. I was a girl, I wasn't smart, I'd never amount to anything. And now that my shortcomings could affect someone in a life or death situation, it overwhelmed my thoughts." Steve set his hand on her shoulder in a show of support. God, she hated talking about herself so much.
"When you were younger, what would you do in situations of high stress?" Bruce asked carefully. Celia closed her eyes, forcing herself to think about those years she'd spent so much time shoving into the deepest, darkest corners of her mind.
"I used to escape inside my mind, to try to pretend I wasn't there. That I was alone and not with people who screamed at me for every little thing," Celia said, pinching the bridge of her nose when things started falling into place. "Shit."
"What? What's wrong with that? It sounds like a normal coping mechanism," Steve pointed out.
"Maybe it was before," Celia agreed, flashing him a sad smile. "But that was before I changed."
Author's Note: Sorry for the long delay. This isn't really where I planned on ending this chapter, but I wanted to get something out.
