Outside the coffee shop, it was thunder-storming; the sky was spitting out raindrops the size of fists and sheet lightning illuminated the empty Manhattan streets on the other side of the window. Good thing, too, because the streetlights were not working and the usual glow from windows and car headlights was absent. Water cascaded in a solid carpet down the glass, distorting everything and making it all weird and wavy as Eva did the usual closing up jobs. Vision was there, too. Sat by the window in a cracked leather armchair, reading his copy of The Selfish Giant.
"I'm dreaming," Eva said, as she flipped chairs up onto tables. "Aren't I?"
Vision looked up at her, marked his page and closed the book. "I believe so," he said. "Yes."
Eva narrowed her eyes. "This isn't like in Harry Potter, is it?" she asked. "Where Dumbledore turns up in the seventh one and gets all…" she put the chair down and waved her hands around above her head, "…ambiguous?"
"I couldn't possibly say," said Vision. "This is your dream, after all. You get to make the decisions."
"In that case," said Eva, "I've decided we're having tea." A tray filled with all the necessary items appeared between them, and she clapped her hands delightedly. "Awesome!"
"Be careful what you wish for," Vision said, taking the steaming hot teapot and pouring them both out a cup.
"That's what they always say in the stories," said Eva, "isn't it? Three wishes. And in the best stories, the third wish undoes the first two and the kid learns that the true magic is friendship all along, or whatever."
"I do believe you've hit the nail on the head," Vision nodded.
Eva frowned. "You're making fun of me," she said. "Aren't you?"
Vision grinned, stirring a sugar cube into his tea. "That's for you to decide, I think."
There were kolaches on the tray. Eva hadn't had once since she'd left Texas, so went for it and took a bite. It tasted exactly the same as her memory of them; sweet and doughy and with enough sugar to send someone into a coma. "So you're dead, then," she said through a mouthful of pastry, in the sort of tone of voice that people used to talk about the weather – and even then, not very exciting weather.
"Apparently so."
"What am I supposed to do now?"
"There is always the letter I left," Vision reminded her, tapping a finger on the copy of his book. There was now a large brown envelope sticking out of it, bulky enough to make the pages curve around it.
"No," said Eva. "No, I can't. Not yet."
"Why not?"
"Because… I think because it means accepting that you're properly gone," she said. "And I'm not ready for that."
"It's natural to grieve," he said. "You shouldn't repress it."
"Yeah, well," she said drily, "since when have I had decent coping mechanisms?"
Vision laughed. "As long as you do not set anything on fire."
"V, you're my best friend. If soulmates are real, I think you're mine. How can I possibly go on without you?"
"I will always be with you, Eva," he said in his soft, calm voice.
"What? In my heart?" she scoffed. "This isn't a kid's book."
He put his cup down. "The rowan tree in Central Park," he said. "The expensive brand of chamomile tea and the shortbread biscuits hidden in my cupboard. Snow over the compound at winter. Baseball games in summer, with superhuman cheating techniques. Emergency antihistamines. Peace lilies. Constellations, the stars half-hidden by light pollution from the city. Humans act as though memories are intangible things, but they aren't. They linger on in what we see and hear and feel and do. You are surrounded by these things, moments we shared, and those moments don't become any less real when I am gone. Should you miss me, you will still have all of them. They will not disappear. And neither will I. As long as the stars burn on, I will be with you."
Outside, the rain was stopping. "I have to go," said Eva. "Don't I?"
"You do."
"To a world where the bad guys won, and you lost. We lost."
"Humans," Vision smiled. "There is so, so much grace in your failings. All you need is time. Time heals all wounds. Sometimes before they are even dealt."
They both stood up. Vision walked over to Eva and they embraced, arms wrapped around each other so naturally it was like they were made to be fitted together. "Do robots go to heaven?" she asked.
"I have no idea. Maybe one day, I can let you know." He moved back a little and kissed her forehead. "Good luck, Eva. Please look after the others for me. You all still need each other, now more than ever. I love you."
"I love you, too."
The rain slowed to a soft patter, and then disappeared altogether. Although Eva's eyes were closed she could still feel the sun shining through them. Something was sitting on her chest.
"Mew."
She opened one eye to see Rachel Carson peering down at her, damp pink nose sniffing at the dried tear tracks on her cheeks. "Geroff," she mumbled, rolling over. She was back in Vision's bedroom, which was flooded with early morning sunlight. Thor was sat on the floor beside her. He looked up as she moved.
"You slept well," he said. "Good dreams."
"Yeah. You'd better go find the others," she said, swinging her legs out of bed and rubbing her eyes.
"I can stay if you'd like," Thor said. "To be honest, I'd rather stay here and play with this dog than go and face them."
"First of all, Rachel Carson's a cat," Eva said.
Thor's eyebrows furrowed. "What's the difference?"
"Temperament. And second, they need you. Y'all need each other. Go," she insisted. "I need to shower, anyway. You can take Rachel Carson with you, if you really want."
"A wonderful compromise." He picked her cat up in his giant, perfectly-sculpted arms, and Rachel Carson purred, rubbing her head against his beard. "Good cat. Nice cat. I will hopefully see you again soon, Eva."
"Yeah, yeah. Now sod off."
When the door closed behind him, Eva buried her face in her hands and took a big, shaky breath. She could feel a lump rising in her throat again, but did her best to swallow it back down.
Her clothes felt sticky and tight, so getting to the bathroom and taking them off was a welcome release. The sleek, tiled room was full of greenery – large leady plants that liked the damp and the light this spot received. Since this was a Stark building all the showers were top-of-the-range; over the years, Eva had taken her time adjusting the many knobs and dials until she got it to her perfect setting. They were still in it now: the perfect balance of hot but not too boiling, powerful but not overpowering. Vision had been kind enough never to mess with how she liked it.
There it was. There was the thought, small and sharp, before she could stop it. Eva sunk down onto the floor of the shower and let out a wounded cry, like an animal caught in a trap. The room seemed so big from down there on the floor. Or maybe it was just her that was tiny.
Once the tears were all shed, down the drain with the shower water, she switched it off and bundled herself up in the biggest towel she could find. Her head felt better, now. Less heavy. She could just about think straight, although given what she had to think about, that probably wasn't a good thing. So many had not come back. Sam. Wanda. People she had loved. People she still loved.
She looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. "Keep it together, Kresk," she muttered. "You've only just dried out."
She found a pair of sweatpants and her COOL KIDS MOSH TO TCHAIKOVSKY t-shirt and put them on, since she couldn't stay burrito'd up in a towel forever. As she brushed her damp hair out her eyes wandered around the room, landing on a bookshelf and one particular spine sticking out of it.
Eva put her hairbrush down and pulled Vision's copy of The Selfish Giant and Other Stories off of the shelf. It was a big book with lots of illustrations in, so the brown manila envelope wasn't visible if you didn't take the whole thing off the shelf. Once she did, though, the bulging covers fell open on the pages it was sandwiched between. A4 sized and squishy with the bubblewrap inside, there was something small and hard in there that wasn't any shape she could identify. Paper, too, judging by the rustling sound it made. Her fingers hesitated on the seal.
I can't, she thought. Not yet. She left the envelope on the bedside table, next to her motorbike leathers and clothes she had arrived in. Before leaving she folded them clumsily, knowing that nobody else was going to. Her hands shook as she did. The tremors had faded some since when Anna had kidnapped her, but now it seemed that they were back with a vengeance.
She couldn't stay here, alone with her thoughts. She had to do something.
The Avengers – what was left of them – were sat in the rec room in silence, each lost in their own world of grief. Eva was as quiet as possible as she slipped in, her bare feet making no noise as she made her way over to the kitchenette. She didn't even think twice about putting the kettle on, filling up the coffee machine and gathering mugs from the dishwasher.
"You need any help?"
Eva looked up to see Natasha stood at her side. The former spy's expression was more open, more vulnerable than she had ever seen it. Please, it said. Give me something. Anything.
"I left some shortbread out," Eva said. "Can you put it on a plate?"
"Sure."
"I need a new carton of almond milk from the pantry, too."
Thor came to join them. He took the cookie jar from Natasha's hands. "You fetch that," he said. "I'll sort these." Natasha nodded and disappeared.
As the kettle boiled, Eva added sugar to all the mugs that needed it and watched out of the corner of her eye as Thor, with an intense look of concentration on his face, carefully arranged the shortbread in a neat pattern on a decorative plate. She was so distracted by him that she didn't even notice the raccoon climb up onto the counter until it was tugging on her shirt hem.
"Got any booze?" it asked in a rough, growly voice.
Eva blinked twice and pulled herself together. "Check the fridge," she said. "There should be beers in the door."
"Thanks."
"No problem," she said, as it jumped down and walked on its hind legs over to the refrigerator.
Don't stare, she reminded herself. It's rude to stare.
Natasha came back with a carton of almond milk and eyes redder than they had been when she left. Eva didn't say anything other than a quick thanks to her before turning back to the kettle and sorting out all the drinks.
Decaf cappucino for Banner, she thought. Espresso special blend for Nat. Flat white for Rhodes. Vanilla latte with an extra shot and chocolate dust for Thor. Americano with milk on the side for Rogers. The list in her head went on, but remained unmade. Tea with milk and one sugar for me.
She assembled all the drinks on a tray and carried it over to where they were all sat, setting it down and pressing a steaming mug of coffee into each person's hand whether they wanted it or not. Thor followed her with the biscuits. The raccoon was sat on the edge of one of the couches, an empty bottle in one hand as it opened the other one with its teeth.
"Drink," she told all of them. "It'll make you feel better."
"It's over," the captain said in a dull, flat voice. "We're done."
"C'mon, Rogers," Eva replied. "If I've learnt anything over the years, it's not to listen to a word any of y'all say until you've had your morning coffee."
A/N hello fam. I received a lot of uh, very strongly worded feedback after the last update, haha; I'm low-key delighted this fic means something to so much of you. Ant-Man and the Wasp is finally out in the UK, so next chapter will be for that (and also most likely set before the snap, like a flashback for the ones I did for Hulk and Quicksilver).