A/N: Welcome to the chapter of bittersweet, unapologetic fluff! I want you all to know that I regret nothing ;P Onward!
Chapter Fifteen
Dr. Jane Foster returned to Greenwich at the end of the week, taking Darcy Lewis with her, and though Klara lamented the loss of her friend, she found that the return to routine was very welcome. There was a strange sense of normality to the weeks that followed. She returned to her training, both with Captain Rogers and Miss Romanov (surprising, considering her strong relationship with the recently returned Clint Barton, but Klara did not mention this). She submitted to further testing by Tony Stark, while she and Dr. Banner kept their weekly Monday appointment. There were other movie nights, with a surprising variety of films displayed: comedies, dramas, adventures, some classics that even Klara had heard of in her limited experience, some more obscure. They watched the conclusion to the Star Wars trilogy, during which Klara found herself hiding tears in the rec room, tears that flowed more freely in the privacy of her own room.
She exchanged not one word with Clint Barton. He was not openly hostile toward her, and if she entered a room he did not immediately leave it. But though he would meet her eyes and nod to acknowledge her presence on occasion, this was as close to communication as they ever ventured. Klara had to admit that she preferred this. She did not know what she might say to him, should he ever choose to speak. She could not imagine that anything she had to say would in anyway hasten their relationship. She still did not blame him. In fact, she felt nothing but admiration for him, that he had come so far in what felt like such a short time.
Klara also developed a deeper appreciation for Alice Ripley. The girl was unfailingly optimistic if a little distant and awkward on occasion. She and Dr. Banner were nigh on inseparable, their easy affection and obvious adoration of one another a glowing comfort to all who happened to stumble into the circle of their warmth. Tony Stark especially seemed to bask in it like a man too long in the dark, while Klara hovered around the edges, unsure and off-balance.
Everyone in the Tower seemed to hold at least a passing fondness for Alice, and when they celebrated her flight licensing achievement in late January, it was with an almost familial affection. After which, Alice shut herself in her room for days and refused to come out, much as had happened on the evening of Thanksgiving. Dr. Banner was able to coax her out eventually, but she would see no one else, not even Klara when she made a tentative appearance.
While Klara did not always know what triggered these episodes, she suspected that there was a great loss at the heart of Alice's dips into was a difficult subject for Klara to broach. Having none of her own (or, at least, none thatwere aware of the relation), she had spent much of her life on the outside of familial units looking in. But while she could not possibly hope to understand Alice's grief, it did make Klara's own moments of weakness seem like less of an oddity, and so she was selfishly grateful. She had her own darkness to conceal, a darkness that remained at bay for many weeks. Klara knew, of course, it could not last. It never did.
It finally reared its ugly head on a cold, clear afternoon, when the Tower lay quiet and still, settled in the way only an established home can be. Klara had taken it into her head that she might like a cup of that tea Alice favored, chai. She had seen the drink prepared many times, and she was certain she could replicate the procedure with no trouble. She was alone when she stepped out of the elevator onto the penthouse floor, hands clasped behind her, striding forward as she used to among the palace court. It was strange how very much Avengers Tower felt like Asgard to her now. Familiar, if not beloved.
She almost didn't see them. They were so quiet and still, like the rest of the Tower. But something caught her eye, and...there they were. Dr. Banner and Alice laid out on one of the lounge couches, content and unaware. The doctor, dressed as usual in his slacks and rolled up shirt sleeves, glasses perched upon his nose as he studied the semi-transparent screen in his hands. Alice sprawled beside him, her flannel-clad legs draped over his lap, back propped against the sofa arm, chewing on a pencil and studying one of her school books with intense concentration. Klara froze, blinking at them. They were so...perfect. Like puzzle pieces, fitted together and displayed as art. And they weren't even conscious of it, as oblivious to their own perfection as they were to their surroundings. Did they understand how lucky they were? How fortunate to have found each other, to have this time to discover what it was to be two parts of the same whole?
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings...
The room was too close. She couldn't remember why she had come. She shouldn't be here. She turned and stepped back into the elevator, standing perfectly straight as the metal door slid shut, cutting off her view of the sunlit room.
"Miss Klara?" The voice of JARVIS came through the speakers, sounding tinny and odd in her ears. "Are you alright? You appear to be in distress."
Distress. Yes, that was just the right word. She shut her eyes and clasped her hands behind her, taking a deep breath through her nose. But when she tried to visualize what usually gave her strength, the cool, calm of the dungeons, it only made her chest clench and her lips tremble. Her fingers ached. She could not hold on tight enough.
"Shall I call Lord Thor?"
Klara's eyes snapped open.
"No. No, that won't be necessary, JARVIS, thank you. I'm perfectly alright."
"As you like, Miss. Would you like to return to Level 27?"
Back. Back to her room, with only her thoughts and memories for company, the stale air of a boxed-in existence...
"No. Take me up."
"Yes, Miss."
She didn't know how long it took for Lord Thor to find her. She had braced herself against the freezing wind, wrapping an arm around the outcrop of antennae stuck through the tiny platform at the very top of the Tower. The elevator did not even go this high; she'd had to take a service stair up to the maintenance hatch before she'd been able to find the clear, cold air. Her hair was loose and flying, and she could no longer feel her fingers, but she did not care. She closed her eyes and simply breathed the cold. She had breathed that cold once before, a sigh of tingling mint on her tongue. The silver around her neck burned, and the pendant that hung at her breastbone felt heavy, but she stood up under the weight. She had to. She couldn't let it drag her down, back into the warm, welcoming dark...
"Klara?"
She sucked in a breath so abruptly that it almost choked her, swallowing back what might have been a sob. She did not turn to face the painfully familiar voice, though every instinct called for it. Instead, she stared out over the city of New York, a city that the one she mourned had once tried to destroy. And for what? For a throne that did not exist? She would never understand-
"Klara...what are you doing up here?"
It took her a moment to understand the hint of anxiety in Lord Thor's voice, the careful neutrality of the question. He was afraid. Not of the height, but of what the height might do. To her. Out of curiosity, she leaned forward a touch and looked down. From this height, the Midgardians scuttling about on the ground, either on foot or encased in their metal vehicles, were no more than a vague sense of movement. No individuality at all, a single entity pushing inexorably forward. How strange.
"Klara." Lord Thor's tone tensed and she rocked back onto flat feet to ease his mind. He could catch her, of course, if she fell. If she-but no. She was past that now. The darkness was even now receding. She had only ever given in once, and that time it had not been Lord Thor that had saved her. She wondered if that was what bothered him so, why he was so vigilant. Because once he had not been. And he had already lost so much. They both had.
She shut her eyes and let the wind wash over her again.
"I can only miss him when I am alone."
He had started to move closer, but at this, he stopped. She opened her eyes, gazing out at the great empty forest of metal and glass.
"Missing your mother is easy," she confessed, "Lady Frigga, she was beloved, even by those who did not know her. But he..."
She trailed off, listening to the wind carrying echoes of words spoken by those whom Lord Thor called friends, words she had heard in the corridors of the palace in Asgard countless times, over and over.
...monster... murderer... traitor...
"...he is the villain of their story," she said, "To have loved him is the cruelest of betrayals. One for which they can never forgive me."
Thor stepped closer, and Klara had not realized how close he was until he took her by the shoulder and turned her gently to face him. He was smiling, but it was a sad smile.
"I miss him too."
Something within Klara cracked and she tried to set her jaw against it. She was shaking, she knew he must feel it beneath his hands. He took another step and wrapped her in his arms, enfolding her despite her stiffness, her resistance to the gesture.
"You are not alone, Klara," he murmured into her hair, "I'm here with you."
She couldn't stand against that, against the kindness, the trust, the goodness that was so much like his mother, so very much of Frigga within her son. Klara dug her aching fingers into the fabric of his shirt and wetted his shoulder with her tears.
Alice was surprised when Klara approached her and Bruce the morning of Valentine's Day, holding two pale pink envelopes and looking pleased with herself.
"I know it isn't traditional," she admitted, handing the envelopes to each of them, "But I am told it is not unheard of to give your friends gifts on this day, and so I...that is, I hope you like it."
Alice raised an eyebrow and exchanged a glance with Bruce, who gave her a little shrug. They both opened their envelopes and pulled out what was inside. For a moment all Alice could do was stare.
It was a picture, a 5x7 glossy, of Alice and Bruce. They were in the lounge, the light coming in through the big picture windows as if directed specifically for this photo opportunity, Bruce leaned back with a tablet in his hand, Alice draped across him and pouring over her NCLEX practice book. It wasn't all that significant in the moment, nothing that anyone might have noticed had they just been walking by. They weren't posing, hell, Alice was wearing her ratty old pajama bottoms. But somehow it...it fit. Suspended like this, in this moment of stillness, she could see all the little details that she loved so much about Bruce. The way the light touched his curls, the way his glasses perched on the end of his nose, the little twitch at the corner of his mouth when he read something interesting, the way his rolled up cuffs accentuated the line of his arms. Every little detail of him was all right there. Right next to her.
She looked at the man beside her. He was staring at a copy of the same picture with a look of fierce concentration as if he needed to commit it to memory before it spontaneously combusted. When he finally met her eyes again, the dark brown was so intense it was almost black. Alice held his gaze for a moment, then turned back to Klara. The girl's eyes were flitting between them, her spine stiff and her hands clasped behind her in a familiar posture of unease.
"You don't like them," she said, failing to mask her disappointment, "I'm sorry for my intrusion, I only-oh!"
Alice had her arms around her before she could finish her stupid, stupid thought, squeezing her tight to cut her off. It took a minute for the stiffness to relax, but eventually, Klara's hands responded to tentatively return the hug.
"So...you do like it, then?"
Alice couldn't help it. She laughed. She laughed so hard that she was able to conceal her tears with it, wiping her eyes as she stepped back and looked the girl right in her confused face.
"Yes," she said, "Yes, Klara, we like it. Thank you."
To Klara's evident surprise (and Alice's too) Bruce hugged the girl next, murmuring his own thank you. When he pulled back, Klara was beaming.
"Well, I'm very glad," she said, dipping into a curtsy, "I will leave you now, I hear you have a lovely day planned, and I wouldn't dream of keeping you."
She turned and beat a hasty retreat, nearly skipping away. They did have a nice day planned: a drive out to a small town in the country, have a picnic, go see a movie. "Like normal people" Bruce had called it. But right now, looking at the picture still clutched in her hand, Alice thought the day was already perfect. Every day she got to spend with Bruce, like this, was perfect.