Sorry for the delays. Been writing other stuff, which will eventually be published (it's an HP/Star Wars crossover called Through the Looking Glass, and I have written over 200k of it in the last… 8 months?), and RL stuff such as having a mentally draining job in healthcare, specifically mental health – while I'm primarily admin, case management in particular blurs the lines a little.

Oh, and moving. After Easter, I will almost certainly be moving into a new flat, out of house that, on and off, has been the family home for most of 25 years, and I have Mixed Feelings about this. Plus… a few other stress factors.

Anyway, this one hung around in the doldrums for a little while, then I pulled the second half together and wrote about 3500 words in a night.

There is plenty of fluff and sweetness that will probably make heart melt and teeth rot. There is also some philosophising and some profoundly dark stuff. So, be prepared for both.

TRIGGER WARNING: DISCUSSION OF SUICIDE.

(Note: as someone who deals with suicidal people on a professional basis, Harry's approach is… not the best, to put it mildly, but given that he's a teenager with zero training or experience dealing with someone right on the brink, he could have done a great deal worse).

As Carol took the steps from the doors of Midtown High, caught in the traditional surge of students eager to get out and get on with their lives outside of the boredom of, ugh, school, her thoughts were already far afield.

Most days she had soccer practice (though Harry would, as always, mutter under his breath that it was football – apparently one of his housemates was a big West Ham fan), but today… this afternoon was entirely free of extracurriculars. Which, granted, usually meant training with Steve or one of the others, or further study into/experimentation on the properties of her shield which wasn't technically a shield.

It was, according to Sif who had given her a fairly exhaustive run down of its capabilities, something else entirely, with a fairly self-explanatory formal name: Undrjarn, the 'All-Weapon'.

Most of the explanation, she already knew: like Mjolnir, it came when called, and her ability to wear it meant that this gave her some degree of flight. It could absorb truly massive amounts of energy from practically anywhere, if she thought about it, to the point where numbers didn't really mean that much, which she could then repurpose to more or less whatever ends she wished – also like Mjolnir, somewhat to her surprise, though given Thor's powers, that actually explained more than it didn't.

Unlike Mjolnir, it changed shape into whatever she could think of. Tony and Bruce had used words like 'neurokinetic', 'programmable matter', and 'omnimorphic superconductor', which more or less boiled down to the same thing.

In her view, though, it was primarily a damn shield, and she wielded it as a damn shield because that was how she'd received it and that was how she liked to wield it. It was, though she did not say it, a tribute to Steve. To her dad. Though this did not mean that she ignored the other side of it: even if Natasha and Clint hadn't made a point of drilling her in the basics of a frightening number of weapons that they made her turn it into, and Thor, Loki, Sif, and Steve had all put her through her paces while wearing it, flying was cool.

Also, it made for a surprisingly comfy, and stylish, hoodie. And, on one occasion when she'd forgotten to do her washing and been in a hurry, a sports bra.

Yeah, she was going to take a long time to live that one down.

On the other hand, it had been surprisingly comfortable – thin as cotton, soft as silk, and tougher than almost anything else in the known universe. And stain resistant. As she'd pointed out, because that had also been a testing day in more ways than one and she had had to explain where it was, it had a lot to recommend it. Plus, a mentally programmable bra would probably sell like no tomorrow, so at least she'd learned that much (and Stark Industries was probably now developing a clothing line).

This afternoon, though, was free of training too, because the Avengers were… doing stuff. She wasn't exactly sure what. Something to do with arms dealers and HYDRA and/or Red Room technology. Still. Free. Afternoon. Even Stevie had art club so he was going to be picked up by their mother later.

What dragged her out of her thoughts was not so much the sound, but the subtle shift in the crowd, which was normally so predictable that she could walk through it with her eyes closed, letting the usual chatter roll over her. Now, though, it was surging with interest, some moving faster towards the small area of frosted grassy parkland out the front, all following the lilting melody of a wooden flute.

"What the," she muttered.

"Please tell me we aren't dealing with the Pied Piper," came a plaintive voice from her shoulder.

Carol paused, and listened. This wasn't as ridiculous as it might have initially seemed. "Doesn't sound like it to me, Peter," she said. "I'm curious, but it doesn't feel magic curious, if you know what I mean." She frowned. "Or at least, there might be magic in it… but it's not doing anything to people."

"I'm all magicked out for a while, so that's a relief," came Monica's drawl from just behind her.

"I didn't see you complaining when the changing rooms got turned into some kind of New Age spa," Carol retorted.

"Magic stuff, I'm fine with. Magic shenanigans, I can pass on for now," Monica said, with the air of someone making a very important distinction. "Are you sure this music isn't some magic spell?"

Carol shrugged. "Can't be sure, but if it is, I don't think it's anything other than a spell to make it sound better or make people chill out," she said. "If it was anything else, things would be significantly weirder, or creepier."

"Or both," Peter said. "She's got a point," he added, peering at the small audience building under one of the trees, where the unseen flautist held court. It was heavy with gold and silver leaves and fruit that made everything seem much more cheerful and did odd things to the perception. It spoke volumes of what Carol's life was like these days that this was barely more than a passing curiosity. "Only a few people are going over."

"Mhm," Carol acknowledged, taking a good look for herself. All she could see was glimpses of red. "Could be a busker using magic to make a better sound. Could be just normal music changed by the trees. Or we could all just be being paranoid, and it's really just some busker who happens to be pretty good and people are curious. I'm gonna find out."

She strode off down the steps, leaving behind a travelling knot of friends and friends of friends who were, in tones they thought she couldn't hear, a) debating how likely this was to go sideways, b) taking bets on what would happen if and when it did.

What she saw rather struck her dumb.

OoOoO

"Aren't you going to go over and say hello?" Monica asked quietly.

Harry was sitting cross-legged on the ground, apparently oblivious to the cold and to his spellbound audience, which was only engaged in minimal whispering. His eyes were closed as music flowed forth from the hand-carved wooden flute, music that spoke to the heart of older days and distant skies, of beauty and wonder and adventures beyond the horizon. The silver inlay shone like starlight under the darkening sky, and his expression was one of peace and contentment.

"Huh?" Carol said, snapping out of her gawping, before firmly shaking her head and replying just as quietly. "Hell no. If I go over, if he even notices me, he'll stop." She smiled slightly. "Why would I want to do that?"

The music shifted to a new song, and approximately fifteen seconds in, Glory burst into hastily suppressed laughter.

"Oh, Carol," she said, shaking her head. "He's definitely noticed."

"What?" Carol asked, puzzled.

"Listen," the other girl said, and Carol, belatedly remembering that Glory was a band kid to her fingertips, did.

It was a repeating riff, a light-hearted melody that seemed to dance in the air around them, caressing the frosted buds. It was… familiar, somehow.

Peter frowned, tilting his head. "What is it?"

"That, Parker, is an instrumental of a rock classic, reworked for the flute," Glory said. "And pretty smooth, too, since he's got to be making it up as he goes."

"I'm lost," Monica said.

"It's 'Pretty Woman'," Glory said with a slight smile.

"I knew it sounded familiar!" Ned Leeds burst out suddenly, having previously managed to blend into Peter's rather slight shadow. At the sudden stares, he flushed. "My grandma likes rom-coms," he mumbled.

He was not the only one flushing, as a dumbfounded Carol was rapidly shading from pink into red.

"Okay, I'm not one for sap," Monica said, smirking. "But that is ridiculously cute."

"I'm kinda impressed he managed it on a wooden flute," Glory remarked. "And he's… actually pretty good. Danvers, did you know he could play like that?"

She paused, looking at Carol's expression.

"I'll take that as a no."

OoOoO

For her, it had been a couple of days.

For him, it had been at least six months, and at times, it had apparently felt like longer.

There had been time to be busy, with many things to do and to learn, but also a lot of time to think. While that had apparently been great for the whole self-care thing, taking some time away, and generally grounding himself, it had also meant that – sap that he was – he had spent more than a little time pining.

Six months of hijinks, of renewed energy, of passion… and of missing her. All conveyed in an utterly pulse-pounding moment as he drew her close and their lips met, minds intertwining as fingers roamed and her leg hooked around his.

All things told, Carol thought in a daze, it was a rather good kiss.

"Don't tell me," she managed, their faces scant inches apart. "You missed me."

"Always," he whispered, and leaned in again, this time for a longer and more luxuriant kiss.

That one was a very good kiss too.

Pity about the wolf-whistling from the audience.

She shot a filthy look at Monica and the others, who were grinning unrepentantly, catching Ned Leeds, whose eyes looked like they were about to pop out, and Peter, who looked surprisingly fond, in the crossfire.

"Do you mind?" she snapped.

"Hey, you're the ones giving the public show," Monica said.

"It's cute," Tandy Bowen chimed in.

"Cute and about two steps from public indecency," Glory added, smirking. "Looks like Prince Charming's a good kisser."

"I haven't had any complaints so far," Harry chirped, and as Carol rolled her eyes at him, he just shrugged cheerfully. There was a hint of blush around the cheeks, but where once he would have been incredibly embarrassed, he was rolling with it. It was a change. Probably for the better, but a change.

I love you, he said to her softly. And as far as I'm concerned, love is the last thing to be ashamed of.

You are the dictionary definition of a sap, she retorted.

Would you have me any other way?

She smirked. Too easy. I can think of plenty of ways to have you. She waggled her eyebrows impishly.Let me get you somewhere private and I'll demonstrate.

Balanced, at peace with himself, and thoroughly de-compressed Harry might be. But he still blushed like a champion.

"Should we leave you two alone?" Peter asked, amused. Carol, forgetting for a moment that she'd privately suggested the exact same thing, glowered at him, but it had little effect.

One benefit of this danger sense of his was that he could now tell the difference between hostile intent and grumpiness. On the one hand, this was doing wonders for his self-confidence, which she was genuinely happy to see, and their budding friendship, which she also genuinely welcomed. On the other hand, it was at times like this that she missed the ability to glare him into one of his all-too-rare silences.

"Yes," she ground out. "You should. Would you like a suggestion for minimum safe distance?"

"You have one?" Peter fired back, before an ominous growl sent him beating feet. Still grinning, though.

"I think that's our cue," Monica said dryly, hooking a still stunned Ned by the back of his shirt and towing him away, the others following her. "Later, Danvers."

Carol didn't reply. She was, by that point, once again occupied.

OoOoO

At this point, the fade to black might have been expected; though whether events would, as it were, go all the way, might be subject for debate. Some might consider it too soon. Others might consider it overdue – or, at least, inevitable. Others still might even consider it just the right time. As they might plausibly argue, with love and hormones in the air, one side's long separation and the feedback loop effect of a psychic link, meant that it was to be expected, really.

Harry and Carol, however, lived to subvert expectations (most of the time). Instead, as might have surprised most, most of what they did was talk.

To be sure, their hands remained clasped, fingers twining and intertwining, winding around each other like cats around a favourite set of ankles, revelling in even this simple contact. Likewise, they remained constantly close to one another, leaning into the other's space as if it was perfectly natural for them to be there, carrying an unconscious ease and a deep comfort.

It was intimacy, as deep and true as any set of bedroom (or bathroom, or closet…) shenanigans, and more so than many, simply due to its slowness and naturalism.

Of course, most of the talking was initially by Harry, as he had the most to tell and he was eager to tell it. Carol, for her part, made for an attentive and active audience, but most of all, an appreciative one. She interrupted from time to time to seek clarification, or to fondly yet mercilessly tease him, but sometimes also with a question or two.

"Hang on, this was, for you, about six months?"

"About that, yeah."

"That means you're technically fifteen now, right?"

"Fifteen and a half, actually, counting the Red Room," Harry said, and half-smiled. "A year older than I'm supposed to be – but still a few years younger than I look."

Carol ran an eye over him that was both evaluating and appreciative. Harry hadn't exactly aged dramatically, though some of the remaining baby fat was gone and the lean muscle was more pronounced, but it was really the way he carried himself was different. There was more surety, more grace, and… really, more self-assurance.

Gone were the glimpses of muffled sharp edges, like broken bones beneath skin or shattered glass wrapped in cloth. Gone was the slightly edgy air he'd had, even at times around her. Gone was the anger, the uncertainty, and even the fear that had twisted through his mind. Around her, he'd generally been contented, able to let his guard down and relax. Now, he still did that, but he didn't feel like he'd just dumped the weight of the world to do it.

And even then, she'd still felt uncertainty from time to time as he second-guessed himself around her; his neuroses and self-doubts, the lingering worries about his powers and their connection. He'd been working on that, to be sure, and his guard hadn't been up around her. However, that was partly because he trusted her with an absoluteness that still staggered her, but because it wasn't her he'd been watching so fiercely, or anyone else, for that matter. It had been himself, always himself, each and every moment.

That's the real difference, between then and now, she realised, in a moment of epiphany. He trusts himself.

He flashed her a dazzling smile, the one he shared with Jean, the one that took her breath away (and that was absolutely not fair).

"I know that you said that you knew from the start that you'd come straight back, no matter how long you'd spent in the past, so you wouldn't miss any time with… anyone," she went on. "But weren't you even a little bit pissed at Strange?"

Harry sighed. "A bit, at times," he admitted. "I mean, mostly I had the whole 'driving curiosity' thing going on, leading me towards Shou-Lao. That was a good distraction. But…"

He rocked back and forth on his heels, thinking.

"… I knew that you weren't waiting, if you follow me," he said. "Not whether you would or whether you wouldn't, but that you weren't, simply because of the way Strange had arranged it. I'd be right back home, soon enough. It meant I didn't really have to worry about anything."

"Sounds liberating," Carol remarked.

"It was," Harry admitted, and squeezed her hand. "I missed you," he said quietly. "Every day. I missed you, I missed dad, I missed uncle Loki, I missed Wanda, I missed my friends, I missed the Avengers… I missed everyone. Even Strange. And I got homesick, a few times. But not for long." He sighed. "You see, being a Phoenix host, when you're really using it, taps you into this sort of cosmic awareness. Short, not exactly perfect version: all of time and space is the internet, and you've got instant access to everything on it. Now, mostly this is just a passive thing, and I only really became aware of it when I was doing the wandering. But I just knew that it'd be fine."

He shrugged.

"As long as I stayed in the universe, anyway," he added wryly. "But the point is, subconsciously, and consciously when I thought about it, I knew I wouldn't be waiting for too long. I just knew."

Carol nodded slowly. "Intellectus," she said. "I've heard of it. I heard about it related to the whole Lantern ring thing, actually – I was tapped into something kinda like that." She tilted her head. "So, the universe was telling you it was gonna be okay?"

"More, my subconscious wanted to know how long I'd be away, and the universe worked out a rough estimate which my mortal meat brain interpreted as a comforting feeling of 'not too long'," Harry replied. "But yeah. If I'd focused, I'd probably have got a clearer idea of when I'd come back. Though, given how everything fell out, maybe not."

He smiled slightly.

"Mostly, I just explored," he said. "Saw things I never would have imagined, did things both mundane and impossible, met the most extraordinary people, and learned so, so much!"

The enthusiasm was infectious, and Carol could soon see why. The stories beggared belief, yet at the same time, they entranced her, especially as they were accompanied by flavours of memory down their link – nothing overwhelming, but enough to flesh out the story, share the experience. When it got to Sakaar, she was caught between horror, fascination, and incredulous laughter, each getting its due emphasis based on what part of it was being touched upon.

When it got to his disguise, they had to stop.

Carol had, as it turned out, half fallen into a bench and was now propping herself up on it, laughing so hard she could hardly breathe.

"You. Are. Ridiculous," she managed between giggles, as it began to peter out.

"With pride," Harry replied, grinning shamelessly, a small flourish to cap it. "And that's not the half of it." He paused, and grinned again. "I have footage."

"Good, because I think I'd actually have to kill you if you didn't."

"One, I know, that's why I got it, two, please don't, if it's on Earth, everything will get messy."

Carol rolled her eyes affectionately. "You and me are going to have a sit down with that footage and some popcorn," she said firmly.

"It's a date," came the sly reply.

This was met with an arched eyebrow.

"You think you fighting with a lightsabre and doing your best Kenobi is going to be hot?"

Harry smirked. "I fancy my chances."

Then, he paused, and raised a finger, rummaging in one of his apparently infinitely extendable pockets. A moment later, he withdrew a very familiar kind of shape.

Carol's eyes widened."Is that what I think it is, or are you just happy to see me?" she breathed.

"Can't it be both? No, wait, crap –"

Carol, once again, had descended into cackling. Harry, for his part, went a little pink.

"Yes and yes," he said eventually, both embarrassed and sincere.

Carol leaned over and kissed him. "Good," she murmured. "Because I meant what I said about getting you alone."

This time, Harry went more than just pink. The two were pressed up against each other, and Carol, also going a little pink, waggled her eyebrows and smirked in a way that a young Bucky Barnes would have been proud of.

"Yeah. You're really happy to see me."

"And this is really a lightsabre," he said, deciding that distraction by shiny object was the best option right now. While Harry had meant everything he had said earlier, about loving Carol being the last thing to feel any shame about, some things were still a tiny bit awkward.

"I'm guessing not a replica," Carol said, switching from flirtation to professional curiosity with remarkable speed. "I'm not going to test it in public, but… it works, I'm guessing."

"Yep."

Carol swallowed, eyes wide, both in healthy respect for the weapon before her, and the brink of giggling glee.

"What colour?"

"Well, I thought about blue," Harry admitted. "Or green. Both are traditional and they fit you. But in the end… I captured a piece of starlight."

Carol blinked at him slowly. "You what."

"Well, they need a crystal of some kind, according to the experts I asked –"

"Experts?"

"Oh, yeah. I met Anakin in the arena while I was being Obi-Wan, helped him through a little bit of a crisis, that sort of thing. He's on Mars at the moment."

Carol digested this, going from flabbergasted to owlish.

"… I swear, only in your life would that sentence make any sense."

"I know," Harry said cheerfully. "Fun, isn't it?"

Carol considered this, then bobbed her head in acknowledgement. "Nice you're seeing it that way," she commented.

"I've had a lot of time to think things over."

"And get extra therapy from a dragon who taught you the ways of kung-fu, and a however many times great-aunt who taught you the ways of cosmic badassery."

"And that, yes."

Carol digested this, then nodded slowly. "Huh," she muttered. "So, what, these experts taught you how?"

"That's part of it, though it helps to be wielding the power of the Phoenix," Harry explained. "It's how I crystalised starlight."

"As you do," Carol quipped.

"Well, I thought about making you a necklace with a starlight gem and links made from pure firmament or something like that, but then I realised that you'd appreciate this more."

"You have no idea how right you are," Carol murmured in wonder, clearly almost vibrating with eagerness to spark it up.

Harry's lips twitched. "Oh, I think I might."

Carol stuck her tongue out at him and grinned, then, impulsively, hugged him. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Harry blinked, a little surprised at this, and as if anticipating this, she leaned back.

"Thank you," she said again. "For this and… for being you." She quirked a smile. "Plenty of guys say they'd bring a girl the stars if they could. Not many would get this girl enough to give her a lightsabre."

"You force-fed me Star Wars enough times that it took Anakin several minutes to realise I wasn't Obi-Wan. It was a little obvious."

"Yeah," Carol drawled, drawing the word out. "But you paid attention."

Harry stared at her, as if baffled.

"I've said what I wanted, and who I am, before," she said quietly. "People haven't always listened."

Harry nodded sombrely.

She smiled at him. "You listen, though," she continued. "You always listen." Her expression turned wry. "Okay, so sometimes you miss the screamingly obvious, but that's not because you don't want to hear it, or because you refuse to. You… have your own hang-ups. Though you've been getting better." She tilted her head. "A lot better now, I think." She shook her head. "Anyway, the hang-ups might mean that you don't always hear, first off, but when I say who I am, when I say what I want to be or to do, you listen."

Harry dipped his head. "I try," he said quietly. "I don't always succeed, and I… have a few things I maybe need to fix because of that. But I try, and I wish that wasn't anything out of the ordinary."

Carol linked her hands with his, interlocking their fingers, as their foreheads lightly bounced together. "I know," she said softly. "I know. I wish it wasn't either. But that doesn't mean it isn't appreciated."

They stood like that for a long time, eyes closed, hands together, brows touching. More than a few walked by and who had time to take note smiled knowingly, if fleetingly, thinking fondly of young love. Perhaps the contentment and the love that radiated from the two of them, warm and subtle, yet marked, like a sunbeam on a cloudy day, nudged their thinking a little. In many a case, it left them with a little extra spring in their step, a lightness in their heart, a relief of burden – temporary, perhaps, but a relief all the same.

Eventually, slowly, like surfacing from a warm bath, they parted, leaning back, fingers loosing from a woven net into a loose grasp.

"You sketched the outside of it, but I get the feeling that there's a lot to fill me in on," Carol said, and smiled. "I want details. Such as why, exactly, you were cosplaying Obi-Wan."

"Well, that's a long story…"

OoOoO

"So, you picked up all sorts of Stone Age survival skills, huh?"

"A few."

"Does that mean you can make jerky with your bare hands or something?"

"… weirdly specific, but as it happens, yes."

"How many times did it take to get it right?"

"Too many."

OoOoO

"Okay, dancing with elves, kung-fu with dragons… am I missing something?"

"Destroying a demon bear, talking to wolves – "

"You talk to animals now."

"It's more like Diana's empathic abilities, sensing and sending intention."

"Diana is basically a Disney Princess."

"Can't argue with that."

"You are basically a Disney Princess."

"I can argue with that."

"Prince Charming you may be, but it's the Princesses who talk to animals, and you're royalty. Ergo, you are a Disney Princess."

"I spent a couple of days hanging out with and sparring with an immortal cosmic program person designed to protect human evolution, who introduced me to homebrewed beer and whole levels of metaphysics that I hadn't even imagined, while I was maybe a little bit drunk and while he was protecting a surprisingly adorable baby hive mind… and I was still less confused than I am now."

"Whatever. Then you met your aunt. Who sounds like a badass."

"She absolutely is."

"She also sounds awkward and adorable."

"… she absolutely is."

"Yeah, I'm really seeing the family resemblance."

OoOoO

"You saved a galaxy. As you do."

"I… well. Yes. It needed doing, and I was able to. So I did."

"Never change, Harry. Never change."

OoOoO

"So, this great cosmic being rolls up, this 'Devourer of Worlds', one of the not-so-nice parts of the Phoenix… and you decided you didn't like him."

"Yes."

"And you told him, and I quote, 'come on if you think you're hard enough.'"

"… okay, so maybe it wasn't one of my best ideas. But in my defence, he's a dick."

OoOoO

"Wait, back up. Sue Storm is alive?"

"Technically Sue Storm-Richards, and yes. Alive, pretty well, considering. Also, she has superpowers, and she's technically about fifteen years older than she was mentally. But not a day older physically."

"I see. I think. Weird dimension is the reason, I'm guessing?"

"Up there with the weirdest. People didn't age there."

"Oh."

"She's got a kid now, too."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Telling Lex is going to be awkward. I mean, he'll be glad she's alive and safe and, you know, well. Not sure how he'll react to the rest of it, though. I mean, I can't see him holding it against her, that would be dumb and I'd have to kick his ass for it, but…"

"But if either of us was in his position, we'd be angry. At the universe in general."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Well, that's a bummer."

OoOoO

"Okay, let me get this straight:you're saying that Jeff Goldblum, a beloved screen actor, may in fact be an eldritch horror from beyond time and space out to consume our souls and/or our reality."

"Or he read someone's mind and decided he liked the look, changing his own history so he'd always looked like that. Honestly, it really could be either. Or, you know, both."

"Harry, I know you've been away from normal people for a little while, but that is not comforting."

OoOoO

"He did what to Johnny?"

"You heard me. But that's… that's not even the half of it. There aren't words for what he did."

"When you roasted him, I hope it hurt."

"Oh, believe me – it did."

"Good."

OoOoO

"Wait. Did you say 'Green Lantern Corps'?"

"Yep."

"How?"

"Well, you created the multiple rings."

"Yeah, a couple of weeks ago."

"Short version? Sakaar opened up into different bits of time and space, into different universes, and I'm pretty sure into different timelines too."

"So, someone else created them."

"Oh, no. You definitely created these ones. By the way, did you know that you'll be remembered as a cosmic goddess?"

"Are you shitting me."

"Nope."

OoOoO

"I see the side-effects of New Orleans are sticking around."

"Yeah, it makes life interesting."

"Probably very interesting."

"When are our lives any other way? But yeah, I'm pretty sure there's a lot more people with unexpected superpowers than there were. Not all of them magic, but a lot. I… the world's changed. Not just changed again, but this feels like something deeper."

"I think so too. Also… oh. Oh."

"What? Brainwave?"

"You could say that."

"Care to share?"

"Well, people without powers before, are getting powers now. So… what if they had a sort of latent potential for magic? What happens now?"

"You're going somewhere with this."

"Yeah. Maybe the chance to do a good deed. Not sure how he'll take it, but… maybe I can do something."

OoOoO

"So, you met Sif's sword-fighting teacher and she's a smoking hot super-badass."

"You forgot absolute genius, and excellent singer."

"Right. Can't forget those. And she's slept with, what, half of the Western hemisphere?"

"If they're interesting, interested, and attractive… yes. Though I don't think it was just one hemisphere."

"Hmm. Good point. And you said she screwed her way through half the Round Table?"

"Not quite half, but near enough."

"And Morgana."

"Apparently. Also, Hal was muttering something Han Solo and Princess Leia when she was talking about the multiverse. I wouldn't say anything, except she looked rather smug when he brought it up. And given Anakin…"

"Damn."

"Yep."

"And your not-quite-dead great-great-grandfather is her buddy and bartender."

"And occasional chauffeur."

"… I think I want to be her when I grow up."

"Honestly, I think I do too."

OoOoO

Eventually, the subject circled around to those who had come through, including those who had only been lightly touched on. Carol's mind, naturally, leapt to one in particular. When she found out exactly when in their timeline this individual was from, she became markedly less enthusiastic.

"Darth. Fucking. Vader."

"Newly Fallen, yes."

"Oh yeah, fresh from betraying his friends, murdering kids and strangling his wife."

"Fresh from snapping after three years of war, thirteen years of being groomed as weapon by a Dark Lord as evil and as clever as any I've seen, and desperately trying to save a wife he'd taught to be ashamed of from what he thought was certain death. Fresh from being slowly and steadily isolated from anyone he thought he could turn to for help. Fresh from feeling utterly helpless, for all his power, utterly alone, for all he commanded armies. Fresh from making a horrible mistake, in fear, and giving in to a power that drove him mad."

Carol opened her mouth to deliver a heated reply, then stared at him hard. "You think he's like you," she said. It wasn't a question.

"More than little," Harry said. "After the Red Room, I was only a hair's breadth from going over the edge completely and becoming Vader or worse – and as I've seen, as I know, if I had chosen to go over the edge, if I hadn't been stopped..." He shuddered. "Vader, Anakin, would have been nothing to me. He was desperate to do something right. In the timeline where I chose wrong, where I went off the deep end, where I Fell… I wasn't trying to do anything right. I just destroyed."

Carol stared at him.

"Wait," she said. "Are you trying to say that evil you was worse than Darth fucking Vader?"

"Yes," Harry replied evenly. "I suppose I am. You've seen the vision, you know why. Can you really argue with what I'm saying?"

Carol frowned, but didn't reply.

"I could have been him, Carol," he said gently. "I could still be. Or I could be even worse than that." He raised a hand. "I'm not claiming I'm unstable, that I've got some great seed of evil in me, or anything like that. I'm not afraid of losing control and becoming a monster. But what I do know is that I have the capacity to Fall, just like anyone else. And if I do, I know very well what I could become."

"What you could be is different to what you are," Carol retorted. "Yeah, I don't deny it. We both know that if you really broke bad, if you completely snapped, you'd become…" She trailed off and took a deep breath. "Yeah. We both know what could be." She shot a hard look at him, blue eyes flashing. "But you had a choice, and in the end, you chose right. He didn't."

Harry nodded. "That's true," he acknowledged. "But I had help, and he didn't. He'd been isolated for that very reason." His lips twisted. "It's what abusers do. Maddie and I can both testify to that. And choices… when an ordinary person makes a bad choice, if they have a breakdown and lash out, the amount of harm they can do is relatively limited. When someone with our power snaps, the consequences spiral. And that's without the things that you're doing, the power that you're using, actively corrupting you. I was in his head. Darkness is the same everywhere, it seems – the Dark Side, wandless Dark Magic, they're much the same, right down to the mental impact."

"Good intentions to Jack the Ripper in no seconds flat," Carol muttered. "That's how you put it, once."

Harry nodded.

"It twists you, like a drug," he said. "It doesn't change the fact that you're making choices, it doesn't change what you're doing. But it does change why. And it does change how I responded."

He sighed.

"Besides," he said. "I did choose to make the better choice. But not before, like him, I slaughtered relative children, helpless before me."

Carol folded her arms.

"You had no choice. You said it yourself, Shou-Lao explained it to you. There were no good choices."

"That's true, but I didn't know that, nor did I care," Harry said evenly. "Nor would I have done. I did it because they were between me and what I wanted. I'm not dwelling on my guilt, I am stating fact." He shook his head. "His motive was love, twisted by fear of pain. I did it for revenge. The only real difference is that mine turned out to be necessary and his was a false hope."

"Maybe," Carol admitted. "But Anakin was absolutely in his right mind when he started going Dark, and you absolutely were not, even allowing for Dark Magic style corruption." She shook her head. "I get the comparisons, to you, even to Maddie, I do. I even feel sorry for him, I suppose. I never saw Sinister as the Palpatine type, but I get it now. But…" She shook her head again.

"It would be easier to deal with if you didn't know that he was real?" Harry suggested.

Carol exhaled. "Yeah," she said. "I suppose it would."

Harry sat down on a nearby bench. Their wanderings had taken them well into Central Park, and Carol took up a perch beside him.

"You know," he said. "I'm not the only one who's done some bad things. Who's made some terrible mistakes. Loki, for instance." He glanced around. "When I'm here, I sometimes see new-ish buildings, or repair marks, and I remember what he did. He was out of his mind, something in him had broken, he was on someone else's leash… sound familiar?"

Carol grimaced.

"And even before that, after discovering the truth of what he was, he went mad. He tried to kill dad, tried to kill Sif and the Warriors Three, nearly levelled a small town, set up his biological father to be murdered – though if I'm honest, Laufey probably had it coming – and… he hated what he was so much, he nearly Death Starred Jotunheim with the Bifrost to try and erase all signs of it," Harry said. "He had a breakdown, he chose wrong, and whole worlds paid for it."

He sighed.

"Dad's got his own dark past," he said. "Just before Loki snapped, he nearly started a war, slaughtering a small army in a fight that started over a cheap wisecrack. He was banished for it. Natasha has more skeletons in her closet than you can begin to imagine. Clint's got plenty of his own. Tony used to be known as 'the Merchant of Death'. Bruce… Bruce has his own regrets. Bucky?" He half-smiled, mirthless. "That goes without saying. Even during the War, he had a few nicknames following him around. Der Kopfjäger. Der blaue Schnitter. The Headhunter. The Blue Death. He was a soldier, of course, if a sniper, and it was war. But even so. That wasn't all he did, or all the Commandos did."

"Steve told me that sometimes they had to do things," Carol agreed unhappily. "Things that they otherwise wouldn't. Things they did because it was war. Things… that meant they didn't sleep so well at night. Grandma's said so too. And uncle Jack, though not in so many words." She frowned. "But that is different. Sometimes, there are no good choices."

"To a mind addled by madness, manipulation, and dark powers?" Harry said grimly. "Not as much as you'd like. Especially if your morals have been slipping for a while. Because when there aren't good choices, you still have to choose. You find yourself getting used to doing things that once, you'd never even have considered. The bad becomes normal, the terrible becomes regrettable, and the evil? Sooner or later, if you lose track of where you are, who you are, the way he did, the way I was, then it becomes acceptable. That Silver Surfer I mentioned, the Herald – is he a victim, or is he a villain? Some would argue it depends who you ask. Some would say it's both. I'd argue it's not that simple."

He sighed again.

"Anakin did terrible things," he said. "So have I, and so have a lot of other people we know and love. I'm not asking you to forgive him for them, to like him, or even to talk to him. I'd probably prefer it if you didn't punch him in the face or anywhere else that will do permanent damage, but if you did, I wouldn't stop you – and honestly, he probably wouldn't try and stop you either."

He paused, measuring his words.

"By many metrics, he's a monster. By many of those, I probably am too, or near enough. But, in my book… the important thing is choice. He's made bad choices, terrible choices. Just like I have, and so many others. Now, he's trying to choose better, he wants to choose better, to make the right choices, to do good."

Carol tilted her head. "You think he wants redemption," she said. "You think it's possible?"

"I'm not sure if he can ever atone," Harry said. "But redemption? Maybe." He sat back, and looked up at the sky for a long moment. "Your instinct, my instinct if I'm honest, is punishment. Beat him up, lock him away, or put him in the ground. Nice and simple and clean. But what would it achieve? Punishment means little to the dead, take it from someone who knows. No, punishment is for the living, both the person receiving it and the ones handing it out. Justice, on the other hand... now that means something, even beyond the veil. He wants redemption, as far as that is possible, and atonement, as far as that is possible."

He paused.

"Truth be told, after it all sank in… the possibility of it, and the fact he's got two living children, are the only reason he's put that lightsabre through his head."

Carol's eyes widened. "You're not joking," she said, low and horrified. "Are you?"

"If I hadn't noticed him slip away from the meet and greet, if I hadn't sensed what he was about to do, if I'd been half a second slower..." Harry trailed off. "I persuaded him otherwise."

"How?"

"I told him that he'd be doing no one any good if he did that," Harry said frankly. "That, at the very least, he still had two children who would need him, who would need someone to fight for them at some point. That this did not have to be the end of his story." He closed his eyes. "What really got through, I think, was something else. A lot of him thought that his universe, every universe, would be better off without him. So, I told him that that would be the easy way out. That stuck. You see, I get the feeling that he's decided he can't punish himself if he's dead. I'm not sure if he's accepted he deserves to live, but he's sure as hell decided he doesn't deserve to die."

Carol shivered. "God, that's horrible."

"It is," Harry said quietly, eyes still closed. "But I didn't have any other ideas at the time, and I couldn't sit on him to prevent him from doing it again the next time I turned my back. Besides – gods help me, but I think it worked. For now, at least."

He sat forward, opening his eyes.

"Everyone deserves justice," he said after a long moment. "And for both his sake, and that of the dead, justice demands that I help him."

Carol gave him a long look. Then, she leaned over and held him tight.

"You," she said, quiet and fierce. "Are a good person, Harry Thorson. A much, much better person than you think."

Harry didn't blush, he didn't try denial, and he certainly didn't preen. He just leaned into the embrace in silence. Not sadness, but a kind of tiredness and bone deep relief.

"You know," Carol said eventually. "I'm not sure if it was what Strange intended, but all that time travel made you kinda – yeah." She paused, then nodded slowly. "Actually, that's it," she said quietly. "It made you kinder again." She looked at him. "You looked at someone who it would be so easy to condemn, to punt around the place and beat down, and anyone would say he was a monster who had it coming. But you looked past the monster. And you chose to be kind."

Harry smiled slightly. "I'm trying," he murmured. "And there's also the fact that treating Anakin like a monster is a great way to turn him back into one."

"Mmm," Carol hummed in agreement. "Very good practical point."

"I thought so too. Got to say, fun as it was at the time, I don't particularly want a rematch with Darth Vader. Especially not after Anakin figured out how powerful he is." He sighed. "Besides. He's punishing himself far more effectively than either of us ever could."

A quick little note on the whole Anakin/Vader thing, which is indirectly very relevant to Harry's character development, as you can see. While Anakin's direct role from here is going to be very, very limited, the parallels that Harry draws, what he did to help, and the general example of trying to help someone who was both a monster and frightened child… it will do a LOT to inform his actions and perspectives going forward – both of those around him (the Avengers almost all have ledgers that are dripping red), and on those he might face. As Carol has put it, he has become kinder.

My perspective, one that I'm adapting to Harry, because it's not exactly the same – he's not always so wise and thoughtful and kind, and if Vader had struck down a child connected to him… then that's probably a very different story. It's shaped by a number of things, but primarily Vader's sad demeanour on the second Death Star finally realises what he is: a slave, his will broken by a lifetime of conditioning and trauma, with every defiance of that answered by the Emperor yanking his choke chain. "I must obey my master." That is the tragedy of Darth Vader wrapped up in one sentence. Lost, trapped in self-hatred, with no desire to live through this, both to save his son and to finally be free.

Vader is a monster, and Anakin, even at this point, has done all kinds of terrible things. Some, perhaps, can never be forgiven. Nothing changes that. He cannot change the past, and canon Vader is stuck on that. But when he lets go, when he chooses to do something different, to be better, and saves his son... then, he is free.

Here, Harry helped him with that. It helps that he's much earlier in the whole process. Though, as you can see from the suicide attempt, he's still struggling. He is not owed forgiveness, just like Loki isn't, as I touched on before, or indeed Bucky, as and when the truth comes out. He would not, necessarily, even be owed mercy if he had survived. He most definitely does not get absolution – as he does not here. And he absolutely does not earn freedom from judgement by his redemption.

That is right and good and just. He must pay for what he did. But he must also be acknowledged for what he ultimately chose to be, what here, he is now choosing to be.

Punishment is viscerally satisfying, but it is for the benefit of the living. What do the dead care for punishment, save perhaps ghosts trapped in the living world? They are beyond pain and suffering (depending on what you believe about the afterlife - and even if in some Hell, punishing someone living makes no difference to them).

Justice? Now justice... justice is for the benefit of both the living and the dead. It is closure. It is not necessarily kind, it can indeed be harsh. It can even extend to death. But simply making someone suffer as retribution? Oh, it's satisfying. It may even seem like an appropriate turnaround, and it could be at that. But who does that benefit? Not the dead. It does nothing for them. Justice is meant to close the book; to provide closure for the living, release for the dead, and if at all possible, to prevent what was done from happening again. Mercy may, or may not be involved.

Excuse me, I can get quite philosophical.