She really thought she could do this, ensured Val that she could do this, told Fury she could do this, but maybe she can't.
Maybe it's too much.
The house is silent, except for the periodic whispers of laughter and chatter in the halls. The pictures, the pots and pans, everything is too quiet and too loud, all at the same time. Wafts of memories live in every corner. They bring her to tears during the most miniscule of tasks; she cries when she folds laundry, she cries when she jogs, she cries when she uses the fucking microwave.
It's annoying, but she can handle annoying. Annoying is fine.
Ghosts are fine.
It's the dreams she can't escape from. They were bad before, but now they're permeating and sickening, haunting her everytime she closes her eyes. It comes in waves, usually. First Maria, then Monica, and then Yon-Rogg, or a combination of the three.
Some of them make sense:
In one, she's hugging Monica. "Wanna race Mama home?" and Maria is laughing. Her smile lights the entire world up, rainbows and butterflies and lightning bugs. Monica holds her hand and giggles back and then they go. They dance along the porch and draw shapes into foggy windows.
Others don't:
She's back on Hala, training the kids, laughing, forgetting...
"Skrulls can't blast fire from their fists. So, I think you're probably safe?" one tells her- Cev-Lynn, she remembers- and Carol nods back in all seriousness. Yon is rolling his eyes, but there's a fondness there. He leans in and she reciprocates as the children cover their eyes. She smiles, his lips are cool, but then Maria is in her head, and Maria's lips are warm.
Her brain begins to sear.
It's a fractured pattern of sorts, like a quilt. But each patch clashes against the other, her body splitting into more and more pieces. The colors are excruciating. She's leading him to her room, she's giggling all the way down; she likes this, she... wants this? She's smiling against his teeth and fighting against his body; thrashing against the smell and the walls and the green of her room, but then he laughs and her heart leaps out of her chest. She gasps for air because it's wrong. It's all wrong.
He's all wrong.
She's scared- so scared- but then she's not. Hala, a two-story house, the racetrack, every feeling is conflicting. Yon's tearing her in half. Maria is ripping her from every angle. Carol hears voices from before. "That star there," a boy says. She doesn't recognize him, but he feels safe.
"It's called the North Star. 'Supposed to guide you home no matter where you are."
"The North Star," Carol repeats, or at least, she thinks she does. Her fingers are floating in the wind, drifting as she points to another one. "What about that one?" and the boy smiles.
He opens his mouth to answer, but it never comes. The world splits open and Monica is sobbing on the living room floor, then it's Del and the Accusers. Fistfights, sacrifices, Thanos and screaming. Carol's hands shake as the noises grow. As the blue soaks into her hair and trickles down her nose, she begs them to stop- please stop- but they ignore her. Everything and everyone ignores her.
And then she wakes.
She usually vomits.
She hovers over the bowl with sweaty palms and swirling in her head and fights the urge to scream.
Val would tell her it's not her fault. "Your mind is all kinds of fucked," she'd say in-between touches, in-between kisses, but it doesn't make it easier. Thirty years and it's still not easier.
Thirty fucking years.
In the corner of a darkened house, Carol asks Goose to eat her. Goose doesn't.
Goose never does.
Her landline rings in the middle of the day.
She's confused at first, no one calls her like that anymore. Fury even laughed when he saw it, saying something about living in the past, but she picks the phone up anyway. Kamala's mother is worried, murmuring words and phrases Carol doesn't fully understand, but when she finally slows down, the concern is evident.
"She's been very distracted recently," Mrs. Khan says. There's worry in her voice and Carol frowns.
"She talks about forming a team, being an Avenger. Kamala is a hero, yes, but she is also my daughter. Please, speak some sense into her, Maashallah, you are Captain Marvel. She will listen more to you."
Carol agrees to fly up, and Mr. Khan's voice echoes in the background, "Invite her for supper," along with some other indistinguishable phrases.
There's so much love in their words, so much kindness. It's overwhelming, and when Carol knocks on the front door a few hours later, she doesn't know if she can handle it; if she can handle a house full of life again. She's having second thoughts when the joy on the other side of the door calms her heart.
"Captain Marvel is here," Aamir calls from behind brick. He's pretending to be irritated, but she hears the smile in his voice. Kamala is screeching from upstairs.
"Carol! Aamir, oh my- Carol's here why didn't you-"
And the front door bursts open. Kamala's arms are waving in excitement. She engulfs Carol in a hug, squeezing her with a strength Carol forgot she had. Kamala is warm and full of life, full of hope. Carol grips her tighter and relaxes into her embrace. "Calm down, beta," Mrs. Khan smiles from the doorway. "Don't suffocate Ms. Captain Marvel," and for the first time in a week, Carol laughs.
"You can call me Carol," she tells her, though she knows Mrs. Khan won't. "Thanks for inviting me."
Mrs. Kahn smiles, Kamala giggles, and for a short while, Carol can actually breathe again.
"Alright," she tells Kamala later, once they're in her room, bellies full and chests hurting from all the laughter. "What's this I hear about a team?"
"I'm only gonna mention this once, 'cause I don't want you to kill me with those fire hands, but are you sleeping? Eating? Doing all those basic necessities that us regular people do?
"What?"
"You're looking a little rough," Fury clarifies. He takes a sip of something brown, probably coffee, and gives her a once-over. Carol forces a laugh and slumps in her seat.
"Wow, you think you know a guy-" she starts, and Fury raises his hands in a yield.
"I'm just saying…"
"You're always just saying," Carol mumbles. She averts her eyes upwards to avoid his gaze, curse Fury and his audacity to care, and notices black and white triangles decorating the ceiling.
Had they always been there?
She's never really looked up before, never had a reason to, but they fit together perfectly, a backdrop of even shapes and patterns. Each knows its role. Each has a purpose. Did Monica ever look up? Carol suddenly wonders. Did she ever struggle with her place in the universe?
Fury's voice brings her back.
"How's Thor?" he changes the subject. "Heard he came in recently- didn't even stop by. Don't know what I expected."
Carol swallows, "He's good. He brought Love, so that was nice. Hadn't seen her in a while and it was..." she pauses, thinking of the right word. "Refreshing" she finally decides, meeting Fury's eyes. "So much energy, Kamala too. They practically bounce off the walls."
He chuckles, "Kids, man. I swear they just do something to you."
And Carol laughs. She takes a swig of cold coffee and sighs, smile stretching on her face. Fury looks out the window at the world below, and she studies him. He's grayer- more evened out over the years, with lines all over his face and a heaviness in his soul. The Avengers are gone, mostly, and the ones that are left don't reach out. Everyone's still reeling from Thanos, putting their lives back together, and she can't blame them for that. Nat's dead- gods, she's actually dead... Hill too. Fury's aged twenty years in the past couple, but so has Carol. She just hides it better.
"Christ, we're really old," she finally says, breaking the silence.
"Yeah," he replies. "You're telling me."
He takes another sip, gives Carol a lopsided smile, then tells her to get her ass on the spacewalk and fix some kind of external conduit with a leaky core. She rolls her eyes but complies with a mock salute. As she's floating in the dark outside the station, he smiles.
"Good coffee," he mouths through the window.
She gives him both middle fingers.