The stillness of the room is her favorite part.
She's never told anyone that.
Sex is great. Sex is fun, especially with Val, and she often gets lost in it, feels loved in it. The excitement, the release... but it's the quiet part afterward- the stillness, where the kisses are soft, and their bodies are calm- that makes all the difference.
"Kisses make everything better," Love told Carol once, and of course she did, because her name is Love. Kisses and killing are both kind of her thing. She's a whirlwind of childhood emotion, scarfs down waffles and icing because life is short and she's addicted to sugar, but that doesn't mean she's wrong.
Kisses, when wanted, do tend to make everything better.
Carol looks at Val, who's staring at the ceiling, entranced. Her face is content, and the mild tells of stress are gone. Her eyes are still glittering, still vulnerable, and Carol turns her body to face her.
"Whatcha thinking about," she says, breaking the silence. Their legs are still intertwined. Everything's a little sticky, her fingers are a little gross.
It's perfect.
"Nothing," Val responds and Carol laughs. "Wrong answer. Try again."
"You're so pestery," Val murmurs, but she smiles anyhow. There's no malice in the words. She shifts in the bed to lay on her side, and though her voice stays silent, her eyebrows are a little scrunched. Her lips are a little tight. She wants but still can't communicate it in words. She'll never say it aloud, so Carol does it for her.
"Wanna cuddle? I've been told I make an excellent big spoon," she says. Val snorts, but her face softens.
"Gods, you sound like a child."
"I've also been told that, many times actually."
"Of course, you have."
Carol twirls her finger, turn around, and the satisfaction she feels as Val's lips loosen, as Val's cheeks glisten, is ridiculous. Valkyrie's rolling her eyes, but easily falls into place within seconds. She nestles her back into Carol's chest and Carol hears a sigh, the good kind. She kisses Val's head, and then kisses her again. They lock fingers as she closes her eyes.
Then, Carol waits.
The room is still quiet.
There's some chirping out the window; some high-pitched trills, and suddenly, Carol's wondering what kind of birds New Asgard has...
Then, what kind of birds did Old Asgard have?
How many Flerkens exist, how many planets are out there, how many species are blissfully unaware of her existence?
Ice cream flavors...
Types of trees…
"I have three commercials scheduled for tomorrow," Val breaks the silence. "And then M'Baku wants to meet, wants to discuss an alliance even though half my people are literal children and most of the adults are distracted by shitty theatrical performances."
She stalls. Carol draws circles on her hand; they're small at first, but gradually grow, her thumb brushing over calloused skin. Val swallows and latches onto Carol even tighter.
"I can feel the world changing, and I'm not sure it's for the best. I don't-" she struggles with the words. "I don't know how I feel about it. Not sure how to get over that either…"
There's another period of silence, and Carol lets it be. She doesn't respond, only kisses Val's neck, squeezes her harder. Val finally gives way.
"I feel alone."
Carol whispers against her ear, "Yeah."
"I feel so alone. And isolated and… fuck," Val releases Carol's hand. She wipes her eyes, sniffs, then slowly reconnects their fingers, curling her body into Carol's tighter. "I miss it. As stupid as it sounds."
"Not stupid."
"It's a little stupid. We're not at war, not fighting some evil presence whose hubris wants to take over the universe. I mean, the worst thing I fight right now is the 'Patriarchy' and shitty politicians and it leaves much to be desired."
Carol smiles against her hair. She wants to laugh because Val's right; it sucks, always has, but she can piece together the underlying message: War is painful.
War takes.
It chips away at your soul and steals parts of you away, piece by piece until you can't recognize yourself. Until even something as simple as breathing is a fight. But that's not what Val means.
"We were all together then," Carol says softly. Val finishes her trail of thought, "And now we're not. Half of us are dead, the other half is scattered throughout the galaxy. People are moving on, people are… fuck, healing? I guess? Finding meaning like it's the easiest fucking thing in the world."
"Yeah."
"I swear, that's your favorite word."
Carol laughs: a real one, a big one, "Yeah," she repeats, and fully accepts the consequences. Val's elbow is in her chest. It pokes her ribs and Carol pokes her right back.
"You're such an idiot," Val chuckles.
"I know."
Val sits and readjusts herself; she pats Carol's leg and stretches out her back. It cracks, her muscles flex with every motion, and Carol knows she's showing off, but doesn't call her out. She just admires her. Just soaks in the honor that she, alone, gets to see Val like this.
"We'll be okay," Val finally says, nudging Carol's arm. Her voice is sure and confident, but her hands are a little shaky. Her eyes are a little worried. "We will, won't we?" She's asking silently because it's yet another thing she'd never say out loud. Neither would Carol, but the plea is there: Promise me that it'll get better, that maybe the silence will stop being so hard.
So, Carol does. "We're gonna be fine."
She's said those words a lot over the years, but this time, as she's basking in Val's presence- still dancing in the memories of Kamala's laugh and playing, sucking, really, at chess every Thursday- she's starting to believe it.
It isn't completely a lie.
There are sounds from outside the window, a couple of giggles and the crunches of pattering feet on snow. Carol swears she hears a cat puking up something child sized. The mood instantly shifts.
"Time to get up, your Majesty," Carol flips the ends of Val's braids. She kisses her nose, smiles into her teeth. "Goose has probably ingested at least ten of your favorite warriors."
Val shoves her off and whines, "Damn it. I spent so much time on those swords."
"You're cheating again, Carl."
"No, I'm not."
"I can literally see you. You can't just move your King any which way you please."
Carl huffs, "You and your rules. So many freaking rules," and Carol rolls her eyes, fondly pointing at him, and then the chess board.
What would Maria say now, seeing Carol here, with a birthday hat on her head, moderating chess matches and bingo tournaments like some kind of HOA president; worrying about trash can disputes and rotating meal trains. Walking the same halls they used to swing Monica in. Looking at old photos and paintings like a ghost...
A ghost who discourages cheating and paints ping pong balls.
"You took a shortcut... cheater."
"Since when is a shortcut cheating?"
"Since it violates the pre-determined rules of engagement."
"Don't remember those-"
But... she does now.
She remembers it somewhat clearly; Maria's hair, the reds of the morning sun, the croaking of frogs out the window and a hint of water in the air. The scene changes mid-thought; the colors so vivid that Carol wants to cry.
"Baby," Maria is whispering softly, calmly. She stands to the side of the house with wringing hands and a sad smile, "We've missed you so much," and Carol, for some reason, believes her. Maybe it's because Maria's face is kind.
Maybe it's because her words are full of love, full of memory.
It's something Carol doesn't have. Something she'll probably never have, and her stomach clenches at the thought. She feels like she's a bomb sometimes; like there's a fuse in her chest, a timer in her heart, and that she'll eventually explode, taking everything and everyone down with her.
She can kill thousands, can burn cities to the ground and destroy monsters with every step, but it's useless. So fucking useless, because all she really wants to do is to stop it all; to set the clock back and rewind until she gets to a world where she never steps onto Lawson's plane again. Where she never blows up the stupid core. Never allows the energy to purge her soul or dampen her mind.
Never abandons Monica.
"I can't remember. I don't- It's all a blur, just a gaping fucking hole in my head," she finally replies. She clenches her fists and stares into freshly cut grass, because she's not her. She's not this woman Maria speaks of, not the woman that Maria loves. That person is gone.
That person was destroyed.
But Maria doesn't get it. She never really does.
"That's okay," she says, and even though it isn't, her touch feels like home. Carol closes her eyes and bathes in the warmth. She tries to clear her mind, tries to settle her heart. "We'll make new memories. Make new plans… live, find-"
There's crackling.
Maria is saying something, but Carol can't hear her, because the house is gone and she's back in space. Her hair is floating, her hands are cold. She peers out the window, but there aren't any stars. She tries to breathe, but it's space. It's space and there's no air.
No air.
"Mon's asking about you again," Maria's face is onscreen, her voice is sad. She refuses to look Carol in the eye. "Her birthday's next week and I was hoping-"
"When are you coming back, Auntie Carol?"
"When's John coming back again?"
"He said next week, but if the weather's good, I'm guessing he'll stay for a couple more days."
"... Quick mission. In and out." Yon's temple is pulsing. He's worried, more concerned than usual. He locks eyes with her and points to his neck. "Watch your back and for the love of the Supreme, Vers, don't fuck it up…don't…set -course…go-"
"You stole me-"
"... his daughter fishing every Saturday 'til she was in middle school. Then she told him how much she hated it. Christ, his face-"
"I can fly anything, anywhere..."
"Give me a smile-"
Carol's dry heaving... peanut butter between her teeth with a fist against the wall. "Just eat me. Please, just end-"
"The Civil War killed... millions gone."
"My sister is dead because of you!"
"LO! Stay with me-"
"Rhodes, you have to talk to her. She refuses to listen to us," her voice echoes across concrete. Bruce has his head in his hands. "Rocket... yes, Jesus Christ-"
"-and then I told him about Margot-"
Everything's swimming in her head, but Carl's voice is an anchor. Carl's voice is real. Carol latches onto that. She inhales and exhales. Margot? Margot, yes. Margot with black hair and yellow ribbons. She's missing two front teeth… can't swing on her own yet. Starts first grade in the fall and wants to be a teacher when she grows up.
Margot ties her shoes backwards.
inhale
Her hair is always lopsided.
exhale
Her lips are normally covered with Grahm cracker dust and orange juice.
inhale
She likes the color purple.
exhale
The memories fade away, one by one, but Carl's voice filters back in. His birthday hat is green. His eyes are brown. His beard is long. The chessboard is in focus again; she counts the squares. They're in even patterns, her blacks and his whites are still matched up, but there's a gap where there isn't supposed to be.
She blinks. Then frowns.
She furrows her brow and crosses her arms. After an easy search, she finds the offending piece, practically fondling her Queen.
The White King has been moved.
Again.
Fuckin' Carl. She wants to yell at him, but his animated voice eases her into accepting his third offense. "She's six now," he saying, "- and awfully rambunctious. Don't know how Matt keeps up with her."
The conversation is easy. Carol takes a breath, and then another. "I thought she was five," she finally says, moving her Rook. Carl laughs and twirls a discarded pawn in his fingers. "Her birthday was last week. Christ, she ate so much cake and then puked in the yard- all over her little light up sneakers, too. Mary was livid."
"She made you clean them, didn't she."
"Dawn dish soap and hose water."
Carol snorts a little, picturing the chaos.
She moves her Queen, Carl takes a few of her pawns, her Rook is gone, then his Knight falls off the board. The horse hits the ground, a gentle thud of wood to carpet, and when he reaches down to get it, Carol makes her move. She slides her King back to the starting position.
Carl looks up.
"Checkmate," she says, knocking on the table and biting back a smile. It takes a second, but she can see the dots connecting.
"Oh fuckin' hell," he curses, then breaks out into a wheezing laughter. It's infectious, and she tosses her head back to join him. The game's been going on for hours because, even with all the cheating, they both still extremely suck. The cake's gone stale, the drinks have lost their fizz- everyone's in the process of leaving and the paper hats are itchy, but the happiness on Carl's face almost makes up for it all.
"You have a fondness for old people and children," Val whispers in her ear. "It's your fatal flaw."
"Good game?" She slowly stands up. Carl grins, cane in hand. He shakes his head and wobbles to his feet. His glasses slip, just a little, and a face jumps back at her. It's thirty-three years younger, with dimples and a smile she vaguely remembers from before. The moment passes as he glances at the board. He chuckles one last time.
"Happy birthday to me."