When Carol gets back, Fury is gone.
She knew he would be.
He'll call her sometime next week. He'll make up an excuse, saying something about a SABER project requiring "cosmic manual labor," and it'll be a lie, but she'll fly up anyways. She'll do the job, they'll talk over shitty space coffee, and she'll leave feeling better, but right now she needs some time away.
She needs some time to think.
When she walks into the foyer, she doesn't even look at Wong, just reaches out her hand to accept the consequences. Within seconds, a roll of duct tape appears above her head. She grabs it midair, holding back a chuckle:
Stop-sign red.
Fucking hilarious.
She knows Wong is laughing internally, probably thinks it's the funniest thing in the world, but she just shakes her head and sighs. Tossing it lightly in her hands, she floats to the ceiling to assess the damage. She figured she would have to replace the entire window; the entire story, even, but it's actually not that bad.
It's actually kind of manageable.
She tears a piece of tape with her mouth and then she sputters, bad aftertaste, before sticking it to the window frame. There are a couple of honks down below, a few kids on bicycles with stickers on their helmets and murmurs from indistinguishable conversations. They laugh, and she tears another strip.
Then another.
Then another.
She's got a horrible taste in her mouth, paired with a whole line of red rectangles in perfect formation, when a burst of wind passes by. It tangles a few together and she groans, "Stupid tape." She's about to unroll another piece when there's a slight tap of knuckle to glass. America's face appears from inside the window.
"He's a dick," she states plainly, and Carol somewhat startles.
"What?"
"Strange," she repeats, as if it's the world's most basic truth. She shimmies through the gaping hole and onto the roof, her feet crunching with every movement.
"He's a dick."
Carol is immediately suspicious. "Are you supposed to be talking to me?" she asks, scanning the Sanctum for Strange's glare. He's probably lurking in a corner somewhere. Watching.
Waiting.
But America shrugs, "He doesn't control what I do. His doppelganger tried to kill me, his life decisions aren't exactly the best, and he kinda sucks at judging character."
"I'm sorry, he tried to what now?"
"Eh…" America waves her hand. "It's complicated."
She's grabbing a chunk of tangled tape from the ledge, too quick for Carol to stop her. She tries to unwind it with her fingers, but it's too sticky, too tangled, and she nearly slashes her elbow against what's left of the window.
"America," Carol sighs. She gently pulls the tape away. "What are you doing?"
"Helping."
"Why?"
"I dunno. 'Cause I'm bored?" America says, leaning against the wall. Her brows are raised, voice refusing to take no for an answer, and though Carol wants to turn her away, wants to tell her this is something she needs to do on her own, she doesn't.
America is relentless...
It's kind of endearing. Just a little bit.
"Okay, fine," Carol says, handing her back the tape. "But be careful. No slicing off your fingers or head or anything."
America shoots her a salute. "Aye-aye Captain."
It takes about an hour, but when they finally tack the last piece, Carol's head is quiet, and the entire window is an array of reds and grays.
It's absolutely hideous.
Wong will be so pleased.
"Oh! And then he tried to tell me it was because I was too impatient," America is saying, arms waving in every direction. "He said I was like Strange; can you believe that?"
"You have way better hair."
"Thank you!" She leans her back against the wall and gestures to her head. "His hair is literally so dramatic. Just let it be hair, you know? You don't have to put so much gel in it all the time-" and Carol laughs, discarding the rest of the tape on the ledge.
The roof is practically sandpaper, her fingers scrape along the edges as she takes a seat on the shingles. She pats the roof and America joins her, closing her eyes as the conversation stills. The wind is picking up a little, wafting smells from across the street; butter, garlic, oil…
Carol takes a breath. "I'm sorry, about before," she finally says, but America doesn't open her eyes. "It's okay," she replies, fingers tapping on her knees.
"It's not. I let my anger take over. I was mad at myself, and I took it out on you, on both of you and I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have lost it like that. It was..." Carol bites her lip, guilt rising in her chest.
"It was unacceptable."
There's a pause, a small break in the conversation as America turns away. She's trembling. Is she crying? Did I make her cry? Oh my god I made her cry, but then Carol sees the smile... sees the teeth and the crinkles of America's eyes. She isn't crying, she's laughing; wrapping her arms around herself and giggling into the air.
Carol has no idea how to respond.
"You sounded just like him," America snorts. "The same damn words and everything."
"What?"
"I apologize for being angry," She buffs up her chest and deepens her voice. "It's my responsibility to always be strong. Showing emotions is weakness because people look up to me. Feelings? In this economy?"
Carol's face breaks into a smile. America raises her arms, still heaving. "I'm a superhero, and superheroes can't get mad. We bottle up our feelings instead because that's much healthier and definitely won't have any long-lasting consequences, because we're big, and brave, and stro-"
"Okay, okay," Carol elbows her in the shoulder. "I get it."
The laughing dies down, but Carol's still smiling. America raises an eye, her voice lightens, "You wanna know how this window got broken last time?"
"Sure."
She points to herself, "Me-"
"I was frustrated that I couldn't get a spell right. Wong tried to help me with it, but I got mad and basically exploded the window. Glass was everywhere, and I felt bad at first, but then he handed me the tape-"
She pauses, then looks at Carol with slight laugh, "- and I realized that it wasn't the end of the world. People just get mad sometimes, 'ya know? And it's a window. Sometimes windows just have to break."
"You sound like Wong."
"I jump universes for a living," America grins. "I can be self-aware when I wanna be."
She's leaning back on her elbows, tilting her head up to the sky. Her hair falls in waves over her shoulder, like Nat's used to do. With fingers that can't sit still. They continue to move, continue to tap against her leg in gentle patterns, as she turns back to Carol with a smile. Her face is so young; her cheeks are red, her lips are pink... she's practically bursting with color, but her eyes aren't as bright. There's a quiet heaviness there, one that children aren't supposed to have.
"What's it like?" Carol asks quietly. She focuses her eyes on the trees. "The other universes, are they like this one?" She doesn't know why she's asking. It won't make a difference either way, but America nods her head.
"Kind of. They're all a little different, but not in a bad way."
"And there's people there? It's not empty or anything? She won't-" Carol swallows. "She won't be alone?"
"She won't be alone."
"That's good," Carol tries to say, confidently, but it comes out as more of a whisper. Below the Sanctum, a few pigeons are fighting over cold french fries; there's a older man walking a dog... he makes faces into a passing stroller, sticking his tongue out laughing, and Carol's lip starts to quiver. The tears are welling in her eyes... the memories rising up, sadness leaking onto her cheeks.
"It's okay."
"No."
"It's okay, Aunt Carol."
Monica's eyes are heavy. Carol reaches out her fingers; pushes herself faster and faster. Please, Mon… please… but Monica is lifting her head to the sky. She's smiling. There's peace in her words. There's certainty.
"I always knew I would have to stay."
Carol's cheeks are cold. The tears are back, but it isn't as bad as before. The pain is still there, ebbing and flowing around her chest and making it a little harder to breathe, but it's getting easier.
It's getting calmer.
Something warm touches her shoulder, and she leans into it. America's smile is blurry. "If it makes you feel any better," she states with all seriousness. "The food is free in most of the other universes. It can be a little weird, though. I once ate something called a cold-dog... absolute zero out of ten experience, do not recommend."
Carol laughs, wiping her nose with her hand. "Why would you-"
"I was young, okay. We all make bad decisions when we're young."
You're still young, Carol wants to say, still a child, but she doesn't. America's face is bright. There's an old pain there. Carol can see the confusion and worry carefully tucked within her body, but still she smiles. Still, she laughs.
"You wanna hear about clothing trends?" America asks, wiggling her feet. "Cause jorts are still a thing in like half the universe, and even though I don't know what Monica's into, I already feel so bad for her."
Carol wipes her face and smiles. She pictures Monica eating a cold-dog, blatant disgust on her face. She's older now: older than Carol was back then, but her face is still the same. She still laughs with her eyes.
"Yeah," Carol says, leaning her head back against the roof. She sees America in her periphery, rubbing a stray piece of glass against the shingles, and cracks a smile.
"Yeah, I do."
She stays in New York until nightfall.
She doesn't mean to. Wasn't planning to, but America wanted to talk about Flerkens, and that was after a long-winded discussion about whether or not gum was considered food.
"You chew it… it has flavor… it has calories."
"Do you consider vitamins to be food?"
"I've never taken a single vitamin in my life."
After gazing at the stars (All two of them, because in the words of America Chavez, New York stargazing is "absolute shit"), they finally make their way back inside. Carol returns the tape to Wong, who promptly smiles, winks, and then fixes the window with a snap of his finger.
He's an asshole.
She wouldn't have it any other way.
"Come visit anytime," America says, giving her a fist bump from the doorway. "I split my time between here and Kamar- Taj."
Carol doubts Strange will ever let her near Kamar-Taj, but she agrees anyway, and waves as America portals out with a slight pop. She's turning to leave as well, when a hooded figure emerges in the corner of the room.
She knew he was lurking somewhere.
Strange has a crystal ball in his hands. He's heading towards the library, his cape swinging dramatically behind him, but his walk slows as he passes her. Their eyes lock. He's still distant, still has that glaze of superiority in his body, the aura of a man who thinks he owns the world, but his jaw isn't as tight. His eyes are a little softer. He doesn't say a word, and neither does she, but before he disappears out of sight, he nods.
She nods back.