RESILIENCE. A permanence in her bones, ebbed into her viens and kept the widow alive when circumstances wished her demise. Emotional trauma & physical scars were no match for a venomous spider whos will to live was stronger than bone. Skins shed like a snake she is no longer the woman in love with him. No longer an avenger, no longer a spy. So many sheddings, it is no surprise that her bones show, that vultures wait to pick her to shreds. Death sits patiently at her feet.
ANGER & DESPISE run through her for days on end, physical attacks would wound less & eventually in the empty embrace of a safe house she collapses into her self, a star collapsing as emotions overflow. Anger to ANGUISH, turmoil heavy. it takes weeks for emotional stability, to recover. To call the widow cold or harsh was an insult at the least, warmth flowed through her viens and caused her heart to beat. SHE WAS ONLY HUMAN, and perhaps that was her curse.
SHE RISES like a PHOENIX, embodies another persona and works— gives her life over to SHIELD again, gives BLOOD, SWEAT & TEARS to save another, and does not stop for caution or wind. Physical injuries hold the whisper that she hasn’t recovered. To open to another, unfurl and reprimanded, ignored rings too true to past teachings. BITTER taste hangs in her mouth.
ATTENTION is commonly fierce, commanding aura follows her and her guard never slips. She KNOWS he’s there but knows the suspicion of slipping into another room, knows the CHILDISH behavior would not be fit for that of a SOLDIER.
ICHOR cascades through her viens, beating heart DROWNS surrounding vibrations as she stares, inclination of head leads to a familiar look of a lioness hunting it’s prey. Anger no longer provoked at his image, Wallowing easily pushed down in turn for INDIFFERENCE. The action will not get her what she wants ( how she dreams for, but will never admit the need of another )
“Evening”
Precise pronunciation accompanies cold posture, to let him in again would be a fatal mistake. One she would be all too willing to make. Shift of her gaze leads the widow to REGRET. Treatment unfair in the cause of their past, a shaky ending from a good friendship —this exasperation was for no gain.
“I think if they were really desperate —THEY’D CALL IN THE BIG GUNS. You’re not that high up”
REPRESSION. another maddening aspect of being bruce banner. to deprive himself is only the most basic of obligations that come with the name. fundamental and crucial, a core starting point. a necessity. never giving in. no leaving room for instinct. as instinct induces many things, the foremost being rage. a DESPICABLE rage, a painful rage. one that blinds. so no instinct. not one second spared on longing. the wanting… wasted.
and yet, it is primal. the incessant urge to be among company. to build a home. be understood. that SENTIMENT-- the one which he has been within earshot of on countless occasions– though, it does not come. it’s a wonder he didn’t throw in the towel sooner. clinging to the false possibility, the illusion that the insanity will end, bury itself long enough to latch onto a future.
it’s NOT intended for him. ( not much is. )
repression, hesitation– it cascades, falls from his breath in the form of a grievance. remorse bubbling up. reminders of what he cannot have. what he doesn’t deserve. what he did. people tend to see him as something enormous, a grandiose CREATURE. but it’s moments like the current one when his insignificance truly displays itself. a particle under a microscope. scrutinized. small and shamed. studied by the one person he never believed would FEEL the need to study him.
it’s pressing– the impending decision of what to say next. social predicaments have never come easily for bruce, and with such an abundance of tossed emotions, the anguish and the relief of the situation… well, it’s UNSPEAKABLE. literally.
oddly enough, the first thing that weighs on him is tony. maybe it’s the dry humor of her tone– something they both picked up on from stark over time. ( hard not to when every other word was a quip. ) each ounce of him tenses, residing on the PRECIPICE of doubt. the curiosity etches its way in, as per usual. but he cannot bring himself to ask about his former coworker. his confidant. cannot bare the burden of confessing his concern, of knowing where it all went AWRY. newspaper clippings had told him enough, right? not that he’d been keeping tabs…
REPRESS, REPRESS, REPRESS…
if he had been there, the turnout may have veered in a less aggressive direction. maybe he could have talked the futurist down. brought him to his senses. then again, it’s tony. CHANCES of bringing that man to his senses are slim to none.
a daunting feat, to comply. like machinery, equipment, he flips the switch. alters his brain chemistry back to her. and it’s no better. far worse, in fact. by a landslide.
he let her down most of all. make PLANS, bail. so typical of him, and so typical of her to be burned by someone. he was supposed to disrupt that pattern. natasha is not unkind, as the rest of the world is. digress. he would have screwed up somewhere along the way eventually, regardless. ELOPING wasn’t in the cards for him. not with someone at his side.
❝ i met someone named t'challa yesterday… he claimed you spoke highly of me. had to get my hearing checked after that. ❞
( it’s a roundabout way to apologize, but natasha knows him. she UNDERSTANDS. )
he mirrors her deadpanning, averting her eyes, one hand folded defensively, the other absentmindedly twisting away at his watch. for two people so uncomfortable, they seem to have stumbled into a familiar routine already, which ONLY makes matters more plaguing. they shouldn’t behave so cordially with one another. not with an oversized elephant lingering in the hall. and too much residue, evidence of what transpired between them… it jabs, tugs at his insides like FIRE.
❝ the other guy says hey. or he would, i presume. if he were here. ❞