warbird ✘ carol danvers

III. Wonderwall

One, two. One, two.

The rhythm of my fists hitting the punching bag is like a heartbeat. Steady. Constant. So unlike everything else in my life. With each impact, I imagine it's one of my problems I'm pummeling.

One, two. The blackouts. The nightmares.

One, two. The lost memories. The anger.

One, two. My therapist. Myself.

A strangled cry—half sob, half scream—escape my lips as I land a punch that shoots pain up my entire arm. I grab hold of the punching bag and press my sweaty forehead to the cool leather, my breaths coming in short puffs. My body is on fire again, only this time it's a fire I'm familiar with. My arms are burning, my heart is thundering, and my lungs are hurting—exactly the same sensation I felt a thousand times in training to be in the Air Force. I remember thinking I couldn't make it then, and I did. Maybe that means I can make it through this, too.

"Thought I might find you here."

The female voice echoing through the empty gym sends a jolt of adrenaline through me. I turn around to see the familiar face of my best friend as she walks toward me. "Maria," I say, a sensation like relief flooding my limbs. She extends her arms, and I meet her halfway with a tight embrace. "What are you doing here?" I ask at length. What I'm really asking is, why did she come all the way from Louisiana just to see me?

She gives me a squeeze before pulling away, but she keeps hold of my arms as her gaze scans my face. She's probably trying to gauge what kind of state I'm in. "I thought maybe you could use a friend," she says.

I swallow as I look into her warm brown eyes. I don't need to say it to her, but she's right. I do need a friend. All at once the loneliness rises up in my chest until it feels like I can't breath. I haven't spoken to anyone I could trust in so long, I've all but forgotten what it feels like.

Maria offers the slightest of nods, as if she knows what I'm thinking. It's been like that with us almost since the first day we met. We were in it together back then—two of the only women in a man's world. I guess in a way we still are.

"Come on," she says, breaking the silence. "Let's go get something to eat." Wrapping an arm around my shoulders, she walks me out of the gym to the taxi waiting on the street.

—

"I don't know, I just miss it. Being a pilot...as stupid and cheesy as this is going to sound...it was all I ever wanted." Sitting across a table from Maria and spilling my guts feels exactly like the old days, which in reality aren't really that old. A year ago, this was my life. This, and the Air Force. But it feels like a thousand years ago. Surely someone's whole life can't completely fall apart in less than six months.

"Carol...as cheesy as this is about to sound...the Air Force didn't make you who you are. The reason you wanted to be a part of the Air Force is because that's who you already were. Someone who doesn't quit. Someone who doesn't give up when things get tough." Probably sensing my inner wave of cynicism, Maria grabs hold of my hand and says, "Carol, look at me. I mean it. I don't know what's going on any more than you do. But I do know you. And I know you'll get through this. Okay?"

I stare at her, debating whether or not to listen to her. I want to listen. But I'm also terrified that she's wrong. I'm terrified that I'll never figure out what's wrong with me, never get better, never get my life back. I place my free hand over hers. "Thanks, Maria," I say. Whether I can bring myself to believe her or not, I'm still thankful. That she's here, that she's my best friend, that there's one person on this planet who I can still trust. "How's Monica?"

Maria smiles and takes a sip of her drink. "She misses you," she replies. "But she's doing good."

I find myself smiling at the thought of Monica calling me 'Auntie Carol' as she's so fond of doing. "I miss her too. It's been too long," I say. I've been meaning to fly out and visit them for the last few months, but I never did. I'm not sure why, except that maybe my newfound cowardice has kept me here.

"You do what you need to do, Carol. Don't feel like you have to come visit if you don't want to," Maria says, and I know she really means it.

"I think..." I take a deep breath and let it back out. "I need to be with my family." I finger the condensation on my glass, staring at the melting cubes floating in my iced tea instead of meeting Maria's gaze. "But I have to settle this first. I can't...move on...until I do." Those two little words I despise. 'Move on.' Who ever moves on from anything, really? No wound ever truly goes away. It's always there, even if it's only in our memories. Finally, I lift my eyes to Maria's.

"I get it," she says. I can see the emotions swimming in her dark brown irises and I know this isn't easy for her, either. I'm not the only one who's affected by my life getting turned upside down.

"Why don't you crash at my place tonight? It's kind of crappy but it's better than paying for a hotel," I say. "Unless my snoring will keep you awake, that is."

This draws a chuckle from her. "You said you didn't snore," she counters, raising an eyebrow. I recognize that eyebrow. That's the one she gives Monica when she suspects her daughter of hiding something or telling a fib.

I let out a tired laugh. "Let's just say I've grown up a bit since then. I know what my weaknesses are. My limits." Wow. That went downhill fast. I take a drink of tea before I can say anything else I shouldn't.

Her other eyebrow raises. "Now I'm really sure coming here was the right thing to do," she says.

I blink. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know your limits?" she repeats, as if she can't believe the words came out of my mouth. "The Carol Danvers I knew didn't know her limits if a list of them was stuck to her forehead."

I release a weary sigh. "Well, maybe I'm just not her anymore," I say quietly. I can feel Maria's eyes on me, but I don't lift my head.

"We'll see about that," she says.

By the time we're finished at the restaurant the sun is starting to set so we head to my apartment for the night. I haven't been able to afford anything fancy, but there isn't much crime in the neighborhood and the living area has a fold-out couch where Maria can sleep, so it's good enough for me.

Since she and I are both beat, we change into our pajamas as soon as we get to my place and crash in front of the television. We flip through the channels, we laugh and talk about the good times, and for a while, I'm happy. It's an altogether foreign feeling at this point in my life, and I do my best to cherish it for a few hours. Eventually Maria dozes off beside me on the sofa and I switch on the news because it's too quiet with her asleep.

The balding news anchor is saying something about a masked crime fighter stopping muggings and preventing robberies, and it all sounds so Batman in Gotham City that I'm about to turn the channel when I realize he's talking about New York. They play some fuzzy security footage showing someone beating up a couple of guys who were trying to rob a convenient store not too far from here. Really? New York City has its own vigilante now, huh? I roll my eyes and switch the TV back to sports. Drowsiness pulls at my eyelids, but I do my best to keep them open because if I go to sleep, then I'll have to wake up, and if I wake up I'll have to face my life again.

I'll have to deal with the fact that I walked out on my therapist and I don't plan on going back. I'll have to meet with Nick Fury again and be ready to hear whatever he may—or may not—have found out. And I'll need to convince Maria that I'll be all right without her when she goes back to Louisiana...even if I don't believe it myself.

Congratulations, Carol. You just took inventory of every single thing you don't want to think about.

And something tells me it won't get any easier come morning.