Thanos won.
The Avengers have lost.
Their defeat took everything from Andi Brave. . .or at least she thought it did.
Her purpose now is to fulfill a promise she made by trying to live on in the now decimated world that was created by the snap. But...
AN: The Last One I Made by Pim Stones is featured.
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After putting Helena down to bed, I tip-toe my way down the hall to the spare bedroom where the teenage version of her is sitting on the end of the neatly made bed which is prepared for her as it would be for any other guest in my home.
I knock twice on the door before letting myself in while throwing on a smile, pretending I'm used to all of this. And maybe then I'll feel like I didn't just open a door to the future. Like I didn't just travel myself through time. Like I don't feel agitated towards the thought of having two of the same daughter under the same roof.
I know it complicates things, though.
Helena whips her head at me when I step inside the room. She sits there a bit jolted, slamming Bruce's journal shut in her lap. It's the other hand I take notice of as I watch her crumple something sounding like paper. She then quickly removes her hand from my sight by stuffing whatever's her in hand and the journal in the same green satchel as before.
I wonder what else she's hiding in there.
Before I have the chance to ask her, she asks, "So is it all clear?" She nods her chin behind me, clutching the bag in her hands as though I'll try to take it and see what she had in her hand for myself. I only wish she knew she could trust me.
I close the door behind me and lean against the wall, nodding my head. "Hel—erm—you are asleep so we'll just have to sneak you out before she—um—you wake up so she—you don't see yourself."
I'm not sure even if I remind myself a hundred times that this teenager is my daughter, that she isn't some complete random stranger will help. But she basically is a stranger. I'm making it sound like I'm taking to one. Sure, I can feel the connection between us there, but I don't know her—who she is, what she likes, or how she thinks. I'm afraid that I'll continue what I'm doing and my pretend 'everything is okay' act is gonna show.
But my daughter chuckles as if I just told her a joke. Or as if she read my mind. Maybe she did. She hasn't exactly told me what her powers are.
"Yeah, we sure don't want the universe to implode in itself or a swirling black vortex to appear and wipe the world out of existence," she says, smiling an almost childlike smile at me. I take a second to figure out if she's being sarcastic or not.
This is new to me. She's new to me. And though we started off. . .a little intensely, I wanna get to know her. Knowing how she feels about this whole situation and myself—including some personal details of my past I wouldn't have liked to tell her—does make me figure I don't have much to be worried about.
"Has anyone told you how you have a wide imagination?" I wonder, easing myself under her gaze.
"Once or twice," she says, her smile now a smirk. I ask myself if maybe she's already forgotten about our last conversation. Or if she can look past it and she and I can just talk like this.
