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"Well," Walker says cheerily, "could have been worse."
"Shut up, Walker," Yelena says, voicing Ava's thoughts exactly.
Walker makes a face, and does not shut up. "I'm just saying. That power surge could have fried both your brains." He shrugs. "Altogether, this is a result."
As much as Ava hates to admit it, he's got a point. The machine she and Yelena had been in the process of dismantling could very much have killed them both. Would have, maybe, if not for Bucky and Alexei grabbing each of them and pulling them out of here before it could finish blowing up.
But that doesn't make this situation good.
One of the dozen of scientists flitting nervously around them re-attaches a falling electrode to Ava's temple, and Ava does her best not to flinch. She's on edge — always is, in that godforsaken lab, with its white walls and metal work benches — and the situation isn't helping.
"You alright?" Bob asks quietly. He's sitting on a stool next to hers, watching the debates and the tests. He's clearly concerned, and Ava shifts, uncomfortable in the face of his perspicaciousness, nodding brusquely.
"Fine," she mutters, and focuses on keeping an impassive expression. It's not easy, but she's got practice.
The truth is, she's exhausted. Situation aside, she'd had to use her powers to their limit on the job earlier, before it'd all gone to shit. Even the containment suit she's still wearing is struggling to help her, pain itching in every cell she has, the strain of keeping herself corporeal taking its toll. She'll need to use the quantum chamber soon.
But right now, that's not an option.
"Ahem," one of the scientists says — he's the one in charge, Ava can tell. He glances between her and Yelena and says, "Could we try again? We'd like to take a few readings."
Yelena sighs, but stands. Ava follows suit. She can feel everyone's scrutiny on them and hates it, but she can't exactly blame them. Doing her best to ignore them, she turns to Yelena and nods. "Ready when you are."
Yelena nods back, and takes a step back. Ava matches her, one step back. A vague ache starts blooming behind her eyes.
Another step, together this time. The headache grows, lances of pain echoing around her skull, down into her teeth.
Another step. Her eyes water, and she clenches her jaw, blinks against the blurriness in her vision. Opposite her, Yelena winces, one hand coming to her temple.
One more step. An ice pick of agony shoves itself through Ava's temple, and she gasps, grasping the nearest lab bench for support.
"Maybe that's enough," Bucky says, leaning against the wall, watching them intently.
Ava shakes her head, and takes another step back. This time, the pain is blinding; she squeezes her eyes shut and clenches her fists, resisting the urge to drop to one knee. Distantly, under the blood rushing in her ears, she hears Yelena's grunt of pain.
"Okay, definitely enough," Bucky says, and the next moment, Bob's supporting Ava, taking her arm, walking her back to where she started. Alexei does the same to Yelena, and a moment later, they're back in their original stools, barely two feet between them.
The pain clears up like it never existed.
Ava blinks a few times, wipes away a tear, and looks up at Yelena. She's breathing hard, her cheeks flushed, but meets Ava's gaze. Her mouth twists grimly. "Not fixed, then," she mutters, and Ava closes her eyes.
The scientists start chattering amongst themselves; Ava does her best to tune them out, but she can't shake the uncomfortable feeling of being talked about rather than to. An object of study, rather than a person. It's a familiar unease.
A painful aftershock ricochets through her skull, but she can't know if it's from what just happened, or just the usual pain of overextending herself on a job. She blows out a long breath, waiting for it to pass. When she looks up, Bucky's watching her intently — she looks away.
It's another few minutes of silence, the others uncharacteristically quiet. At least Valentina isn't here: she's too busy cawing to the press about the rogue facility her new Avengers took down to worry about the potential consequences. It's a good thing — Ava's had enough of Valentina trying to fix her in any way for a lifetime, and then some.
Eventually, the head scientist clears his throat and addresses them. "Alright," he says, and he looks nervous, wringing his hands, his gaze flicking between the two of them. "We think this is an effect of Miss Starr's powers."
Powers; that's one way to call it. No one ever says condition or disorder — even though that's what it is.
"We think," he continues, "that the surge in power in that machine created a... quantum effect of some kind. Possibly a form of entanglement. Between the two of you. Which is why you can't separate."
"How do we fix it?" Yelena asks, carefully neutral.
"Well," he says, and wrings his hands a little more, "quantum phenomena are still, on the whole, very poorly understood. Quantum phenomena on the macro scale like this even more so — they're basically unheard of. We're working on it, but—"
"You have no idea," Ava translates, not in the mood for jargon. She's used to scientists using fancy words to distract from the point.
The man swallows, clearly uncomfortable. "We're not sure," he admits. "Evidence points at this being a self-regulating phenomenon."
"Meaning?" Yelena asks.
"Meaning that it will probably wear off on its own. Possibly over a few days."
"Possibly?" Bucky echoes.
"Most likely," the scientist says. "It's... It's very likely."
"And in the meantime?" Yelena says, one eyebrow up.
"Well." He looks down and seems to realize what he's doing; he shoves his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. "We'd recommend reducing the distance between the two of you as much as possible to avoid undesirable effects. Your... radius, as it were, should improve with time." There's a pause. "We'll keep working on it, of course. Do a few tests, see how things evolve. We've got our best people working on this data. We'll figure it out." He smiles encouragingly.
Ava looks away — it's not the first time she's heard those words, in that exact same tone.
With a few more words, the scientists file out, leaving them alone in the empty lab. For a moment, no one speaks.
"Okay," Walker says eventually. "So this is kind of bad."
Ava closes her eyes.
*
The water is warm, but Ava can barely feel it. Without her containment suit taking the brunt of the effort, the pain is difficult to take, coursing underneath her skin, lacing around her bones.
She sighs, and leans against the shower wall, letting the spray wash away the sweat and grime of the day's job.
Mercifully, her and Yelena's... radius, as the scientist had called it, is enough for her to be alone in the bathroom — so long as Yelena stays right on the other side of the door, and so long as they're both willing to deal with a lingering headache. Ava's grateful for that much at least; just a few minutes of isolation, where she doesn't have to work at keeping the pain and the exhaustion out of sight.
She closes her eyes. So. No using the quantum chamber for now. That's going to be... difficult.
Of course, she knows nothing is really stopping her. If she explained, Yelena could stand nearby while Ava used the chamber, and everything would be fine.
But...
Ava's not told any of her teammates — if that's what they are — about the chamber. About needing to use it as regularly as she does. As far as they're concerned, Ava's grip on her abilities is absolute, and without caveat. Ava's not keen on that changing, and, mercifully, Valentina's kept that secret for now.
As for using the chamber with someone else in the room... Ava swallows back against the dread taking residence in her throat. She's completely vulnerable when she uses the chamber, and for a while after. It tires her out — and while she's in it, she has no way of defending herself.
It's not that she thinks Yelena would take advantage or turn against her; but she knows it'll change the way she sees her. And that's not something she wants.
Once the water starts turning cold, once the skittering pain is starting to turn into a more permanent kind of ache, Ava shuts off the spray and steps out of the shower, wrapping herself in a towel. She reaches for her clothes—
Her hand passes through them.
She stops; inhales. Focuses. Tries again.
This time, she makes contact.
She lets out a long breath. A few days. Just a few days.
*
They flip a coin to decide whose room they'll stay in. With Ava's luck, she's not surprised when it's Yelena's room that takes the win.
Yelena's room is interesting; they've not lived here long, and Yelena hasn't put up anything personal, but it still feels... lived in, in a way Ava's room refuses to become. Something about the cushions Yelena's liberated from the living room, or the worn, soft-looking purple throw blanket laid out over the bed; Ava has no idea where that might have come from.
Yelena sits on the bed, her gaze on the view through the floor-to-ceiling windows — which, to be fair, is breathtaking, this far up. Ava grabs one of the pillows and drops it on the floor. "Alright," she says, and she can hear the exhaustion in her own voice. "Good night."
Yelena glances at her and does a double take. "What are you doing?"
Ava, who's just sat cross-legged on the floor, looks up at her. "Going to sleep?"
"Why are you on the floor?"
Ava blinks. "It's your bedroom. I'm not taking the bed."
Yelena stares at her. "You're not sleeping on the floor."
"It's fine—"
"Okay, let me rephrase that: you're not sleeping on the floor."
"That's not what rephrasing means."
Yelena ignores her, and shifts to the side of the bed. "We're sharing," she declares, in a tone that brooks no arguments. She shoots Ava a challenging look, like she's daring her to even try and protest.
But Ava is tired, and her head hurts, and her skin feels raw, and the floor is really not that comfortable anyway, and so, with a sigh, she stands, and sits on the bed instead. "You're sure—"
"I'm going to pretend like you're not asking me that," Yelena cuts in, and shakes her head. "Good night, Starr."
"Night, Belova," Ava says, and watches as Yelena shifts onto her side, her back to Ava, facing the windows. She doesn't press the button that will darken the glass, but Ava doesn't say anything. They all have their quirks; sleeping facing a spectacular view of Manhattan doesn't even rank.
Slowly, trying not to bother Yelena, Ava lies down, her gaze on the ceiling. She's not wearing her suit — the others know she doesn't usually sleep with it, and so wearing it now would have invited questions — and she can feel the painful flickering in her cells, on the edge of turning into proper phasing. That means she's not going to sleep much, probably, but that's fine. After all, it's not like she would have slept much anyway; not with someone that close by.
Rationally, she knows she can trust Yelena, at least to an extent. But reasoning and reality are two different things, and the fact is, Ava doesn't remember the last time she let someone other than Bill close by while she was asleep.
Yelena's breathing evens out, deepens. Ava's gaze stays on the ceiling. She finds herself wishing for her suit after all, but not just for its containment — it creates a layer, a barrier that makes her feel safer. Less open to attack.
She swallows, and forces her eyes closed. It's fine. She can take a few days; she can trust Yelena enough that this doesn't have to be an ordeal.
But despite that, it's a long, long time before she falls asleep.
*
"What's up with you?"
Ava takes a deep breath, bracing her hands against her knees. Her heart hammers in her chest, and there's a fog in her head, heavy and raw and painful. Her limbs are weighed down with exhaustion, and her skin courses with staticky energy, painful shocks skittering all over her.
She doesn't let any of it show; straightens up. "Again," she says.
Yelena gives her a dubious look from the other side of the sparring mat. The gym is deserted, the others gone to do whatever it is they do between jobs. Ava has no idea what Yelena normally does, but she'd jumped at the opportunity when Ava had suggested they spar for a few rounds.
Except that was without counting on the fact that Ava's drawn on all the energy reserves she had and then some. She's running on fumes, and it shows, especially when she's facing Yelena, who's the only one who's even vaguely started to be able to contend with Ava's abilities in a fight.
But that doesn't mean she's going to admit to it.
"Again," she says again, and rolls her shoulders against the ache in her upper back. It doesn't do much.
"Your funeral," Yelena mutters, but gets into stance.
Ava pounces first, trying for surprise. But Yelena's ready; she blocks and parries Ava's hits, steps out of the way of the ones with too much strength in them. She ducks and steps back and jumps, nearly elegant about it, and not for the first time, Ava wonders how young she was when she started training. There's an ease to her movements, a fluidity that suggests instinct rooted in years and years of precise, technical work.
But Ava's been training for a long time too; she lets up, and phases when Yelena retaliates, the kick passing through her harmlessly. She rematerializes just in time to catch Yelena's ankle and twists, sending her to the floor with an oof.
Except that Yelena might be down, but she isn't done. She swipes Ava's legs from under her before she can even think of phasing, and then she rolls, pinning Ava down by straddling her legs, grabbing her wrists.
Ava phases out and rolls away, stands and rematerializes to grab Yelena's wrist, pulls her arm back in a shoulder lock. "Call?" she says, out of breath, but flushed with adrenaline.
Yelena's answer comes in the form of a drop forward the forces Ava to let go of her arm if she doesn't want to dislocate Yelena's shoulder. She flips around, into a crouch, and stands, before charging again, with a quick series of punches aimed at Ava's face.
Ava, caught off-guard, steps back, blocks to the best of her ability — she tries to phase, but fucks up, and before she knows it, her arm is going out of phase instead of catching Yelena's punch and—
It connects.
Her head snaps back at the impact, pain exploding along her jaw, making her see stars. She blinks against the bright spots in her vision, trying to shake the feeling that the room is spinning around her.
"Shit," she hears, barely, over the rush in her ears. "Starr, you okay?"
Yelena's stepping closer, hands outstretched, like maybe she's going to reach for Ava; Ava stops her with a raised hand. "I'm fine," she says, and works her jaw this way and that. It hurts like a motherfucker, but it doesn't seem broken.
"Yeah, bullshit." Yelena crosses her arms. "You should have seen that coming a mile away. What's going on?"
Ava rubs the heel of her hand into her forehead, fighting off the lingering headache that's refused to leave her for over a day now. "Nothing," she mutters, and forces herself to look at Yelena. "Again?"
Yelena blinks. "Yeah, I'm thinking no, actually," she drawls. "Come on, Ava. You're distracted."
The truth is she's not so much distracted as in so much pain it's hard to breathe, but she's not about to make that little tidbit public. "I don't get distracted."
"Is it because of... this?" Yelena makes a vague gesture between the two of them, presumably encompassing their separation problem.
"Why would that be a problem?" Ava asks airily, keeping to neutral.
"I don't know." Yelena shrugs, smiles; a clear peace offering. "Could be worse, I'll tell you that. You could be stuck with Walker."
Ava makes a face reflexively and Yelena laughs.
"Exactly," she says, and knocks her elbow into Ava's arm. "So come on. What is it?"
But Ava doesn't say it; looks down at the floor, and says, "I told you. There's nothing."
Yelena sighs. "Whatever." Her gaze falls on Ava's jaw, and she winces. "You should probably ice that," she says, and reaches forward, this time definitely aiming to touch her.
Ava bats her hand away before she can think about it. "I said I'm fine," she snaps, too sharp, too curt.
Yelena raises her hand in a universal whoa there gesture. "O-kay," she says, dragging the word out. "I'm just saying—"
"I know what you're saying. It's just a bruise. It's fine."
Yelena's expression hardens, and she turns, heads away from the sparring mat. "Fine," she says, from over her shoulder. "Have it your way." She stops by their things, grabs a bottle of water.
Ava closes her eyes. More than anything, she wants to leave — wants to be alone.
But there's nowhere to go.
*
"So this whole thing is going great for you guys, I see."
"No one asked you, Walker," Yelena says, without looking up from her container of Chinese food — there's a place round the corner from the Tower that's quickly become their go-to when no one feels like cooking, which is pretty much always.
"I'm just saying," Walker continues, even though, really, no one asked him. "What did you do, break her goddamn jaw? Fucking hell, Belova."
Ava keeps her gaze on her food, feeling Walker and Bob's eyes on her — at least Bucky and Alexei aren't here to witness this. She maybe should have taken Yelena's suggestion of icing the injury — on top of the throbbing pain, the bruise has grown to encompass most of the right side of her jaw, turning her skin a deep, dark purpley gray.
"Drop it, Walker," Bob says from his seat next to Ava. She glances at him and he smiles at her — she looks down.
Walker sighs, like he's some kind of martyr, but at least he shuts up.
The rest of lunch is a silent affair, tense and awkward. Walker gets out with a muttered always fun to hang out with you guys, and even Bob leaves after a while — but not before a few insistent, unsubtle looks in Ava's direction, which she roundly ignores.
That leaves her and Yelena in the frankly cavernous kitchen, tossing away empty containers and putting leftovers in the fridge. Ava swallows; shuts the fridge, and says, "I'm sorry."
Silence. When she turns, Yelena's looking at her — but she's not saying anything.
The hard way it is, then. "I shouldn't have snapped at you," Ava says, resisting the urge to look away. "It wasn't fair."
Still, that thoughtful gaze. Like she can read Ava as easily as breathing. Ava hates it. "Thank you," she says, quiet. And then, "Look, Ava, if something is going on—"
"Nothing is going on."
Yelena gives her a look.
"I mean it," Ava says, and swallows hard. "I'm just... tired, that's all."
For a moment, she thinks Yelena's going to call her bluff. She waits, tense and braced for it.
Mercifully, she doesn't. "Okay," Yelena says, and turns away. "If you say so."
Ava follows her out of the room, and keeps her head down.
*
The next few days are... off.
She and Yelena don't speak much; not that neither Yelena nor Ava is much for small talk, but there's a tension in the air, unspoken things weighing down the atmosphere. They continue sleeping in Yelena's room, and Ava continues not getting much sleep at all. They don't spar again — Ava offers, but Yelena declines.
Most of their days are spent quietly reading, or training, or, like now, being prodded by Valentina's scientists, who are still trying and failing to figure this out.
One of them sneaks up on Ava from behind, attaching yet another electrode to the side of her head without warning, and she has to work not to flinch. She never enjoys being in this place, but with the last few days and her exhaustion, her nerves feel like a thinning rope, stretched to maximum. It won't take much to make them snap.
The scientists chat, comparing notes, occasionally glancing at them, or adjusting an electrode or a sensor. The machinery they're hooked up at beeps regularly, their screens and indicator lights incomprehensible.
Ava digs her nails into her palms, and forces a deep breath. Then another. And another.
It's fine. This is fine. They're trying to help.
Supposedly.
She squashes the thought — it's not like before, where SHIELD was always more interested in controlling her condition than in curing it. This isn't something to be taken advantage of; if anything, it's a liability, putting some of Valentina's top players relatively out of commission. They're trying to fix it. It's fine.
But then one of them pokes a needle into her arm without warning and she startles, so violently the scientist loses his grip on the syringe. It goes clattering against the floor, and Ava resists the urge to grab at her arm.
"Hey," Yelena snaps. "Maybe warn people before you stick them with needles."
To Ava's surprise, she finds Yelena glaring daggers at the scientist in question, who hunches over protectively and mutters an apology. He retrieves another needle, and takes a blood sample from Ava's arm — at least he's quick about it.
Ava looks away, and does her best not to fidget.
But minutes pass, and the pressure only grows. It's all so... familiar, is the thing. The noises: the whispers of lab coats, the beeps of machinery, the scratching of pencil on paper; the scents: antiseptic and metallic; the light: bright and blinding and white. It's all clean and white and impersonal, and her hands shake almost imperceptibly as she struggles not to phase, not to—
"Okay," Yelena says, startling her out of her focus. She stands and, without ceremony, rips the electrodes off her head, disentangles herself from the wires. "I think we're done for today."
"But—"
"Nope," she says cheerily, "done." She turns to Ava, holds out a hand. "Come on," she says. "Let's get out of here."
They should stay. If there's a way their situation can be fixed, these guys are probably their best shot.
Ava stands, pulls the electrodes off her skin, and takes Yelena's hand.
*
Yelena takes them to the roof.
Ava hadn't even known it was accessible, but Yelena walks with absolute confidence as she guides them up narrow staircases, up to a ladder, and up to a hatch. Ava follows, and emerges on a narrow, flat surface, surrounded with a low wall.
The view is breathtaking, but Yelena doesn't look at it. Instead, she throws her head back and stares at the sky — dull and gray, but virtually endless from up here. She takes a deep breath. "Well, that sucked," she says.
Ava tentatively takes a few steps on the roof. It's not that she's afraid of heights, but this is higher than she can ever remember being outside of a goddamn plane. She walks to the edge — takes in the spectacle. From here, they can see the whole of Manhattan, gleaming and swarming with people and cars. It's almost peaceful.
Yelena walks up to her. "You said you grew up in labs," she says quietly, her gaze mercifully not on Ava.
Ava's throat tightens. "Yeah," she manages.
"Did it suck?"
"Yeah." Her voice almost gives. She clears her throat. "What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Your childhood."
"Oh, sucked so bad." Yelena makes a vague hand gesture. "So, so bad."
Ava snorts, and then Yelena's laughing too. "That's the life of a child soldier, I guess," she mutters.
"Guess so." Yelena turns, sits on the low parapet. She gives Ava a curious look. "SHIELD did that to you?"
"Mhhm."
Her gaze grows a little unfocused, like she's lost in thought. "I thought SHIELD were the good guys," she says. "My— Someone I knew used to work with them. Defected to them, actually."
Ava shrugs; sits next to her; stares at her feet. "No such thing as good guys or bad guys, I guess," she says. "They all want to win. That's all."
Yelena hums, thoughtful. "Well," she says eventually, "I don't know how you did it. The labs, I mean." She makes a face. "An hour with these guys and I would have snapped."
Ava laughs, taken by surprise.
"I'm serious," Yelena says, but she's smiling. "One needle too many and I would have just... bitten someone, I think."
"I did think about it, back in the day," Ava concedes.
Yelena laughs. "You should have. Why didn't you?"
Ava looks down. "They said they could fix me," she whispers. "I guess I believed them."
It's a few seconds before she risks glancing at Yelena. Mercifully, there's no pity on her face; just quiet sympathy. "That fixing business," she says lightly, but with a thread of something serious underneath. "Never works out, in my experience."
Ava looks at her — wonders what the Red Room might have deemed worth fixing. Doesn't ask.
"These guys don't even know what they're doing," Yelena says after a moment, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the lab. "Plus, we don't need them. Our radius is already improving."
It's true — they're about at fifteen feet now, before the pain becomes unmanageable.
"I vote we don't go back there," Yelena declares. "Yes?"
And Ava knows — she knows it's for her benefit, that Yelena noticed how uncomfortable she was, and put two and two together. It should chafe; that kind of... concern. Ava doesn't need anyone's pity, nor does she need special treatment.
But it doesn't. It just feels... warm. That Yelena would see it; that she would care.
And so, Ava nods. "Agreed," she says, and that's that.
*
Ava snaps out of sleep like a gunshot.
Her heart hammers in her chest, her blood rushes in her ears, and it's like no oxygen is getting to her lungs, despite her ragged breaths. Disoriented, she sits up, legs tangled in something, her hair in her face. It's dark, and it's too hot, and she can't breathe—
"Ava!" A voice makes it through to her, accented and familiar, and just like that, context snaps back into place.
Yelena. This is Yelena's room — she's been sleeping here, because they can't separate. The thing keeping her legs trapped is a sheet; the darkness is just night. She's fine.
She's fine.
But her body isn't getting the memo, still trapped in whatever dream she'd been having — she can't remember it, remembers only the feeling of entrapment, of closing walls and ceiling, of being stuck.
Fuck. Fuck.
"Ava." Yelena, again. She's sitting next to Ava, her eyes wide and gleaming in the moonlight that filters through the window, her hands up in an appeasing gesture. She's probably the one who woke Ava up, Ava realizes. "You're okay," she says. "You're fine."
Ava nods, but her breathing refuses to steady, clipped, ragged breaths that tangle with each other, make it impossible to get herself under control.
Yelena reaches forward — tries to put her hand on Ava's arm. She slips through.
Fuck. Now she's phasing.
"Sorry," Ava gasps out, and pushes a hand against her temple, trying to get herself under control, damnit. "Sorry, I just— I just—"
But Yelena doesn't budge. Just looks at her. "You're fine," she says again, and reaches forward again, slower this time. "Ava, you're alright."
She's alright. She's fine. Her head hurts, her skin is raw, like it should be bleeding. She's fine.
She's fine.
She catches her breath; forces her heart rate down. When Yelena reaches for her again, this time, she connects. Her hand is warm and light on her arm; not holding her down, just grounding her. "You're okay," she says again, quiet, slow, steady.
Ava should feel embarrassed, probably — being caught having nightmares, like a kid. But she can't bring herself to feel it; the adrenaline's leaving her body, leaving her in more pain than she can remember experiencing in recent memory. Every one of her cells is on fire, unmaking and remaking itself over and over, and she can't, she just can't—
"Ava?" There's alarm in Yelena's voice, and she puts a hand over Ava's shoulder, trying to meet her gaze. "Ava, talk to me."
"It's—"
"Try to say it's fine. Just try it." The threat doesn't quite land; there's too much concern in Yelena's voice. "What's going on?"
Ava closes her eyes, tries to breathe through the pain. "Molecular disequilibrium," she says through gritted teeth. "It happens."
"That's your condition, right?" Yelena looks more and more worried. "You need to see a doctor."
Ava shakes her head.
"Oh yes." Yelena's already standing. "Just... stay here, I'm going to call someone."
"No," Ava manages, and looks up to find Yelena stopped by the bed, looking torn. "I don't need a doctor."
"You clearly need something—"
Oh, and what the hell.
Ava nods, and says, "I'll show you."
She stands — stumbles only a little, but rights herself before Yelena can catch her. Not bothering with shoes, she heads for the door, Yelena in tow.
It's a familiar path, down to the labs, even in the dark, quiet halls. Yelena doesn't comment when they pass the lab they'd escaped from just a few hours before. She doesn't comment when Ava leads them to the locked door. She doesn't comment when Ava puts her eye to the scanner and her thumb to the reader.
Only once they've made it to the room and the door has shut behind them, does she ask, "What is that?"
Ava walks up to the chamber, resting a hand on its glass casing. "It's called a quantum energy chamber," she says, and flips the lid open. She sits on the side, feeling the familiar coolness of the metal beneath her. "Bill — Doctor Foster, the man who raised me — built it for me. It... helps."
Yelena takes a slow step forward, then another. "With...?"
"Everything." Ava closes her eyes. "My abilities... They take a toll. I'm not supposed to phase in and out like this. It puts strain on my cells, which are already under a lot of it just from the disequilibrium. The chamber helps put things to rights. Stabilizes things. Makes some of the pain go away."
Yelena's gaze is sharp. "You haven't used it since we came back from that job."
Ava shrugs.
"That was days ago."
"I know," she says, quietly, looking down. "I didn't want—" she trails off. Regroups. Forces herself to look up and meet Yelena's gaze. "I didn't want you to know about it. Any of you."
She braces herself for the questions or the recriminations — why would she do that, and doesn't she trust them, and is she completely irresponsible?
Nothing comes. Instead, Yelena watches her, and a flash of understanding passes over her features. "Alright," she says, low and soft.
The relief Ava feels would probably take her out at the knees if she wasn't already sitting. "I need to use this," she says, trying to keep her voice steady. "It'll probably be a few hours. Can you—" she trails off, unsure what to even ask.
"I'll keep watch," Yelena says, like it's the most natural thing in the world. She sits on the floor, her back to the chamber, facing the door.
Ava stares, her heart in her throat.
Eventually, Yelena glances up at her. "Alright?" she asks, almost uncertain.
Ava nods, and gets into the chamber.
*
By the time she gets out, she feels more rested than she has in weeks. Some of it is the chamber at work, of course — knitting cells together, stabilizing molecules, keeping her whole.
But that's not all of it; usually, Ava's on guard, when she's using the chamber. It's silly, what with the locked door and reinforced steel walls, but she can't shake it. A lifetime's worth of habits make it difficult to accept vulnerability, and there's nothing more vulnerable than to lie in that glass chamber, utterly defenseless.
But not this time. Somehow, knowing Yelena is there... helps. It should be the opposite; should make it harder to breathe, should have her on her guard even more.
But it doesn't.
When she gets out, Yelena's there, standing by her, eyes wide. Ava stumbles — she's always a little weak right after a session — and Yelena catches her, one hand on her shoulder, the other on her arm. "Better?" she asks.
Ava looks at her. There's concern, lining her eyes, warm and genuine. Her gaze scans Ava, like she's looking for injuries, for a sign that something might be wrong.
Ava smiles. It's small; but it's genuine, and she can't do a thing about it. "Better," she says. She doesn't just mean the pain.
Yelena meets her gaze; smiles. "Good," she says, like she's heard everything Ava's not saying.
Ava finds she doesn't mind.