#my apologies for my extended leave to recruit my health

[is-the-19thcentury-man-okay]

Hello, I'm looking into adopting my first 19th century man, and I found a shelter nearby with many options. What breed would you suggest to a first-time owner?

All 19th century men present different challenges, to be honest, and you need to carefully consider your lifestyle factors. I love to recommend Early Victorians, who are colourful and lively, but also very familiar with urban environments and wage labour. Your Early Victorian man is easily entertained by a trip to the zoo or the science museum, and he loves to show off his tie-pins and walking sticks and other accessories. It's fun to buy him clothes and gifts!

Illustrations by Archibald Henning for The Natural History of the Idler Upon Town.

Many people prefer the Regency era or Romantic man, but you're going to need a lot of heath and moors or perhaps an entire ocean for this type of man! Not everyone can have a Captain William Hoste.

Hoste was also consumptive—an ever-present danger when your man is overly Romantic or poetic, or is afflicted with a certain genius or sensitivity of nerves that exhausts his constitution.

No, a 19th century man is not always going to be consumptive if he has large and expressive eyes, or a clear and unblemished look to his skin with the blush of hectic fever, but this is a known health issue and you have to be vigilant.

[mrslittletall]

Title: Keeping it together (Chapter 22) Fandom: Dark Souls Characters: Dragon Slayer Ornstein,  Dark Sun Gwyndolin Word Count: 2.994 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16328084/chapters/43896598 Previous chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/183845260959/title-keeping-it-together-chapter-21

Summary: Gwyndolin confronts Ornstein about his poor health.

(Author's note: Oh dear, I have to apologize. I had the greatest struggle continuing to writing this story, I felt like I had lost the touch with it and started to hate my own story, almost wishing that it never existed. I was extremely insecure about my writing and it didn't help that any other fanfiction I was reading felt so much better written and thought out and I was just frustrated and wanted to half ass finish it.

But then some dear friends I knew from tumblr or twitter helped me go over my insecurities and brought back my motivation. And so I managed to write the end to this story. It is cut in two chapters, or it would have been too long, but you can expect the last chapter soon, probably in two or three days and until then you can enjoy the penultimate chapter. I am thanking everyone who read this story and left likes, favourites or comments.)

Slowly Ornstein opened his eyes, blinking a few times until they had adjusted to the far too bright light for his taste. He stared at the unfamiliar ceiling, that wasn't his bedroom or the infirmary. He felt weak and exhausted and in pain, especially the right leg. The last thing he remembered was talking to his silver knights and what had happened then?

He carefully tried to lift his upper body up, surprised by a sting in his fingers when he used his left hand for support. He looked at it and saw that his pinkie finger and his ring finger seemed to be splinted and bandaged.

“Ornstein, are you awake? Would you please not to move around so much, I still need to treat your leg.” That was the voice of Gwyndolin. Ornstein stopped staring at his fingers and moved his gaze over to them, they were in the process of treating his bruised leg.

“Sorry.”, Ornstein said and laid back down, waiting for Gwyndolin to finish. His thoughts already had bone back to his duties. Once Gwyndolin would have finished patching him up, he would stand up and leave right away. Until then...

“What happened?”, Ornstein wanted to know.

“You collapsed. The silver knights brought you here.”, Gwyndolin answered, putting a gentle pressure on his leg, making Ornstein wince. “Good, this leg isn't broken, but it is heavily bruised. You will limp for a while.” They got an ointment and applied it to Ornstein's leg who winced again at the pain, but endured it. He was a knight after all. He was used to keep it together while getting injuries treated.

“Take it easy with this leg until it fully healed. You better not go hunting demons or any other foe in this size for a while.”, Gwyndolin said while they wrapped a bandage around it.

“Got it.”, Ornstein said. “What happened to my fingers? Last time I checked they weren't hurt.”

“You must have broken them when you fell down. You are quite tall and wear several pounds of armour.”, Gwyndolin answered. They slithered a meter away from the bed, collecting their medicinal supplies.

Ornstein lifted himself up again, this time using his right hand for support. A sudden wave of nausea washed over him and he laid back down, waited a few minutes until it was over and lifted himself up again, taking a look around in the Dark Moon Tomb.

“Where is my armour?”, he asked. He wanted to get back to his duties as quickly as possible and it wasn't possible without his armour.

“The silver knights who brought you here made sure to remove it first, which was a clever move or do you expect them to carry you here with several pounds of plate armour on top of your normal weight?”

“True.”, Ornstein got up from the bed, winced when the bruised leg hit the ground and had to fight another wave of nausea. He managed to get it away with a few deep breathes.

“Thanks for treating my wounds, Gwyndolin, but now I need to get back to my duties.”

Ornstein limped over to the exit of the tomb. He hoped the silver knights had brought his armour (and his spear which was also missing) back into his room or he needed to search for it first. And he still had so much stuff to do. Writing the report about fighting this demon, going on his patrol, training the silver knights, especially the new recruits, escort the Undead from the Archives to the Undead Asylum... Ornstein didn't even notice that Gwyndolin observed him silently with a blank look.

Just when Ornstein had reached the door of the Dark Moon Tomb, he ran into a thick, white fog. “What the hell?”, he wondered himself and then turned around to see that it had been Gwyndolin who raised the fog gate.

“I don't think this is very funny, Gwyndolin.”, Ornstein growled. “Let me out.”

“No.”, Gwyndolin said. “I want you to go back into this bed.”

“I need to go back to my duties, just let me out.”, Ornstein demanded.

“No, just go back into bed.”, Gwyndolin said. “You are not only hurt, but also sick. In this state you are more a danger than a help to your knights.”

Ornstein froze at the tone of their voice. They didn't pleaded for him to go into bed, they were ordering him. If he wouldn't obey, he was sure Gwyndolin would force him. Of course Ornstein was physically far stronger than them, but with their knowledge of moonlight magic and illusionary magic, they wouldn't had any trouble to force him right where they wanted him to have. And even though Ornstein had denied it for weeks now, he was in a weakened state. He reluctantly left the door and limped back to the bed.

“Why don't you let me leave?”, he asked after he had laid down back on it. “It is true I got injured, but it isn't very bad. And I don't even have a fever, how can you think I am sick?”

“Do you know how worried the silver knights were who brought you here? Why do you think they brought you to the tomb instead of the infirmary after you collapsed?”, Gwyndolin snapped.

Ornstein opened his mouth to say something but closed it again. He had noticed that he wasn't in the infirmary, but he hadn't even thought about why.

“They told me ever since you have come back from Oolacile that you hadn't felt like yourself. That you pushed yourself far too hard. And that you have gotten sick from it.”

Ornstein wanted to curse, but his nausea came back full force as everything flooded back into him. How Amira and Terrick had called him out on his poor health. That he didn't need to shoulder alone and that it was alright for him to take a rest. And just as he had assured him that the was fine, he had collapsed. Ornstein clasped a hand over his mouth but it felt too late. Luckily, Gwyndolin handed him a bucket before he could soil himself and the bed.

“Sorry for this...”, Ornstein murmured once he was sure that his stomach calmed down and let himself fall back in the pillows. Gwyndolin handed him a blanket which he took to cover himself, suddenly he felt cold and shivered.

Gwyndolin sat down on the edge of the bed. “Ornstein, be honest with me. Have you griefed properly for Artorias?”

“I, um...”, Ornstein started but his voice trailed off and got lost. Since he had gotten the message about his death, he did had have several breakdowns, but that could hardly be described as proper grieving. His time in Oolacile was spent with attending to Artorias burial ceremony and killing time until it was ready. He didn't had grieved but tried to occupy his mind with other stuff, still hardly believing that Artorias was dead. And the moment he had returned to Anor Londo, he practictally had thrown himself into his duties, just wanting to not think about it anymore and every time it happened, he told himself to keep it together. A part of him probably still was hoping that Artorias and Ciaran would come back through the large gate of the cathedral anytime, even though he knew how impossible it was.

“No.”, he finally answered.

“And you thought that was healthy?” Ornstein could hear the anger in Gwyndolin's voice. “Your knights told me that you needed to vomit and said that it was just a little stress. They also told me that you overslept quite a bit. And they had the feeling that you tried very hard to keep it together, as if you long had reached a breaking point and could barely contain it anymore.”

They stood up and extended an arm, pointing at him.

“And then they bring me to you, injured and in this sorry state and the first thing you do is wanting to leave despite still being sick enough that you can't keep your food down!”, they finished their rant.

“It's...”, Ornstein started again but apparently was unable to finish any sentence. It's true. He wanted to say. I tried so hard to keep it together, I didn't want anyone to see me like this, like this mess that I have become. Instead, he just started to sob. Gwyndolin's words felt like the dam had finally broken, the dam he had worked so hard on to keep it together.

Gwyndolin set down on the edge of the bed again. “I know it is hard, but you need to take your time to let all your sorrow out.”

“That's not it.”, Ornstein sobbed. “It was my fault. I should have known! Known that Artorias would get corrupted! I should have never send him down there!” He felt terrible only thinking about it. He was reminded of his first night in Oolacile when he had thought about all this, when he had another breakdown, when he had needed to vomit again, the night he practically hadn't found any sleep anymore.

“You are blaming yourself.” It wasn't a question but a statement. “It is the same with you every time... You know that Artorias would have gone onto this mission even if you wouldn't have send him.”

“I still should have done something, anything!”, Ornstein brought out between sobs, now covering his face in his hands.

“I would like to talk further about this, but first, you need to take some time until you calm down.”, Gwyndolin observed. They stayed with Ornstein sitting on the edge of the bed the whole time until Ornstein had calmed down, which took him a good while. All the tears he had suppressed were flowing out at once. He was mourning the loss of his friend, mourning the loss of Ciaran as a knight, had to face how lonely he felt now. After his sobs had died down to occasional sniffing, Gwyndolin handed him a handkerchief.

“I'll get you some tea.”, they said. While they were gone, Ornstein had enough time to wipe his tears and blow his nose, hands still were shaking. He flopped down in the pillows, waiting until Gwyndolin returned with a cup of steaming hot tea. He took it in his uninjured hand, but didn't drink it right away this time. He had learned. Gwyndolin conjured up a chair with their catalyst and sat down.

“Do you want to talk about it?”, they asked.

“I don't know.”, Ornstein replied. “I don't really know how to put it in words.” He sighed and stared into the cup, expecting that Gwyndolin would force him to talk.

“Understood.”, they said and Ornstein turned his head in surprise. They got up and came back with a piece of paper and a pencil. “How about you draw or write about it instead?”

Ornstein didn't answer right away, his gaze locked at the cup of tea again. He took a tiny sip from it until he felt it had cooled down and put it on the night stand, extending his hands to show Gwyndolin that he wanted to give it a try.

Gwyndolin handed the items to Ornstein and raised their catalyst to conjure a wooden board, that Ornstein could use as writing pad.

Ornstein had decided that he wanted to draw out his feeling. It wasn't as easy to hold the writing pad with two broken fingers, but nobody expected a master piece of him. Granted, even Ornstein's scribbles looked a lot better than the drawings of most average artists, he did had time to practice for hundreds of years now. So Ornstein started to scribble around on the paper.

He drew Artorias and Sif how they walked into the chasm.

He drew how Artorias left the chasm injured and dripping with black goo.

He drew himself fighting against Artorias.

He drew himself again collapsed over Artorias corpse, with his spear stuck into his chest.

He drew himself corrupted by the abyss, dark lightning coming from his spear.

He drew Artorias and himself, both of them corrupted and on a rampage.

And the last picture he drew was himself again, alone, broken down on the floor while Artorias, Ciaran and Gough were walking away.

After he had finished the drawings, he put them down, laid himself down into the pillows and closed his eyes. He suddenly had become so very tired. He just wanted to sleep and so he didn't notice that Gwyndolin picked up his drawings while he drifted off to sleep.

After Ornstein awoke, Gwyndolin was awaiting him, with the drawings he had made.

“How are you feeling?”, they asked.

Ornstein hesitated before answering. They didn't want to know how his physical state was, he was sure of it. After what had felt like an eternity, he opened his mouth to speak. “Guilty.”, he admitted. “Lonely.”

“Judging from your drawings you thought about different scenarios.”, Gwyndolin said, looking at the picture. “And what I see here are outcomes even worse than what actually happened.”

“I know...”, Ornstein murmured. “I was thinking about all the things I could have done different and every outcome was worse than the other. But...”, he pulled the blanket over his head and continued in a muffled voice, “It also could have turned out alright, but now I will never know. I lost the only chance I had. Artorias won't ever come back. Ciaran will never leave his grave. In the end, I failed both of them.”

“I want to tell you to stop blaming yourself, it isn't healthy, but I have felt the same far too often.”, Gwyndolin said. “I have asked myself so often if it had been my fault that my brother turned traitor. If it was my fault that my sister left us. If I should have tried and held back my father from leaving.”

Ornstein reappeared from the blankets, staring at Gwyndolin.

“You have never said anything.”, he said in a reproachful tone.

“Have you?”, Gwyndolin countered and Ornstein felt like hiding beneath the blankets again.

“It isn't healthy feeling like this. It is eating at yourself. You will get sucked down in a vortex of guilt and what ifs. I am sure you have gotten sick because of it. Are you still feeling nauseous by the way?”, Gwyndolin continued their remarks.

Ornstein carefully thought about it. Most of the time, when he had vomited, he felt awful, like it could have start right again away, like having food poisoning. But since he had cried out all his tears, his head had hurt and his throat had felt dry, but he hadn't felt nauseous once. He shook his head.

“That is a start.”, Gwyndolin smiled at him. “But I need you to stay here until you are fully recovered. It won't do anyone any good when you have a relapse, especially not yourself.”

“But what about my duties?”, Ornstein asked, staring at the ceiling.

“You can trust your silver knights a little bit more, can't you?”

Gwyndolin kept Ornstein a few days longer into the dark moon tomb, making sure that nothing that could stress him came his way and gave him a scolding whenever he wanted to talk about his duties and more tried to get him to open up about what had happened to him since he had gotten the message of Artorias death. And with their help, Ornstein finally was able to face and work through Artorias death and he told them almost the full story, only leaving out the mental breakdowns he had. Having to tell about his nightmares and how often he had needed to vomit felt worse enough.

“I just miss them.”, Ornstein said the day Gwyndolin confronted him about that last doodle on the paper. “All of them.”

“I can relate.”, Gwyndolin said. “You know that pretty much my whole family left me alone. Sometimes there are just days where I miss them so much that it hurts.”

“What are you doing when this happens?”, Ornstein wanted to know.

“When I have a day like this, I...”, Gwyndolin trailed off, seeming to stare into nothingness. “It probably is stupid, but...”

“I won't laugh.”, Ornstein promised, noticing their struggle.

Gwyndolin took a few deep breathes and continued their story. “I conjure up illusions of them. Of my brother, my sister, my father. We spend the whole day together and have fun and laugh and it is like they have never left.”

“Does it help?”

“A bit. I perfectly know it isn't real, but by pretending that they are still with me, I don't feel as lonely anymore.”, Gwyndolin stared at the ceiling of the tomb before focusing their gaze on Ornstein. “I could do it for you too.”

That was... a gracious offer. Ornstein thought about it. Would it make him feel better to interact with his fellow knights and friends again, even if they were just illusions? Wouldn't it make him feel even more lonely once the spell was broken? Also, it didn't feel right to ask Gwyndolin to use their magic for such a mundane thing. And would Gwyndolin even be able to capture their personality? They knew their family, about that Ornstein was sure, but...

“I am thankful for your offer, Gwyndolin, but I think I'll pass.”, Ornstein said.

“It is your choice and you can always ask if you change your mind.”, Gwyndolin said.

“I will let you know should this be the case.”, Ornstein said and smiled at them. And it felt like the first genuine smile he had given in a while.

Next chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/184342427134/title-keeping-it-together-chapter-23

[sweetness47]

Ghosts of Memories

 Pairing Clint Barton x reader

A/N: this is for #MAMTWritingchallenge hosted by @marvelatmytrash (I haven’t decided whether or not to make it a series yet. I will see where this one goes.) feedback is always welcome, as is reblogging.

“You have no idea who I am do you?” paired with calming someone down after a nightmare.

Warnings: Fluff, maybe, language, violence, memory loss, lost love, nightmares, trauma…basically if you’re under 18, don’t read this!

Summary: You are a SHIELD agent, one of the top elite. Not only do you kick ass with weapons and without, you can also control elements ie. Earth, fire, wind, water, electrical current and light. You can’t remember anything past 6 years ago, due to a terrible accident, or so you’ve been told. Doctors say your memories may never come back. So what happens when they do start to return?

Six years ago:

“I’m just going to the store to get eggs and milk, then pick up a deluxe pizza on my way home.” Y/N shouted down the basement stairs to her hubby. Clint peeked around the corner and looked up at her with his best puppy dog eyes. She caved and sighed. “Alright, ham and pineapple, and a 6-pack of Bud Light, but only because I love you and because it’s your birthday.”

Clint ran up the stairs and wrapped Y/N in his arms, and giving her a short, intimate kiss, promising some fun later. She threw her arms around his neck, moaning into his kiss. “Thanks honey. You are really the best, you know that? You kick ass, save the world, and you’re mine.” he whispered in her ear.

She smiled, “Of course I know Clint, and I’m lucky to have you too.” She said, winking at him and kissing him on the nose. “Who else could I get to fix the toilet, help me save the world, and kill all the spiders for me. You’re indispensable.” Y/N giggled as Clint reached for her sides, especially that ticklish spot by her ribcage. She squealed and tried to tickle him back, but he backed her against the wall. “Ok, ok. I give.” He was laughing as hard as she was as they kissed then, both breathless and both exceedingly happy.

As she got in the car, she remembered his reaction that morning as she presented his birthday present, neatly wrapped with an iridescent bow and matching ribbon. As he opened it, and realization set in, a huge grin appeared on his face, and in an instant he was swinging her around, showering her with hugs and kisses, the framed ultrasound picture still in his hand. She was about ten weeks according to the tests, and everything looked exactly the way it should, no abnormalities. It was too soon to know the gender, but she didn’t care. They were pregnant.

She listened to radio as she drove, weather reports and warnings were filling every station she tuned in to. Then she hit a winter onslaught. The sky darkened, and in the blink of an eye a torrential downpour of ice and snow suddenly clouded her vision. As she tried to use her power to lessen the storm’s intensity, another car lost traction on the icy street, and rammed into Y/N’s SUV. The force of the impact caused her car to break through the barrier of the bridge, and plummet head first into the frigid waters below. Blackness and water were everywhere, Y/N tried to move the water and get the car out, but there was too much ice. Instead of moving the car out, the ice pushed it down to the bottom. Her cracked windshield began leaking, the cold beginning to seep in, and without any access to wind, she couldn’t get out.

Desperate to free herself from her seemingly inescapable prison, she used light to melt what remained of the window, bracing herself for the onslaught of arctic liquid that would come at her. It wasn’t enough, the pressure slammed into her, knocking breath from her lungs, not letting her get air before enveloping her. Y/N tried to focus as she swam out the window toward the surface. Finding a small opening still in the layer of ice that covered the river, she came up for air, trying to grab the top of the ice. She could hear people yelling, but was too cold to say anything. Then before she could make the water warmer and get herself to shore, she was pulled under by the current, her head striking the jagged edge of the ice, and her world went black.

Present day:

Y/N stared at the transfer notice in her hand. Why on earth, especially since she really liked her current posting in Ireland, would she all of a sudden need to go to New York. Fuck this shit. Her head began to pound, and she absently grabbed a bottle from her pocket, popped two white T-3’s and went back to cleaning out her room. There was some small part of her that wishes she was normal, with a normal job, maybe a normal family. But noooo, she was a government assassin, and an inhuman, which made her a valuable commodity, and apparently needed in New York. She looked out her window, thinking how much she was going to miss all the lush green countryside and the peaceful walks amongst that greenery.

New York, where the aliens had attacked some time before, and the Avengers initiative was enacted. She knew who Nick Fury was, especially since he was the first person she had seen when she’d awoken from her coma. They had met on numerous occasions since, and each time he had attempted to recruit her to help with the Avengers. But she had declined each time, not wanting to leave Europe. She wasn’t European by birth, but she’d grown to love it here since being re-assigned after her accident, the one where she lost a lot of her life, her memories gone, locked away in the deep recesses of her mind. Doctors said the memories could come back at some point, or they may never return. What was worse, SHIELD files had been erased of her life before. It was almost as if they were hiding something from her, either for mental health reasons, or simply because they liked her better now. And no one ‘knew’ anything, or so they said, even Fury, stating that maybe she shouldn’t keep digging. She had tried social media, phone records, DMV records, anything, and they all came up blank. It was as if she’d never existed before, and it nagged at her conscience.

She was soon packed and on board the small plane that would take her across the ocean. Agent Phil Coulson met her at the airstrip when she landed, to escort her to their base. “Welcome here Y/N.” He extended his hand and she took it happily. Phil was something of a legend amongst the elite agents, having been the force behind putting together the A-team as she liked to call them. And truth be told, she was anxious to meet them, having been a fan for a while now. Natasha Romanova was kind of a role model, even though the age difference was only 2 years, she was everything Y/N aspired to be. There were times she imagined sparing with Widow, just to see who could best who first, though she suspected for as good as she was, Natasha was better, having trained from a young age.

When they finally arrived at the ‘secret’ base, she was shown to her quarters, where she set to work unpacking and changing out of her travel clothes. Making sure her identification was properly displayed, she took herself on a self-guided tour of the facility. It was actually pretty nice digs, and pretty big, much bigger than the Irish base. Not watching in front of her, because she was busy looking around, she walked into a brick wall, which actually wasn’t a wall at all. Thor had been walking back from the cafeteria with some java for the road, when Y/N bumped into him, causing hot liquid to erupt from the cup, and spill all over both parties.

Y/N immediately apologized. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Are you hurt? Let me help.” And bent down to retrieve pieces of broken pottery that was the cup.

Thor smiled warmly. “No harm done. There is always more coffee to be had. Are you new here?” he asked, seeing your name badge.

Her cheeks turned a deep shade of crimson. “That obvious huh. Yeah, just transferred in from Ireland. I’m Y/N. You must be Thor.” She stated casually, gesturing at his armor and cape, and of course that infamous hammer. Mjolnir was the most fascinating weapon she’d ever seen. Y/N pointed to the beautiful but deadly item in his hand. “I know I can’t pick it up, but can I…well…touch it? Sorry, that sounded weird. It’s just a really awesome hammer.” She blushed more, realizing how stupid that sounded.

Thor chuckled. “Not at all my lady. By all means, feel free to gaze upon the power of the mighty Mjolnir. However I must warn you, it does tend to shock those who touch it, except me of course.”

Y/N raised a brow, now completely thrilled. She reached out her hand and ran it across the Asgardian symbols and craftmanship, and did indeed get a shock. But rather than sting, it seemed to blend into her skin and ignite her own power. Soon her body and Mjolnir were sharing electrical current, the hammer increasing the strength of Y/N’s energy output. Thor watched the interaction, completely taken aback with what was transpiring in front of him. Never in his lifetime had anyone been able to create that kind of power with his hammer except for himself. Now his curiosity was peaked, and he offered Y/N the weapon to hold. Frowning but not unwilling to try, she accepted the gift, and both were genuinely shocked when the hammer allowed her to hold it.

Some of the nearby agents had stopped to witness this event, including Fury and Coulson, and a wide range of expressions filled their faces, from shock, to amazement, to genuine wow. Y/N handed the hammer back to Thor when she saw the attention she had attracted. Excusing herself, she made her way over to Nick Fury and extended her hand. “Sir, good to see you again.” You said with respect, and perhaps a touch of affection. Fury was like the older brother, always protecting her and covering her ass when she dug into files she shouldn’t.

Fury accepted the gesture and returned the handshake. “Y/N. Haven’t changed a bit I see. Still manage to find new and interesting ways to make yourself known.”

Y/N smiled. “Yes sir! Now, on with the tour!” She gave a mock salute, earning a smirk from Coulson and a glare from Fury. He didn’t scold her, but she did make herself scarce, as the tour wasn’t quite done yet anyways.

She had been briefed on the plane with regards to the nature of her re-assignment. Power, they needed whatever they could get, and Y/N’s power was amongst the best in the entire SHIELD world. Talks of aliens and impending doom were everywhere. But the agency seemed especially worried. Whatever. Steady paychecks helped with the negotiations, landing herself a nice raise and bonus incentive. She could only hope that her ‘headaches’ and ‘nightmares’ didn’t interfere with her work. It wasn’t bad now, not like it was when she’d first awaken, but it still happened on occasion. It was like a never-ending cycle of torment, flashes of near death, a storm, drowning. But she could never move past those images. She would wake in cold sweats, shaking, screaming, only to realize she was alone and in no present danger. Only once did the flashbacks happen during a mission, luckily it was Fury and Hill that accompanied her for it, and neither were hurt in the process.

Fury did advise her to see a counsellor after, and she did. But the talks, while they did help some, were only that, talk. Nothing could be done to bring back the rest of the memories. It was just plain annoying sometimes. And times like this, when she was this pissed, were the times where she found exercise to be a good stress reliever. So she made her way around the base until she came across the training room, where she found Nat taking on Steve Rogers. Amused, she stood by the door and watched. Where Steve was fast and strong, Widow was small and agile, both were quick and equally deadly in their own right. Just as Y/N sat down, Steve caught movement out of the corner of his eye and Nat flipped him, taking him out for the count.

Steve got up as you walked over to apologize. “I’m sorry. I distracted you. Good match though.” You remarked.

Nat came over to join. “It wasn’t bad. Don’t apologize though. Distraction can’t be used as an excuse.” Then she looked over at Y/N. “Do you want to go a round?” she asked quizzically.

You raised a brow. “Sure. I’m Y/N. I just transferred in from Ireland.” You shook hands with Steve and with Nat.

“Nice to meet you Y/N.” Nat smiled. “Do you need to change?”

“Nope. I’m good.”

Nat motioned Y/N over to the mat. A few people stopped to watch, including Steve. Y/N put her hands up. “I won’t use my abilities. This will just be hand to hand.” She promised.

It was Nat’s turn to be surprised. “Abilities? You’re inhuman?” Y/N nodded. “That’s where I heard your name from.” She shrugged. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Nat took her fight stance, as did Y/N. For what seemed like an eternity neither moved, studying the other, watching like a lion stalking prey. Then Nat lunged, her body diving to sweep Y/N’s feet from under her. But she dodged, anticipating Widow’s tactics, and made a beeline for her arm to disable her. She countered, throwing a kick at Y/N’s arm, which was deflected, and coming around with a backhand to attack. Ducking, Y/N landed a small punch in her midsection. Nat quickly brought her knee up, catching Y/N’s chin, causing her to bite her lip. Y/N recovered quick, bringing her leg sweeping low in a circle, and connected with Nat’s ankle. She fell back, but was back on her feet quickly.

Back and forth they went, minutes ticking by, people beginning to cheer and wager on who would actually win. Without using her power, she was pretty evenly matched with her idol. For a while it seemed as though no one would ever win. Then someone else stopped to watch the fight. Someone who went white upon seeing who his friend was fighting. He pushed through the crowds to get a front row seat, unable to believe what he was seeing. “Y/N?” he whispered.

Y/N looked up at the mention of her name, and Nat got the upper hand, setting Y/N up and taking her down with that head-scissor lock flip. Gasping for air, Y/N looked for the owner of the voice that had cost her the match. Then leaning over her, offering a hand up, was a handsome, blue-eyed man that looked like he’d seen a ghost. Only he was staring at her, not a ghost. He kept her hand in his, almost afraid to let go.

Y/N tried to remove her hand, but he held firm, as if she would disappear if he let go. “Y/N. What the hell? I…it’s been 6 years. Where have you been? Why didn’t you come back if you weren’t dead? I don’t understand…” his voice trailed off as he studied Y/N’s confused look. Realization dawned on him then, and he let her hand go. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

Y/N bit her lip, taking a step back as she shook her head. “No, sorry. Ummm…” Her head began jackhammering in her skull, and she ran, needing to get away from him, from everyone, just needing to be alone.

It was Nick who came knocking on her door. She let him in, only because she knew he wouldn’t go away. He motioned to sit, and Y/N nodded. The flashbacks began adding images, of a man with light brown hair, blue eyes. Holding her, making love to her, kissing her. Not even the T3’s were helping now. With tears streaming down her face, she looked into the eyes of the man she had learned to trust, the man who she was pretty sure had been partially lying to her all these years.

“I want the truth Nick, and I want it now.” Y/N wiped away a tear and glared at the man in front of her. “Who in the hell is that man and why did he act like he knew me?”

Nick sighed. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a USB and threw it on the bed beside her. She looked at it, then back at Nick. Anger slowly seeped through her usually calm façade, and he held his hands up as a peace offering. “These are the files you’ve been searching for all these years. Your life before the accident, your original posting, and everything else you tried to find. That man in the gym, Agent Barton, was your husband of 5 years, and your childhood friend, your high school sweetheart, and your first love. The day of your accident, it was his birthday. Your gift to him was an ultrasound picture of the 10-week-old fetus you carried. A violent storm swept into the area when you were driving to the store, your car was run off the road and into the icy river. You nearly drown. You went into a hyperthermia-induced coma. Your abilities are quite powerful, but ice doesn’t like you. You couldn’t save yourself fast enough. You lost the baby. The memory loss was from a concussion suffered when your head found the edge of a sharp jagged ice chunk. You know the rest of this past 6 years. Everything else is on there.” He gestured to the piece of tech, and got up to leave.

Y/N just stared at the wall, barely acknowledging Nick’s exit. For two hours she just sat there, trying to process everything she’d just heard. Her skull felt like a basketball pounding on pavement. She couldn’t keep her eyes open as the world started spinning. Her body hit the mattress, feeling like lead. Her mind flashed images, dark water, sleet, ice, cold water rushing at her, the current pulling her under the ice, her chest hurting from lack of oxygen, panic. She tried to scream but the water muffled the sound. She flailed, clawing at the ice, needing the air, needing to live. Suddenly arms were holding her, shaking her, a warm male voice was calling her name.

Clint had been walking slowly toward her room, trying to figure out how to talk to her. Then her screams broke through his thoughts and he tore down the hallway, opening her door in less than 3 seconds. She was choking, her breath ragged, like she couldn’t get any air. She was panicking. She was having a nightmare. He sat on the bed and gathered her into his arms, and held her, stroking her hair, whispering soothing words.

She opened her eyes to the man who was a stranger to her, but not a stranger. She nestled into his embrace and cried.

@legion1993 @marvelatmytrash