Chapter Text
“Robots?” Kamala says, with a laugh quaking on the edge of the word. It’s just so unbelievably cliche. “They were robots?”
“Yeah. From what we can gather, the lead one had a pre-recorded message in its system. The van didn’t have any license plates or records in any dealerships,” Bucky says, looking way too tired for only one day. Then again, Kamala is sure she doesn’t look much better.
“So there aren’t any leads,” she says bitterly. “And those guys are still out there?”
“Yeah,” he nods, voice heavy with exhaustion.
“Shit,” Kamala says, not even bothering to feel bad about the swear. “No wonder it was so easy to get her. It was a distraction.”
“It’ll be okay,” Bucky assures her. “We got Ella back, and we’ve got eyes all over this city. They can’t escape forever. But you can’t beat yourself up,” Bucky says, in what she thinks is an attempt to be consoling. It’s kind of working. “Get some sleep.”
With a start, Kamala looks out the window at the darkening sky. She and Bucky have been conversing in low tones for hours, and she hasn’t realized how late it is. Or how her stomach is growling insistently, clawing at her ribs in desperation.
“Go,” he insists, and Kamala reluctantly gets to her feet.
“You should sleep too, you know,” she calls as she wearily tugs the door open.
“That’s funny,” he replies, with no humor in his voice, right before the door slams shut behind her.
***
When Kamala walks into the living room in search of something to eat, she’s greeted by the smell of Chinese food and stops.
Her team is on the couch and around the floor, playing a movie on the TV, looking just as weary as she feels.
“Is this from that place on the corner?” Kamala asks curiously, picking up the bag. “Thought you guys hated that place.”
“We do. So it’s just for you,” Cassie nods. “We got pizza.”
Kamala forces back the happy tears and sits down on the floor, leaning against the couch and shoveling noodles into her mouth with manners that would make her mother have a fit. It takes her a minute to realize everyone’s staring at her.
“What?” She asks, swallowing a mouthful.
“How are you feeling?” Eddie asks cautiously, muting the TV.
“Me? I’m fine,” she says slowly, turning to face everyone. “Why?”
“Because… we just went through some really heavy shit?” Tommy asks, as though it’s obvious.
“What? I’m fine,” she scoffs, trying to smile and utterly failing.
There’s a gentle hand over her own, and she looks over to see Billy, staring concernedly at her.
“Your hands are shaking.”
Kamala, startled, looks down to where her hands are trembling, holding her chopsticks in a white-knuckled grip. Gently, Billy pries them from her fingers and sets the carton down on the rug.
“I-I’m fine,” Kamala insists, forcing back the tidal wave in her chest. She is. She’s fine! She’s so fine! “And actually, I have to go to the bathroom now! So! Um. Bye.”
“Kamala,” Cassie says, with unbearable softness in her voice, but Kamala is already on her feet, running down the hall, and slamming the door to the bathroom behind her.
And when she’s alone, there’s no stopping it. The tears. The quick, shallow breaths. The what-ifs swirling through her mind.
Slowly, she sinks to the floor, feeling the cold tile against her legs and trying to calm down. Not that it’s working, but at least she’s trying.
All day, she’s been numb. She had to be. The alternative was to mess up. And now she’s feeling so much she can’t stand it. She wants to cut her heart from her chest to make it stop.
She’s a mess. Leaders aren’t supposed to be a mess. Leaders are supposed to take deep breaths, but she can’t even do that.
She doesn’t know how long she stays in there, trying to breathe, to move, to perform any kind of executive function. Maybe it doesn’t matter.
Suddenly, the door opens. She could have sworn she’d locked it, but whatever.
“Leave me alone,” she mutters, burying her face in her knees.
“What? I need to use the bathroom,” Billy says.
“Then go somewhere else.”
“Sorry, ‘fraid I can’t do that. This is the best bathroom.”
She peeks up at him, giving him what she hopes is an evil eye.
“Don’t give me that,” he says disapprovingly, and hands her the noodles. And she takes them, because she’s still starving, but he doesn’t have to know that.
“Sorry,” she says quietly, after swallowing another bite. “I… it just kind of hit me all at once.”
“Hey, I’ve been there,” he says, nodding. “But we did it. Even if we don’t have any leads, she’s safe.”
“Because they wanted us to find her,” Kamala says disparagingly. “What kind of victory is that?”
“A victory. Even if they wanted us to find her, she’s home safe and sound. She’ll probably need therapy, though.”
“Don’t we all?”
“Oh, yeah,” he nods, sitting across from her, leaning against the sink. “Do you wanna come back?”
“It’s nice in here,” she says, like the small child she is, but Billy just smiles.
“Thought you’d say that.”
The door opens again, and a flood of well-intentioned teens barge in. Kamala can’t help smiling as Kate takes a seat on the toilet, Tommy and Eli squish into the tub, and Cassie and Eddie sit against the far wall, balancing the pizza box on their feet.
“Who wants to play Truth or Dare?” Tommy asks, and Kate groans.
“No! Last time we played that, I had to drink a shot of hot sauce!”
“And it was the best thing I’ve ever seen,” Tommy says solemnly. “I still have the video, wanna see?”
“No!” Kate yelps, as Tommy whips his phone out and pulls up the video, holding it above his head.
Kamala laughs. She can’t help it. Seeing Kate chug hot sauce and immediately rush for the fridge, face bright red, is funny no matter how many times she sees it.
They stay in the bathroom until Kamala’s legs start to stiffen up.
***
Eli watches his sweat drip down to the floor with a ragged sense of satisfaction. “Two hundred,” he says out loud, just to let it sink in. New record.
“Nice,” Tommy calls absently.
“Aren’t you supposed to be working out, too?”
“Yeah, and instead I’m helping you out. Moral support, dude.”
Eli rolls his eyes, but smiles all the same.
“Calling it quits?” Tommy asks as he sits up to grab his water bottle.
“Yeah, I think so. After another rep.”
“Hey, works for me.”
He’s about to grab the barbell again when, rounding the corner, like a personal demon sent to annoy him to death, comes a hesitant voice.
“Busy day?”
Samuel Wilson.
“That’s, uh… impressive.”
The bastard.
Eli ignores him in favor of doing another rep, acting like the room is still empty. He’s currently lifting the heaviest barbell possible, with every weighted disc in the gym stacked onto its ends. As a bonus, Tommy is splayed across the bar, somehow keeping his balance and playing a game on his phone. He’d crawled up there somewhere around the eighth lift, and it provided enough extra weight that Eli didn’t complain.
“Fine,” Eli finally grunts, after five more reps. He’s feeling charitable today.
Sam nods, clearly not expecting Eli’s response. Normally, he pretends Sam doesn’t exist.
“Uh… how much is that?” He asks, gesturing to the barbell.
“About a thousand,” Tommy answers, letting Eli stay silent and lift the barbell again. “That’s how much you can lift, right?”
“Trying to work on more,” Eli grunts, finally setting the barbell down and letting his muscles stop screaming. Tommy hops off the weights and kicks up a foot against the wall, leaning against it and keeping one eye on Sam.
“So…” Sam says, finally seeming to get his bearings. “About yesterday… I overreacted. I’m sorry.”
Eli fights the urge to roll his eyes and mops his face with his shirt. Yesterday, their fight at breakfast had been louder than usual- it was about Eli taking what was, by all accounts, a stupid risk by throwing himself at a guy with two guns to tackle him to the ground on the previous mission.
Sam had not been pleased. And Eli might have admitted he should have waited for backup if Sam hadn’t started laying into him the second they got back to the Watchtower and continued his lecture the next morning, right up until the mission alert had rung for Ella.
But then again, that was nothing new. Eli and Sam fought constantly, every day. Especially because Eli had been under the impression that he’d fuck back off to Louisiana with his rip-off team once the legal stuff was over. Eli hadn’t met most of the rip-offs- Sam didn’t talk about them much, and he also didn’t care.
Instead, Sam had stayed, bouncing between wherever his team operated out of and the Watchtower, where he dropped by to have long conversations with Bucky behind closed doors and to micromanage Eli’s life.
In other words, it was his worst nightmare.
“Yeah, whatever,” he sighs. He’d practically forgotten their fight had even happened, but of course Sam has to apologize and make him feel like an asshole. “I’ll… be more careful.”
It’s not even that he hates Sam. It’s the shield, the name that he can’t stand, and Sam is just trying his best. But still. The guy has two of the worst characteristics to be combined in one person- aggravating enough to piss you off, and a decent enough person to make you feel bad for being pissed off. It’s a vicious cycle.
“Look,” Sam says, crossing his arms. “I know we got off to a bad start. And I know you and I don’t really see eye-to-eye on a lot of things.”
“Yeah,” Eli says, dragging the word out. Where is he going with this?
“But I remember being your age, and being angry about a lot of stuff. So I left you something I think-”
“I have to take a shower,” Eli says abruptly, standing up.
“Uh… yeah. Sure,” Sam stutters, looking a little hurt. Eli forces himself not to feel bad.
“See you,” he says brusquely, walking past him. Before he can blink, Tommy is back at his side, stuffing his phone back in his pocket.
“So I’m totally here for your angry teen phase,” he starts as they head down the hallway. “But it seems like he’s trying to help.”
“Yeah, well, he’s doing a shit job,” Eli mutters. “Carrying that fuckin’ shield like nothing’s wrong. And then walking in trying to be my dad.”
“I’m not saying he’s good at it,” Tommy backtracks. “Just… maybe lighten up?”
At Eli’s scowl, he holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, never mind.”
Sighing, Eli pushes open the door to his and Tommy’s room and heads straight for the showers.
The weirdness of him and Tommy sharing a room, despite there being an empty bedroom with his name on it, isn’t lost on him. But sharing a room was what they had done back in the old Bishop Security warehouse, and Eli stood firmly by the notion of “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” It was easy to fall back into sharing a room, even if Tommy snored like a chainsaw.
His new room had been too quiet anyway.
He takes his time in the shower, letting the hot water ease the aches in his arms and stomach. For months now, he’s been testing the limits of his powers, under the constant eye of scientists and doctors, but this was just a way to tire himself out. Become too tired to be angry.
He’d only agreed to the tests and doctors for two reasons- first, he was curious about his powers anyway, the ghost in the corners of his grandfather’s house that they never spoke of. He’d never asked if his dad had powers. It wasn’t like Isaiah had known him.
And second, because Kamala had stuck by his side the entire time, one eye on the medical equipment and one hand always playing with a beam of purple energy. He never told her, but it helped.
She still looks at him sometimes, half eager, half hesitant. Like she’s still worried he resents her for being here, working for the government, disgracing the silent life his grandfather worked so hard to attain.
He doesn’t tell her that being here helps. That every time he pisses Sam off, or goes against orders, or sees a terrified person smile shakily at him after being taken to safety, it eases his guilt. That every heavy thing he lifts, every drop of sweat pouring from him, is a silent thank-you to Isaiah, his strength, the quiet determination he protected Eli with.
He doesn’t tell Kamala a lot of things. But somehow, he thinks she might understand. That he’s not angry at her. She works too hard for him to ever be mad that she convinced him to be here. She’s the only one in the training room as often as he is.
When he finally shuts the water off and redresses in his sweatpants and t-shirt, Tommy is sitting on the bed, fiddling with a small black box.
“Where’s that from?” He asks, sitting next to him.
“Dunno. Has your name on it, though.”
Surprised, he takes the box from Tommy’s hands, and sure enough, Eli Bradley is printed on the attached tag in careful yellow pencil. He opens it, completely unsure of what’s inside.
There’s a note, lying on top of whatever’s inside, scrawled in a charmingly messy hand.
Eli-
Hope this helps. I know things moved fast with the funeral and joining the team. But I thought you might like this. Took some digging, but it turns out being Captain America has its perks.
-Sam
He lifts the note, and can’t help the stifled gasp that escapes him.
Lying in the box is a rusted metal chain with a dog tag on it. With trembling fingers, he turns it over, knowing what he’ll find and yet still unable to believe it.
Isaiah Bradley, printed in stark black letters.
“No way,” he hears Tommy say in a hushed, reverent voice. He knows about Isaiah- Eli told him after he got back from his Scarlet Witch trip. He knows things even Kamala doesn’t, the more personal things. So he knows better than anyone what this means.
“I’m a total dick,” Eli says matter-of-factly, lifting the chain with shaking hands, his eyes glued to the ancient metal.
“Yup,” Tommy says, nodding, his face uncharacteristically serious. “‘Fraid so.”
