Homesick
Carol Danvers had learned one thing while living with Kamala Khan: Kamala was very much into physical touch. At first, it had caught Carol completely off guard—the sudden hugs, the casual hand-holding, or Kamala instinctively reaching for her arm whenever she was excited or nervous. For someone like Carol, who wasn’t exactly used to physical affection, it had been… an adjustment.
But somewhere along the way, Carol had grown used to it. The hugs didn’t feel so surprising anymore, and the hand-holding had become second nature. She even found herself tolerating, and occasionally even enjoying, the impromptu cuddle sessions. More often than not, they would fall asleep on the couch after a late-night movie marathon, Kamala curled up against her like a contented cat.
It was during one such moment that Carol woke up to find Kamala sprawled across her. The younger girl’s head rested on her shoulder, her arms loosely wrapped around Carol’s waist. Carol stayed still for a moment, blinking herself awake. Years of military training and her photon powers meant her instincts usually kicked in at the first sign of being touched or startled. But this time, she didn’t panic. Her powers stayed dormant, which was fortunate given how dangerous an accidental flare-up could be. Instead, she took a deep breath and focused on Kamala.
Kamala was sound asleep, her breathing soft and even. Carol noticed the faintest tear tracks glistening on the younger girl’s cheeks, and something in her chest tightened. Was she crying? Carol frowned, shifting slightly to get a better look. With a hesitant hand, she brushed a few stray bangs from Kamala’s face. That’s when she noticed Kamala’s expression—a furrowed brow, tense even in sleep.
Gently, Carol placed a hand on Kamala’s head. It felt awkward at first—comforting someone like this wasn’t exactly her strong suit—but she did her best. She slowly began stroking Kamala’s hair, her fingers moving in soothing, rhythmic motions. Almost immediately, Kamala began to relax. Her hiccupping breaths evened out, the soft sobs fading, and the crease in her brow disappeared.
Satisfied that Kamala was calming down, Carol carefully wiped away the dried tear tracks from her cheeks. Then, with deliberate care, she shifted so Kamala was no longer lying on top of her. Instead, she tucked the younger girl under the blankets, pulling them snug around her shoulders. Carol lay beside her, one arm loosely wrapped around Kamala to provide a sense of security.
It wasn’t long before Kamala stirred slightly, mumbling incoherently in her half-asleep state. “Miss my family…” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep and sadness.
Carol’s heart ached at the admission. She tightened her hold just slightly and whispered softly, “I know, kid. I know. But I’m here, okay? I’ve got you.”
Her words seemed to reach Kamala, who sighed deeply and settled back into sleep. For a long moment, Carol stayed still, listening to the rhythmic sound of Kamala’s breathing. She thought about the responsibility she’d taken on—mentoring this bright, hopeful girl—and how moments like this made it feel both overwhelming and deeply meaningful.
Sleep eluded Carol after that. With only a few hours left until sunrise, she decided to stay awake, keeping a quiet vigil just in case Kamala needed her again. The quiet of the room felt peaceful now, and Carol didn’t mind the weight of responsibility as much. She’d do whatever it took to ensure Kamala felt safe.