Her ghost is everywhere.
Her smell is on his sheets, so he doesn’t sleep anymore. He tries, oh does he ever. Every single night he falls asleep eventually, usually with help from his friend Johnnie Walker.
Then, the dreams come.
He dreams like he’s watching a film of their life together, before everything went to shit. He dreams of meeting her for the first time, of making her smile for the first time. He dreams of when she kissed him, that first time.
He dreams of the moments that meant nothing at all when they happened, the banality of their life together, having desks that faced each other, working together in silence. The meals they ate together.
He dreams of the time he danced with her, when she wore that crimson dress and complained about her shoes. He dreams of what happened after, of tangled sheets and sweat and her delicious moans. He dreams of telling her that he would never let her go.
Sometimes, when his mind is being a particularly cruel bastard, he dreams of what her life must be like now, of what she is doing now that she is free of him. He dreams of the man who must be making her laugh now, of making the entire universe light up with her smile. He dreams of how she left so suddenly, no warning, no sign. She just left him, as if they meant nothing to each other and how fucking dare she do that?
Everything reminds her of him.
She hears his voice in her dreams, feels his hands around her waist. He is everywhere and nowhere simultaneously and no matter how hard she tries to not think of him, he is there, her mind always circling back to him.
She tried so, so hard. She tried to fix him, to make him see that he was destined for greatness, if he would only stretch out his hand. They had so many plans together, plans to make a place, a home, for kids like them, so that they could change the world for the better. They could use their powers to do some good, to prove that they weren’t the monsters.
She was there for him when he was healing, when he learned he would never walk again. She didn’t think less of him for that, how could she? She was the reason she was hurt in the first place, that bullet was meant for her.
She knew he would never look at her the same after that. How could he? He wouldn’t be able to see how their relationship used to be, the moments of companionship and true understanding between them. He would resent her, eventually, see her as an albatross.
She saw it in the larger and more frequent doses he would take of Hank’s serum to weaken his powers. She felt in when she realized that she was alone in her thoughts, that he was no longer there as she had grown so accustomed to. He didn’t even seem to notice that he wasn’t listening to her thoughts anymore. He didn’t seem to notice much of anything anymore.
That mental exile was too much, the realization that she was alone, that she would always be alone because he chose not to be with her anymore.
It hurt too much to be in the same house as him. She couldn’t watch him to this to himself anymore and she couldn’t constantly face that she was the reason for it. If he didn’t resent her already, he would. It was better this way, they were better apart than together.
Maybe, someday, she would believe that.
He would have tried. He would have tried so hard to build it all back up again. Did she want the world to burn? He would have slaughtered anyone who even dared to touch her. He took a bullet for her. He would take every single one in the world, if it meant she was safe.
Didn’t she understand? They were building something here, building a home so that no one ever had to feel like they did growing up, alone and convinced that they were the monsters in the world because of their abilities. She was his home, the one person in the world who didn’t just see his intelligence, his ability. She saw him and, ultimately, she found it all lacking.
What was the point, anymore? This wasn’t a home anymore and he was longer defending a cause. All of it went away and this home became an exile. Eventually, they all left. But he never thought she would leave, he thought that she would understand how necessary she was to him. Did he not show her that enough? Tell her enough?
Eventually, she shut him out of her head. It was like she closed a door and he was longer privy to the warmth of her mind, it’s kaleidoscopic designs, her humor, her passion, her love.
He had use of his legs, thanks to Hank’s serum, and blessedly he could no longer hear the screams of hundreds, thousands dying as the United States waged its unwinnable war. Didn’t he deserve to have a moment’s peace? Didn’t he deserve not to go mad from the unbearable burden of it all? He was just one man, how could he be expected to carry the weight of this all?
For this, he was exiled?
So be it.