Chapter 3

I open up my eyes to the breathtaking sight of the sunrise, now a familiar sight. The warm, golden rays spill into my room, casting a gentle glow that not only brightens the space but also awakens my mind and spirit. After a refreshing shower, I let the comforting warmth of the water cascade down my back, washing away any remnants of sleep. I quickly wash up, then slip into my favourite outfit: a fitted white tank top paired with black long denim dungarees, which have seen better days, now splattered with vibrant paint strokes. To complete the ensemble, I toss on my soft maroon flannel shirt, its fabric cosy against my skin.

With my paints and easel ready, I rummage through my art closet, carefully selecting my favourite colours and brushes. I shove everything I can into my well-used rucksack, the fabric worn from countless adventures. Climbing the narrow staircase leading to the roof, I feel my heart race as I reach the top, breathless from the ascent.

Upon stepping onto the roof, I take a moment to appreciate the view, the tranquil forest waking up, out beneath me. I set up my easel with care and place a blank canvas at the far end, making sure it captures a wide view of my surroundings. I pick up my paintbrush, feeling the familiar heft in my hand, and with a flick of my wrist, I summon the glass of water toward me using a sprinkle of magic.

As I dive into my painting, I immerse myself in the scene before me: the vibrant hues of the sunrise blend seamlessly into the tranquil forest that surrounds us, the leaves rustling gently in the morning breeze. I meticulously capture the essence of the birds soaring through the sky, their freedom inspiring me. With each stroke, I pour my emotions into the canvas, detailing the bark of the trees and the slight shimmer of dew on the leaves.

As I paint, my thoughts drift beyond the tangible world, and I feel my spirit begin to separate from my body. (This is what I mean by portals; it's as if my essence can wander freely to explore different realities while my physical form remains anchored in place.) I take flight and glide down to the ground below, observing the life bustling around me. Friends and family gather in the kitchen and sitting area, their laughter ringing clear and joyous in the air. They are relaxed and content, a stark contrast to the turmoil that occasionally rises within me. I let myself fall slightly, enjoying the cool breeze that swirls around my legs and tousles my hair. In that moment, I feel utterly at peace.

Suddenly, a faint yet familiar voice calls my name, breaking through the tranquil veil that surrounds me. "Bea? Are you okay?" The sound pulls me back to reality, and confusion washes over me. I know that voice.

---------------------------------------------------------------

The kitchen was a sombre sight, filled with a heavy air of exhaustion. Everyone sat around the table, their faces drawn and weary, remnants of last night's chaos still etched in their expressions. Bea's sudden collapse had sent shockwaves through their group, and the city had trembled beneath them, as if mirroring their collective anxiety. The night had been more than just a frightening event; it had been a reminder of how fragile their lives could be.

"Have Thor and Loki already returned to Asgard?" Steve asked, walking into the room and glancing around at his friends, who looked like they hadn't slept in ages.

"Yeah, they left late last night," Tony replied, his voice slightly strained, as he fiddled with a gadget on the counter, trying to distract himself from the tension in the air.

"Hey, are you okay?" Bucky inquired, his brow furrowed with concern as he studied Steve's face.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just can't stop thinking about Bea," Steve admitted, running his fingers exasperatedly through his tousled blonde hair, his mind racing.

"What's bothering you?" Wanda asked, her voice thick with her accent and laced with curiosity.

Steve took a deep breath and stifled a yawn, gathering his thoughts. "She seemed to give off an upbeat personality, but when someone brought up her desire for a 'normal' life, she completely shut down. It seems she can't even think of that possibility. I am fully aware that this team and this world have a warped sense of normalcy, but to be that terrified of it seems strange."

Bucky nodded, recalling the previous night's events. "Especially last night, when she collapsed into a panic attack."

"Right after she knocked Pietro to the ground," Tony chimed in with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood. "Which, I have to admit, was kind of hilarious." Pietro, catching the tail end of the conversation, shot them a glare and raised his middle finger as he exited the room, prompting a round of laughter from the group.

"Seriously, though, something feels off about her," Steve said, his tone shifting back to worry. "Not off in a quirky way, but off in a serious sense."

"Do you think she might be dealing with depression or anxiety issues? That could explain the panic attacks," Wanda suggested thoughtfully.

"That would make sense," Bucky remarked, concern etched on his face.

Clint, who had just stepped into the room, caught the tail end of their conversation. "She's been through a lot," he said, his voice sober, drawing everyone's attention.

"What do you mean?" Bucky asked, intrigued and somewhat alarmed.

"She doesn't like to talk about it," Clint continued, his eyes narrowing as he evaluated their perplexed expressions.

"Come on," Tony pressed, eager to uncover more. "Just tell us."

"Oh no thats something you got to get out of her," Clint said, his tone heavier with empathy. "Like all of us, she carries the scar every day as a reminder." With that, Clint fell silent and retreated to make a cup of coffee, leaving the rest of the room enveloped in an unsettling quiet.

After Clint left the room, a heavy silence loomed before Tony broke it once again. "So we just need to ask her? Where is Bea?" he called out to the omnipresent Jarvis.

"She is on the roof," Jarvis said in his British accent.

"Sir, her breathing is slow and irregular, indicating that she is under stress. I cannot detect any other personnel," Jarvis continued, his voice calm but serious.

Tony stood up to head to the roof when Steve held his arm. "Maybe Bucky and I should try first, taking a more caring and calm approach before using your humour." Tony raised his hands in surrender, gesturing for them to go ahead as he turned towards his workshop.

As Bucky and Steve made their way up the stairs, they spotted Natasha.

"Where are you guys headed?" she asked.

"To the roof," Steve replied, his voice tinged with curiosity. Nat immediately joined them, walking alongside them up the staircase.

When they reached the roof, they found Bea standing there with a paintbrush in hand, lost in her own world of color and expression.

"Bea," Steve called out softly, but she didn't respond.

"Bea, are you okay?" Bucky asked, his heart racing, as he cautiously approached her. He reached out to grasp her arm, and for a heartbeat, there was only silence. Then, without warning, Bea's body jolted upright, a mix of surprise and unease flashing across her face.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Pain strikes like a bolt of lightning as I rush back to my body. The jarring transition is almost unbearable—it's as if I'm scaling a steep wall, dragged down by invisible weights. Finally, I struggle up to the roof, where I see a group of concerned faces, trying to gently pull me back. "No! Stop!" I scream in my mind, desperation swelling within me.

With a sudden jolt, I return to my body, causing everyone to jump back in surprise. The strangers now loom closer, their expressions a mix of concern and confusion. I instinctively step back, losing my balance and stumbling. In a moment of panic, I grasp for stability, but then I feel two strong arms gripping me, pulling me safely back onto the roof. Time seems to slow, and a high-pitched ringing fills my ears. I instinctively cover my ears to block out the noise, only to find warm liquid trickling from them. Pulling my hand away, I see red—blood. I frantically rub at my ear, trying to stop the bleeding while ensuring no one around me notices. To my relief, they remain unaware of my inner turmoil.

Finally, I gather my thoughts, standing before Bucky, Nat, and Steve, sensing their concern enveloping me like a blanket.

"Bea, are you okay?" Nat asks, her brow furrowed with worry.

"Yeah, sorry, you just scared me. I zoned out—sorry," I reply hastily, hoping to deflect any further questioning.

"What are you doing up here?" Steve asks, his tone a mix of exasperation and curiosity.

"I'm just painting. What brings you up here?" I ask in return, attempting to steer the conversation away from what just happened.

"We were worried about you," Bucky admitted, glancing at Steve, who nodded in agreement.

"Why? What's there to worry about?" she countered, a hint of scepticism in her voice.

"Well..." Nat stammered, her mind racing to find the right words, but the silence hung heavily in the air.

"Uhh," both Bucky and Steve chimed in, unsure of how to respond.

"You thought I was going to jump, didn't you?" Bea's eyes narrowed slightly as she gauged their reactions.

"Well... no. It's just, we wanted to make sure you were safe," Bucky replied, his tone a mix of concern and embarrassment.

"Look, guys, I'm fine. I just came up here to paint," Bea reassured them, the corners of her mouth lifting into a small smile. "I've done this every morning since I got here."

"Really? But how did Jarvis not detect you up here?" Steve asked, curiosity piqued.

"Oh, that's simple. I disabled a section of the roof," she said nonchalantly, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

"What?" Steve's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"I programmed Jarvis with a specific code that signified I had permission to be up here. He's only programmed to disclose my location if Tony asks him directly," she explained, her tone matter-of-fact. She observed their stunned expressions with a smile, enjoying the unexpected revelation.

"It's really quite simple," Bea added, gathering her brushes and paints, ready to head back inside. She paused, glancing at the bewildered looks on their faces before starting to leave the rooftop.

"Hey, Bea," Steve called out, his voice cutting through the heavy silence.

"Yes, Steve?" she replied, turning back to face them.

"Do you need some help?" he offered, motioning to the array of art supplies strewn across the roof.

"Uh, that would be nice. Thanks," she responded, a look of gratitude softening her features as she accepted his offer. Together, they began to pack up the paints and brushes, working in a comfortable silence that filled the space with an air of camaraderie.

Once they finished cleaning up, they all made their way downstairs. Bea, feeling lighter after their conversation, dropped her supplies into her room, the clatter of paint tubes echoing softly as she set her artistic world aside for the moment.