.ೃ࿔*:･𝐱𝐯𝐢𝐢. fades into the gray of my day-old tea

𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐃 𝐒𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐙𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄. She had just gotten out of the shower, the steam still clinging to her skin, and her wet hair hung in damp strands, rhythmically dripping onto the soft flannel shirt Laura had kindly lent her. The scent of fresh pine and clean fabric was comforting.

She sank into the plush sofa, feeling its comforting embrace as she cradled a steaming cup of tea in her hands. Her gaze was fixed on the delicate curls of steam rising from the cup. With a subtle movement of her fingers, she changed the tea's temperature, watching the steam fluctuate as the liquid shifted from warm to boiling.

Time seemed to blur as she sat there, the minutes slipping into an hour, her gaze never wavering from the cup. She was aware of the muffled sounds of Clint's children playing outside, their laughter and shouts mingling with the chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves.

A small voice whispered in the back of Ingrid's mind, a voice tinged with a bittersweet longing. It spoke of jealousy, of the envy she felt for the childhood these children were experiencing—a childhood so different from her own. The thought lingered like a dark cloud, threatening to overshadow the peace she was trying to find.

"Hey," Bruce said, his voice gentle yet tentative. Ingrid lifted her head from her tea, meeting her father's eyes. "Can we talk?"

Ingrid chewed on her bottom lip. "Sure," she whispered, then added with a faint smile, "You scared me. I thought I was going to have to cave in and come talk to you first." She was trying to lighten the mood.

Bruce walked over and sat on the other end of the couch, maintaining a safe distance from Ingrid. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "Yeah, well, I wasn't planning on doing it. Nat made me," he admitted, then quickly realized how that sounded. "Not that I didn't want to talk to you, I just... I needed a little push."

Ingrid nodded, understanding. "I get it." A moment of silence followed, heavy and filled with unspoken words. Ingrid continued biting down on her lip, her gaze returning to the cup of tea in her hands.

Bruce sighed. He decided to abandon any pretense of finding the perfect words and opted for honesty instead. "I'm sorry," he said simply.

"It's okay," Ingrid responded reflexively, before turning to her dad with a confused look on her face. "What for?"

Bruce's expression was serious, his voice edged with worry. "If I hurt you. Or if what you saw in that vision was somehow my fault. Or Hulk's." He could see the confusion on Ingrid's face, realizing then that he had misunderstood the situation. "I promise I would never hurt you, Ingrid."

Ingrid reached out, placing a reassuring hand on her dad's shoulder. The gesture startled him, making him pause. "Dad," she said, her voice soft but firm. "What I saw, it was..." She trailed off, her words catching in her throat. A wave of nausea washed over her, and she swallowed hard, the bile rising in her throat. "It wasn't anything like that. I wasn't hurt, and none of it was your fault."

She sighed heavily as soon as she finished speaking, hoping that this would be the end of their conversation. But knowing her dad, she knew that was unlikely. Bruce's eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Ingrid, I... I just want to make sure you're okay. That you're not carrying around any fear or guilt because of me."

Ingrid gave a small, sad smile, squeezing his shoulder gently. "What I saw was weird and very messed up, but none of it was your fault. I promise."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Bruce asked gently. Ingrid felt a grateful smile spread across her face at his understanding.

Still, she shook her head. "Not really."

"That's alright," Bruce said, reaching out to brush a strand of wet hair from Ingrid's cheek, revealing her freckles. Ingrid didn't flinch; instead, she leaned into her dad's touch, finding comfort in it. "But if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here. I understand better than anybody."

His words made Ingrid freeze. For a moment, she thought her dad had figured out her worst fear. But she quickly realized that wasn't possible. He was just trying to be supportive.

She nodded, setting her cup of tea on the coffee table before pulling her dad into a hug. "I know."

When they pulled away, Bruce glanced at the cup of tea on the coffee table. "You shouldn't play with your tea, though. It'll taste awful." Ingrid chuckled softly, a genuine laugh that eased some of the tension.

.ೃ࿔*:･

The sun had set hours ago, casting a serene darkness over the Barton farmhouse. The Avengers, now joined by Nick Fury, gathered in the kitchen after finishing dinner.

"Ultron took you folks out of play to buy himself time. My contacts all say he's building something. With the amount of Vibranium he made off with, I don't think it's just one thing," Nick Fury said, his tone serious.

At that moment, Lila ran up to Natasha, whispering something in her ear before handing her a piece of paper and darting away. Natasha glanced at the paper, then nudged Ingrid, handing her the messy drawing of a yellow butterfly.

"Lila gave it to me. She said it’s for you. Didn’t want to scare you again," Natasha whispered, her voice softening.

Ingrid took the drawing, her lips curling into a gentle smile. She made a mental note to apologize to Lila for the uncomfortable conversation they’d had earlier. After studying the yellow butterfly, its wings spread wide against a backdrop of blue sky, Ingrid carefully set the drawing down and turned her attention back to the discussion.

"What about Ultron himself?" Steve asked, his voice carrying the weight of concern as he leaned against the doorframe.

"Ah, he's easy to track. He’s everywhere, multiplying faster than a rabbit. Still doesn’t help us get a handle on any of his plans, though," Nick Fury said, leaning against the counter with a weary sigh.

"He’s still going after launch codes?" Tony asked, his attention divided between Fury and the dartboard he was aiming at.

"Yes, but he’s not making any headway," Fury replied.

Tony scoffed. "I cracked the Pentagon's firewall in high school on a dare."

"Yeah, well, I contacted our friends at the NEXUS about that." Nick Fury said.

Steve narrowed his eyes. "NEXUS?"

"It's the world internet hub in Oslo," Bruce explained, stepping in. "Every byte of data flows through there—fastest access on Earth."

"So, what’d they say?" Clint asked.

"He's fixated on the missiles, but the codes are constantly being changed," Nick Fury said.

"By whom?" Tony asked, just as a dart whizzed past his face and hit the board, courtesy of Clint’s aim.

"Parties unknown," Nick Fury replied.

Ingrid furrowed her eyebrows, glancing around as if expecting everyone to share her shock. "We have an ally?"

"Ultron's got an enemy, that's not the same thing." Nick Fury corrected her. "Still, I'd pay folding money to know who it is."

"I might need to visit Oslo, find our 'unknown.'" Tony said.

"Well, this is good times, boss, but I was kind of hoping when I saw you, you'd have more than that." Natasha remarked.

"I do, I have you." Nick Fury said, meeting each of their gazes. "Back in the day, I had eyes everywhere, ears everywhere else. Here we all are, back on earth, with nothing but our wit, and our will to save the world. So stand. Outwit the platinum bastard."

"Steve doesn't like that kind of talk." Natasha joked.

"You know what, Romanoff?" Steve teased, and Natasha's lips curved into a mischievous smile.

"So what does he want?" Nick Fury asked.

"To become better. Better than us. He keeps building bodies." Steve said, his voice steady.

"Person bodies." Tony added. "The human form is inefficient, biologically speaking, we're outmoded. But he keeps coming back to it."

"When you two programmed him to protect the human race, you amazingly failed." Natasha said, glancing between Bruce and Tony.

"They don't need to be protected, they need to evolve." Bruce said, his gaze lingering on Lila's drawing of a butterfly. "Ultron's going to evolve."

"How?" Nick Fury asked.

Bruce looked around at everybody in the room. "Has anyone been in contact with Helen Cho?"