FIC: Partial Remission [MCU, Ava & Bill]
Title: Partial Remission
Author: Omnicat
Spoilers & Desirable Foreknowledge: Marvel Studios’ Ant-Man and Ant-Man and the Wasp
Warnings: Canon-typical.
Characters & Relationships: Ava & Bill
Summary: Ava thought she was cured. Realizing it’s not that simple does a number on her. // 1534 words
Author’s Note: Written for rosecake in the 2018 Trick or Treat Exchange on AO3. Enjoy!
Partial Remission
“Not everyone has an ulterior motive,” Bill insisted, as kindly as anyone could, their umpteenth time saying the same thing.
“You’ll forgive me for assuming otherwise,” Ava snapped. Part of her felt bad for taking such a tone with him, of all people, but it was a distant feeling, drowned out by a swelling tide of what might well be panic. She couldn’t go back. She’d thought it had been bad before, but now that she once again knew what life could be like without it? The very thought was unbearable. It would kill her to have to return to how things had been.
The pain was coming back. Faintly, slowly, but it was back, creeping like a shadow. When she concentrated, she could bring her body out of phase again. Perhaps she had never lost the ability; she’d been so relieved to think she was cured, to think she’d never fall out of synch with the world around her without meaning to again, she hadn’t bothered to check.
If things went back to the way they had been, it would kill her, period.
Ava resumed pacing the length of the living room, shoulders tight and breathing forcefully even.
“I understand that, of course I do,” Bill went on to her retreating back. “But what could she possibly want from you? She’s been trapped in the quantum realm for years and only met you a couple of months ago.”
It would kill her, or do something so much worse she barely dared contemplate the possibilities. And there was only person she could turn to for help or answers.
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Ava said, turning and striding back. “Her time there might have given her an insight into quantum states or quantum whatever that we don’t have. She could think or want anything of me, and we’d never know.”
Turn. Walk away.
“She saved your life as soon as she reemerged,” Bill pointed out.
Ava whirled on him. “I’d just tried to kill her! Survival instinct trumps rational thinking, it makes people do stupid things. I’ve seen it countless times.”
Bill opened his mouth to protest. And he didn’t look disgusted or reproachful or frightened, which would have been bad enough. No, he looked pitying.
Look at how life has warped you, that look seemed to say. You sorry, twisted thing.
“Besides, that was then, this is now,” she cut in before he could speak, resuming her march toward the far end of the room. “We don’t know what might have changed.”
Even aside from all the otherworldly epiphanies that might have happened or yet be waiting to happen, the woman could have a change of heart, as simple as that. Decide that someone like Ava was too dangerous to be allowed to live, or needed to be kept on a leash - like SHIELD had done. There was no telling what might happen if Ava and Bill ever contacted the others again.
Bill sighed, swallowing whatever he had initially meant to say. “You don’t know Janet, Ava. She wouldn’t -”
“Don’t be so naive!” Ava burst out. “The Janet van Dyne you knew might not have, but she’s not that person anymore! She was trapped down there for almost twenty years, alone. Alien in an inhuman world. With no-one to rely on but herself.” Eyes going unfocused, she buried her hands in her hair. “Fighting to survive. Fighting to stay sane through fear and hardship you never even imagined could exist. Fighting to keep feeling human, like your very soul isn’t falling apart.”
Did Janet intend for this to happen? Had she done it on purpose, to bind Ava to her? Or had her power failed? Had it worked as well as it could, and was this simply an inevitable part of it? Would Ava need a limited number of doses of quantum realm energy before she was permanently cured? Would she be reliant on Janet’s willingness to infuse her over and over again for the rest of her life? Was Ava’s lifespan limited to Janet’s now, through availability or else some unknowable quantum vagary? Or was what Janet had done merely another band-aid? Would Ava need a new hit sooner and sooner every time, until even Janet’s miraculous intervention could no longer save her? How long would that give her? How much pain would it take to last through all that?
And then that awful, eternal question: would the pain stop when she died? Would it even truly be death?
So many unknowns. So many questions. Was there any way to find answers to them? Would there ever be? Would it ever be enough to save her?
“Oh, Ava,” Bill said, heartbreak in every syllable.
It felt like the tears came out of nowhere. Mortified, she slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob, but to no avail. In a childish impulse, she looked to Bill for an explanation. But all he had to offer her was more sympathy. He crossed the living room, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and led her to the couch to sit beside him. She gave up. Hiding her face in her hands, she let the crying happen. Bill rubbed her back all through it.
“I want to trust her, but I can’t,” she choked out. “I just can’t. I know too well what such a struggle can drive a person to.”
“I know,” Bill soothed. “I know. But Ava, I also know that you don’t give yourself enough credit. You survived. Through misfortune, sabotage, and more pain than I can imagine. You -”
She let out a watery laugh. “I don’t think that pep talk is going to have the desired effect today, Bill.” She wiped her face on her sleeve. “Can you... can you just hold me?”
“Of course, sweetie,” he said, and did just that.
More tears spilled as she blinked rapidly over his shoulder, overcome with feelings she had no words for. She had learned so many awful things in her life. But when it came to the good, how far had she ever gotten, really?
“I’m just so scared,” she said. “I thought it was over, that I was free. I don’t want it to go back to the way it was. To what I was. Not just the pain and the uncertainty, the killing. Hurting other people.”
The worst question, even worse than the ones about her own possible death or worse was: would healing herself require killing Janet after all?
Bill held her more tightly. She gasped, her lungs constricting, but pressed her face to his shoulder and clutched him back nonetheless, looking for even more. How long ago had it been since she’d last been able to have this? Since the last time prolonged, forceful contact with the physical world did not illicit an automatic phasing instinct in her damaged cells that she had to fight to suppress? Since her father - either of them - had been able to simply hug her?
“Nobody will ever make such demands of you again,” Bill promised, a growl in his voice. It sent a chill down her spine, because that sound meant he meant it, he was really serious. “Never.”
“Everything feels so much more real somehow, without the pain, without having to fight the phasing. It’s overwhelming. Like I’ve forgotten how to actually exist. How to be a normal person.”
He let up a bit to caress her hair. “You’ll get the hang of it again, Ava, I promise. I’ll help you. Are you worried I have ulterior motives for helping you too?”
“No!” She rubbed a new swell of tears away against his shoulder. “Never.”
“Then hold onto that, okay?” he said gently. “Think of that knowledge as a quantum chamber: a crutch to lean on until this passes.”
“I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
“You don’t have to. I’m not SHIELD. I love you. I’m here for you.”
Ava closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let that wash over her. Like a balm. Like cool, fresh air after too long wearing that horrible mask, doing horrible things. Like - like the energy Janet had passed into her.
“You’re here. And so is Janet,” she said eventually.
“Yes, she is.”
She sat up and wiped her nose. “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m like this all of a sudden. All my problems were solved, I should be doing better now.”
“There is no ‘should’. You finally have room in your life and your head for something other than survival. You’re decompressing, starting to process things. It’s normal,” Bill said.
That got a smile out of her. Faint and crooked, but sincere.
“Hitting the psychology department’s bookshelves again, are you?”
“You could try them sometime,” he said, smiling back. “Absolutely no ulterior motives there.”
Ava rubbed the side of her face. “So this weepiness, it’s going to stop? Now that I might be getting sick again?”
“Who knows. Anything could happen. In your head and the rest of your body.” Laying his hand over hers, he turned serious. “We have to call them, Ava.”
“Yeah,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Alright.”
Author: Omnicat
Spoilers & Desirable Foreknowledge: Marvel Studios’ Ant-Man and Ant-Man and the Wasp
Warnings: Canon-typical.
Characters & Relationships: Ava & Bill
Summary: Ava thought she was cured. Realizing it’s not that simple does a number on her. // 1534 words
Author’s Note: Written for rosecake in the 2018 Trick or Treat Exchange on AO3. Enjoy!
Partial Remission
“Not everyone has an ulterior motive,” Bill insisted, as kindly as anyone could, their umpteenth time saying the same thing.
“You’ll forgive me for assuming otherwise,” Ava snapped. Part of her felt bad for taking such a tone with him, of all people, but it was a distant feeling, drowned out by a swelling tide of what might well be panic. She couldn’t go back. She’d thought it had been bad before, but now that she once again knew what life could be like without it? The very thought was unbearable. It would kill her to have to return to how things had been.
The pain was coming back. Faintly, slowly, but it was back, creeping like a shadow. When she concentrated, she could bring her body out of phase again. Perhaps she had never lost the ability; she’d been so relieved to think she was cured, to think she’d never fall out of synch with the world around her without meaning to again, she hadn’t bothered to check.
If things went back to the way they had been, it would kill her, period.
Ava resumed pacing the length of the living room, shoulders tight and breathing forcefully even.
“I understand that, of course I do,” Bill went on to her retreating back. “But what could she possibly want from you? She’s been trapped in the quantum realm for years and only met you a couple of months ago.”
It would kill her, or do something so much worse she barely dared contemplate the possibilities. And there was only person she could turn to for help or answers.
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Ava said, turning and striding back. “Her time there might have given her an insight into quantum states or quantum whatever that we don’t have. She could think or want anything of me, and we’d never know.”
Turn. Walk away.
“She saved your life as soon as she reemerged,” Bill pointed out.
Ava whirled on him. “I’d just tried to kill her! Survival instinct trumps rational thinking, it makes people do stupid things. I’ve seen it countless times.”
Bill opened his mouth to protest. And he didn’t look disgusted or reproachful or frightened, which would have been bad enough. No, he looked pitying.
Look at how life has warped you, that look seemed to say. You sorry, twisted thing.
“Besides, that was then, this is now,” she cut in before he could speak, resuming her march toward the far end of the room. “We don’t know what might have changed.”
Even aside from all the otherworldly epiphanies that might have happened or yet be waiting to happen, the woman could have a change of heart, as simple as that. Decide that someone like Ava was too dangerous to be allowed to live, or needed to be kept on a leash - like SHIELD had done. There was no telling what might happen if Ava and Bill ever contacted the others again.
Bill sighed, swallowing whatever he had initially meant to say. “You don’t know Janet, Ava. She wouldn’t -”
“Don’t be so naive!” Ava burst out. “The Janet van Dyne you knew might not have, but she’s not that person anymore! She was trapped down there for almost twenty years, alone. Alien in an inhuman world. With no-one to rely on but herself.” Eyes going unfocused, she buried her hands in her hair. “Fighting to survive. Fighting to stay sane through fear and hardship you never even imagined could exist. Fighting to keep feeling human, like your very soul isn’t falling apart.”
Did Janet intend for this to happen? Had she done it on purpose, to bind Ava to her? Or had her power failed? Had it worked as well as it could, and was this simply an inevitable part of it? Would Ava need a limited number of doses of quantum realm energy before she was permanently cured? Would she be reliant on Janet’s willingness to infuse her over and over again for the rest of her life? Was Ava’s lifespan limited to Janet’s now, through availability or else some unknowable quantum vagary? Or was what Janet had done merely another band-aid? Would Ava need a new hit sooner and sooner every time, until even Janet’s miraculous intervention could no longer save her? How long would that give her? How much pain would it take to last through all that?
And then that awful, eternal question: would the pain stop when she died? Would it even truly be death?
So many unknowns. So many questions. Was there any way to find answers to them? Would there ever be? Would it ever be enough to save her?
“Oh, Ava,” Bill said, heartbreak in every syllable.
It felt like the tears came out of nowhere. Mortified, she slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob, but to no avail. In a childish impulse, she looked to Bill for an explanation. But all he had to offer her was more sympathy. He crossed the living room, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and led her to the couch to sit beside him. She gave up. Hiding her face in her hands, she let the crying happen. Bill rubbed her back all through it.
“I want to trust her, but I can’t,” she choked out. “I just can’t. I know too well what such a struggle can drive a person to.”
“I know,” Bill soothed. “I know. But Ava, I also know that you don’t give yourself enough credit. You survived. Through misfortune, sabotage, and more pain than I can imagine. You -”
She let out a watery laugh. “I don’t think that pep talk is going to have the desired effect today, Bill.” She wiped her face on her sleeve. “Can you... can you just hold me?”
“Of course, sweetie,” he said, and did just that.
More tears spilled as she blinked rapidly over his shoulder, overcome with feelings she had no words for. She had learned so many awful things in her life. But when it came to the good, how far had she ever gotten, really?
“I’m just so scared,” she said. “I thought it was over, that I was free. I don’t want it to go back to the way it was. To what I was. Not just the pain and the uncertainty, the killing. Hurting other people.”
The worst question, even worse than the ones about her own possible death or worse was: would healing herself require killing Janet after all?
Bill held her more tightly. She gasped, her lungs constricting, but pressed her face to his shoulder and clutched him back nonetheless, looking for even more. How long ago had it been since she’d last been able to have this? Since the last time prolonged, forceful contact with the physical world did not illicit an automatic phasing instinct in her damaged cells that she had to fight to suppress? Since her father - either of them - had been able to simply hug her?
“Nobody will ever make such demands of you again,” Bill promised, a growl in his voice. It sent a chill down her spine, because that sound meant he meant it, he was really serious. “Never.”
“Everything feels so much more real somehow, without the pain, without having to fight the phasing. It’s overwhelming. Like I’ve forgotten how to actually exist. How to be a normal person.”
He let up a bit to caress her hair. “You’ll get the hang of it again, Ava, I promise. I’ll help you. Are you worried I have ulterior motives for helping you too?”
“No!” She rubbed a new swell of tears away against his shoulder. “Never.”
“Then hold onto that, okay?” he said gently. “Think of that knowledge as a quantum chamber: a crutch to lean on until this passes.”
“I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
“You don’t have to. I’m not SHIELD. I love you. I’m here for you.”
Ava closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let that wash over her. Like a balm. Like cool, fresh air after too long wearing that horrible mask, doing horrible things. Like - like the energy Janet had passed into her.
“You’re here. And so is Janet,” she said eventually.
“Yes, she is.”
She sat up and wiped her nose. “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m like this all of a sudden. All my problems were solved, I should be doing better now.”
“There is no ‘should’. You finally have room in your life and your head for something other than survival. You’re decompressing, starting to process things. It’s normal,” Bill said.
That got a smile out of her. Faint and crooked, but sincere.
“Hitting the psychology department’s bookshelves again, are you?”
“You could try them sometime,” he said, smiling back. “Absolutely no ulterior motives there.”
Ava rubbed the side of her face. “So this weepiness, it’s going to stop? Now that I might be getting sick again?”
“Who knows. Anything could happen. In your head and the rest of your body.” Laying his hand over hers, he turned serious. “We have to call them, Ava.”
“Yeah,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Alright.”