Absolute Gravity

I woke to the sound of rain. I’d been sleeping enough to keep my body going and eating much the same. But it was the first night in a long time that I’d slept decently. And I was pretty sure the rain had something to do with it. I didn’t dream of anything. I wasn’t tormented by memories I didn’t want to see. It was just Darkness. Moving and thinking like always. But there was pain in it too. And I didn’t know where hers ended, and mine began.

The room was dark when I opened my eyes, and the rain was deafening. Thundering on the roof and splattering against the windows. I didn’t know what time it was, and I wanted to stay in bed all day. But I knew I wouldn’t get back to sleep now. I wanted coffee. I pulled myself out of bed and shuffled to the kitchen to get it started. It wasn’t until I turned toward the windows that I realized it wasn’t actually raining at all.

I approached slowly. I could see the stars clearly. Hardly any clouds over a twinkling ocean. There was no moon. But I could see enough to know the sound wasn’t coming from this memory. But something else. Bleeding.

“Why?” I asked. The Darkness shifted in the reflection. It wasn’t there. Just in my mind. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t real.

“It helps you sleep,” she said. Her voice was far away. Broken and sad like a whisper filtered through water and rain. “I like planets that rain.”

“You’ve been quiet since….”

“You needed to grieve, and I needed to heal.” I turned back to face her, but there was nothing there—just the empty darkness that filled all the spaces the light couldn’t touch.

“Heal from what?”

“He took half of all life. I am a single entity made of many.”

“He took half of you too. That’s why—that’s why it doesn’t hurt as much.”

“Yes. Would you have preferred it to be all of me?” She sounded hurt. Angry. I did nothing to deserve that. But she knew, deep down, that I hated her more than anything else.

“I don’t think it would have made a difference. Do you?”

“I suppose not.”

“Do you think it took the parts of you that aren’t here?”

“Most likely.”

“So there’s less of you now. Does that mean…?”

“You’re cured? I’m afraid not.”

“Obviously not if I can still talk to you.” I felt the Darkness shift again. This time, sliding over the glass in my peripherals. Like a cloud floating over the ocean.

“It may still work in your favor,” she said. “It’ll give you more time. But I’ll continue to grow. It doesn’t matter how much you start with—I’m already more than I was before Hydra reunited me. I will still consume you eventually.” I sighed heavily and went to get my coffee from the kitchen.

“More time,” I said. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Why ask questions if you can read my mind?”

“Johanna.”

I turned around after pouring my cup. She was trying to make herself into an image again. But it looked like she was struggling. Beata seemed warped and out of focus. She flickered in and out like a ghost, using more energy to stay visible. She would kill again. Feed and expand. It had never been about protecting me. Just growing. Because that’s all she knew how to do.

Which meant I’d never had control. Not even with Bucky. It hadn’t been an attack to kill. Just subdue. To protect her vessel from what she perceived as a threat. She’d only spared him because she knew he had no control over what he was doing to me.

“What are you planning?” she asked.

“I’m not planning anything. I’m trying to think logically and objectively. Not selfishly. I’ve done enough of that. The problem is that I’m going to die, regardless of how big you are. And frankly, this world can’t afford any more casualties. And I can’t let you hurt anyone left. I won’t let you continue to put them in danger. I just want—I want this to be over.”

“You had so much hope before. Even when you pretended you didn’t. I could feel it.”

“I had things I still wanted to do. People I wanted to say goodbye to.”

“You have Bernie.”

“He’s not old enough to remember me. He’s not even old enough to remember Clara.”

“But you are. And you can tell him about her.”

“So can Tony. He’ll do a much better job of it.”

“He’ll never forgive you. Neither of them will.”

“Bernie will grow up with everything he’ll ever need and a father who would die to protect him. Tony will be okay. They all will be.”

“You won’t be. I won’t be.” I sighed with exhaustion.

“You will be. The parts of you that still exist out there in the universe. They’ll do just fine. And the parts of you that dissipate here will find your way back together eventually. It’s unfair for you to make everyone else suffer just so you can be whole sooner.”

She looked sad. It was an image of a face she used to know. But she conveyed the emotion well. She looked close to tears.

“I want you to be whole too,” she said. But I didn’t believe that. I hated her. I hated everything she was and everything she’d done. And the best part of all this is that she’d have to die with me. Or at least dissipate until she could find another vessel. Until the world crumbled and the larger whole of her found its way here.

“That stopped being an option for me the day you decided to let Beata die so I could live.”

“The universe works in ways your mind isn’t capable of understanding, Jo. I know you feel like you’ve reached the absolute bottom of your despair but I promise you—I promise—you’ll be whole again someday. The things you want—the things you love—they’re never as far out of your reach as you think they are.”

“I swear to God, if you give me one of those ‘they’re always with you in your heart’ speeches, I’ll punch you in the nose.”

“I don’t have a nose.”

“Then I’ll punch myself and hope you feel it too.”

“Jo—just—don’t do what you’re thinking of doing. You still have so much life left in you. I don’t want you to live because I’m selfish. I want you to live because I—I love you. It’s because of you that I know what love feels like. All the people you’ve loved and lost, I’ve loved and lost too. And I can’t lose you too.”

“You can’t possibly love me,” I told her, setting my coffee back down on the counter hard enough that it spilled. “Because in a thousand years, when this is all over, you’ll forget about me. You’ll forget about Bucky and Clara and the rest of this empty godforsaken planet. And you won’t care what happened to any of us—so long as you get what you want. Besides, it isn’t real love if the other person doesn’t love you back. I’ve never loved you. And I’ve never loved myself.”

“Your family wouldn’t want this. Not Clara or, your dad or Graham. Especially not Bucky. You know he wouldn’t want you to fall apart because of him.” I nodded slowly.

“You’re right,” I agreed. “I know they wouldn’t. But they’re not here to stop me.”

“No, but I am. And I will.”