innocent

reflections

It should've been you, not Natasha. Natasha was a good person, it should've been you who died.

Cecelia was standing in the bathroom. She had a towel around her as she dried off. She was back in present time on earth, feeling nothing but anger, and sadness coursing through her.

Natasha was dead.

She looked into the mirror, getting sickly again. She lost her mother on the Vormir, she was reminded of who she truly was. A murderer. Celia Tucker, daughter to Marshall Tucker. She was a cold blooded killer, a machine, she was an assassin. She wasn't a good person. Hydra was still there, and it always will be there.

Cecelia stared at herself. That sick feeling from when she was 9-10 coming back to her. She squeezed her hand on the counter top, keeping herself grounded.

Cecelia heard her mind rush through it, that voice in the back of her head. It made her angrier, and angrier, right up until she blew. Her fist went into contact with the mirror, a shatter was heard and her fist was cut open. It was nothing big, just a few cuts.

Cecelia looked at herself through the cracked pieces. Some had crimson red blood in them, others were just broken. Her fist had bits and pieces of the mirror in it.

you deserve it
you deserve all of it

Cecelia put her hand under the sink feeling the stinging pain. "Fuck." She said as glass started to fall out. She sniffled thinking of Natasha.

She heard a knock on her door. Cecelia looked behind her before cursing. She walked over to the door and cracked it open. She saw Steve on the other side. His eyes were red, and his cheeks were flushed. She'd seen him cry, once or twice, but she never saw him cry super hard.

"Yeah?" She asked, her voice was low, it sounded sad. She saw bright red on her white towel and he looked down through the crack.

"What the hell happened?" He asked, his voice sounding upset. He didn't want to deal with it right now, he didn't. He opened the door more to see the broken mirror. He looked at her fist and put a hand through his hair. He let out a sigh as Cecelia looked away.

"Ceil." He said disappointedly. Cecelia wiped her fist against her towel.

"I'll clean it up, I just..."

"No, don't clean it up now, just get out before you step in it, please." He said, normally he'd be upset about it. But right now he was in no mood to reprimand her. "Get changed and I'll wrap that." He said referring to her fist. Steve walked out of her bathroom and bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Cecelia never saw Steve like that. He just looked like he was giving up. Cecelia stepped out quickly. She grabbed some clothes, leggings and a sweatshirt. She put them on and called it a day.

I'm sorry, Tasha. I love you.

Cecelia put her head into her hand, due to the other one bleeding. She let a tear drip down her face as she sat there. She wiped it away, taking a deep breath.

I'm sorry, Steve. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to kill Nat, it wasn't my fault.

Millions of thoughts raced through her head. What she'd say to Tony, what if Tony thought she was the same person back when she killed his parents? What would she say then?

I'm not her anymore. I'm not a soldier, i'm Cecelia.

What if Clint blamed her? What if he blamed her for Natasha's death? She didn't hold on tight enough.

I tried to hold on, I swear I did.

Her heart felt cold thinking about it. It ached for her mother back. Natasha was the mother that Cecelia never had, she was a home. Her and Steve were her 2nd home. When Cecelia everything, she had Steve and Natasha. They built her back up to the person she is now.