The Things You Can't Remember Tell The Things You Can't Forget
neveillapapadakis:
“This…this is my cat” Neveilla repeated to herself as though attempting to reinforce the notion in her own compromised memory; to set it in some kind of stone in an attempt to ensure that it wasn’t forgotten. “I hope he hasn’t been too much of a bother to you all. Thank you for taking care of him.” she told the man beside her in a manner which was reminiscent of the woman she had used to be. The Neveilla that had dwelled within this building had been an apologetic and nervous woman; frightened of outstaying her welcome and blind to the usefulness of her presence. While she had once upon a time been a member of SHIELD – a position which had of course been rescinded the moment it was discovered just who SHIELD really were – and the X-Men Initiative, she had always struggled to find her place amongst the collective of advanced human beings and so-called ‘superheroes’. Even the fact that she had been a Botanist whose scientific worth had been on a par with Bruce Banner himself had been of little consolation to her. She had felt merely that she had been humoured for the sake of her relationship with Tony Stark.
Which had probably explained in some way why she had thrown herself so heavily into the frey when it came to protecting the remaining citizens of the city after Thanos.
She took a few tentative and unsure steps into the room, once or twice looking back to ensure that Steve hadn’t left her alone again, her eyes scanning the room while trying to drink in as much detail as she could. While the walls were a stark white to match the rest of the uninviting, formal nature of the building, they had been draped with colourul throws containing all manner of interesting Moroccan and Indian patterns. One or two or them still carried gift tags with names attached to them; a Bruce, Natasha and… “Love Tony”? These had clearly meant something to her, and it gave her a pang of guilt to think that she’d forgotten them, even if it hadn’t been her fault. There were a few framed photographs to accompany the fabrics; most carrying herself in the company of others she didn’t recognise. A slightly greying man in glasses and purple button up shirt, looking awkward and uncomfortable as he posed with her during what looked like some sort of party. Red and black haired women huddled in a small group with her as the red head laughed while holding Basil aloft to ensure he was caught in the shot while wearing what looked to be a mock party hat. Even a picture of the man that accompanied her. A formal, what seemed to be some kind of superhero “staff picture”, where he stood up front in all of his glory. And she stood in the back, small and timid enough to go unnoticed. And the one that confused her most of all. A small framed sonogram picture, that had clearly been torn up before being taped back together. There was a small, red sharpie love heart on the frame in front of it, accompanied by two small words. “I’m Sorry.” While it filled her with questions, she wasn’t entirely sure that Steve would carry answer for her, and so she left them unerred.
While the room couldn’t be accused of being untidy, aside from the obvious items that belonged to the cat beside her, there were scattered remnants that suggested that not only did somebody stay here; for a time they had truly lived her. A pile of books on top of a storage chest that acted as a bedside table, complete with fabric covered lamp and a ceramic flower used to hold cones of incense. A chair set by a desk that had been clearly used as a ‘chairdrobe’ to hold crushed maroon velvet robe, delicate black pyjamas and a collection of bangles that hadn’t found their way back into the jewellery box. Even a small case of CD’s that sat next to a cat sized chesterfield sofa – complete with one or two obligatory scratches – where a spider plant sat in it’s pot on top. It may not have been her home in true terms, but she had clearly tried her best to make it one. Even down to the large ornamental rug that had been thrown down on the floor to prevent her feet from growing cold on the tile floor. She had always been resistant to the notion of footwear.
Setting her cat down onto the floor again, where he proceeded to brush his bushy tail happily against Steve’s leg – an action he would always use when attempting to let the person know that he was hungry - Neveilla made her way to the side chest after something caught her eye. A framed photograph, carrying a picture of herself being held dear in the arms of a man who laughed with her as he held the camera aloft to capture the moment. She didn’t recognise the man at all, but something stirred inside of her. She furrowed her brow as she carefully lifted the gilded white frame, her hand shaking just a little as she looked closer at the man. A name had been on her lips. Someone she missed terribly, so much so that the physical longing stabbed at her chest and made her grab it, but there was no knife to pull out. It was invisible but real, and the blade was grinding deeper into her as she realised that she didn’t know who she was missing. There was no knight in shining armour to collect her, or if there was, she didn’t know who he was.
“Who is this man?” she asked her companion as she quietly sat down on the bed, a warm and wet nose immediately beginning to sniff and inspect her free hand as Basil trilled beside her in a happy fashion. As far as he was concerned, all was now finally as it should be. Though he had been cared for during his time here – Neveilla had been vigilant in keeping a care diary so she could track her cat’s health and dietary needs, and once this had been found it had provided a useful framework for those charged with his care – it hadn’t been the same. There had been fresh deli meat in his bowl each day – he absolutely refused to eat any ordinary cat food, which had been indulged by a woman who had taken him on at a time when she had nobody else, and so he had become primary target for her love and need to care for another - but his human hadn’t been there to chatter to him while she was working, or cuddle him at night when he forced his way into her arms to steal her body heat. They didn’t know how he liked his food prepared and heated up just so, or how he liked his tail brushed exactly five times before he would get annoyed. They didn’t even know the games he liked to play with his sparkly green mouse.
“How do I know him? I feel like I should know him.”
Maybe the man in her company didn’t know her at all. Didn’t know anything about their relationship, and had simply been tasked with taking care of her given the fact that she had been the only one to be taken directly from this facility’s residents.
“He hasn’t been a bother at all,” Steve reassures her, smiling at the familiar pressure against his pant legs. “Been pretty intuitive, actually, giving out some comfort here and there.” Not everyone was a cat person, but there were enough people here that there was never a lack of legs to circle through, or a lap to claim when the need emerged. The cat had been something to take care of for all of them, it’s health and happiness a tangible result of the effort given. In a time when tangible had been sorely lacking, the cat had been a welcome change.
Steve follows the cat into the room, letting the animal pull him towards the bed where Neveilla sat. There’s a story in the room, history, and he’d watched her eyes track it in silence, aware of the way they lingered on particular things.
“That’s Tony,” he tells her softly, easing himself onto the edge of the bed. “Tony Stark. You were together, for a while. He went into space to fight Thanos, and he’s been gone now for a very long time.”
“He was happy with you.”

















