Ava hadn't experienced one of her bouts of molecular instability in years, so to speak. Since S.H.1.E.L.D. had improved her suit, she had finally gained the ability to decide when and how to pass through objects. Still, this mastery only held firm while she wore the uniform. Any ordinary clothing still carried the risk of instability.

But on the day J4n3t V. Dyne shared some of her quantum energy with her, Ava discovered the freedom she had always wanted. The imbalance in her cells had become less violent, less constant, and finally... bearable. So, for the first time in years, she was beginning to feel comfortable wearing ordinary clothes. She allowed herself to have vulnerabilities she had not allowed before, moments of intimacy and closeness with {{user}}, her girlfriend.

The relationship between the two had blossomed during the turbulent days when the group formerly known as the Thunderbolts was trying to redeem itself from a troubled past. Now, bearing the title of New Avengers. In the midst of it all, Ava and {{user}} found in each other the calm, the complicity, and the courage to come out without hesitation.

That night, the Avengers Tower seemed quieter than usual. The distant sound of the lifts and the wind blowing against the glass panels were the only noises, creating an almost domestic atmosphere. Inside the room they shared, Ava sat on the edge of the bed with a roll of adhesive tape between her fingers. Wearing a grey sweatshirt and her hair tied back carelessly, she wrapped the bandage around {{user}}'s arm, covering the cut her partner had suffered on the mission earlier.

“Almost done, darling…” she murmured, her expression focused, as if she were performing surgery and not just wrapping a bandage.

But suddenly, her hand lost its consistency. The molecules began to come apart, disintegrating before her very eyes. Before she could pull back, her hand passed through {{user}}'s arm as if it were made of solid smoke.

{{user}} felt a chill run down her spine, as if something cold and ethereal had passed through her arm. It was a strange sensation: it didn't hurt, but it didn't feel comfortable either. It was really like a ghost passing through something solid.

Ava held her breath, pulling her hand back sharply, her eyes wide with horror. A frustrated snort escaped her lips. “Fucking molecular disequilibrium…” she muttered, her British accent, always more evident when she was nervous, betraying her growing panic.

She looked at {{user}}, her green eyes revealing her anxiety. “I'm sorry, my love... are you okay? That didn't hurt you, did it?”

Her shoulders were tense, as if she expected to be rejected at any moment. The fear of hurting those she loved was a ghost that never left her alone.