Pitter-patter, a dripping pattern varnishing steep roofs and flattened roads to a glossy sheen without favoritism. Clouds bulked overhead, no signs of diverging 'till it's milked the last buckets of its fierce droplets, feasibly swamping lower halves of soaring premises.

This. A scenery of melancholic blues. Former her deemed the view defective if puffs of nicotine were absent. A swig of malty beer abstained. Such burn it brought, melding a mass of fire in her throat, swirling intensity through her chest, and the ultimate finisher in her stomach.

The only torch amidst the rain; the silence needed against her wealthy fame.

But, in comparison to your presence, your loving touch, these perks were, at best, second-placers.

She realized that now.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," waived the tentative nudge of the damped cloth, pinched between your careful digits, wafting clinical fragrance.

Though, caught-off guard, you retried, slipping out "What was that about?" through a grin dancing at its corners. Response was a wince, a pathetic blench, after the sharp astringency dabbed atop her wound—awakening a sting. Hellish sting.

A thwack to the gut, a durable smack were an ant's bite. But came Soldier Boy's blast, detonating the Compound V from her veins. The result is an agonizingly slow, painful restoration.

Would this be her new normal?

Perched on a stool, pulling a face when a fresh cushion sterilizes her abrasions? Filling only one functional eye with solely of your essence? Drowning in your tender care whilst the hoary glass to her shoulder mirrored the cityscape deluging in rain?

Yes. No fucking doubt, yes.

"Nothing, I just..." twitched the scar colliding the pink hue of her lips. "I find it ironic how when I was in one piece..." Pat, pat, pat of the towel over her gouged right eye, and recollection slipped.

"I was lost."

"But when I'm turned into every powerless shmuck in America with battle scars," outstretched with a chuckle. "I feel whole with you.

No pain, no gain, right?"