Scars and Stillness
Owen sat across from Banner, who was reviewing the data collected by the machines, while adjusting a black glove on his right hand. He tugged lightly at his shirt sleeve, and for a brief moment, a burn scar was visible on his wrist; it looked as though fire itself had marked him, leaving behind faint crimson lines that still glimmered subtly, like lingering embers upon his skin.
"I honestly can't believe you were fighting with your arm in that condition," Banner said in a serious tone, eyes fixed on the monitors. "Torn muscles, realigned bones, deep lacerations in the flesh… Luckily for you, your body was regenerating the wounds while you were fighting Jean Grey. But you know your regeneration doesn't heal a completely destroyed arm. You don't have the healing factor that the mutant Logan has—you know that, right?"
Owen glanced at the projected images. His right arm was completely covered in burn marks reaching up to the elbow. It was the same arm he had used to pull that flaming entity out of Jean, and though the wounds were healing quickly, the red marks seemed determined to remain—like permanent, fiery tattoos.
"Bah, I'm not worried about a few scars. If you'd seen me before I took the serum, you'd probably have cried," Owen said with a faint smirk, trying to play it off.
Banner rolled his eyes. "Your arm still has multiple fractures, even if they're healing faster than normal. Still, don't push it. Your body's not fully adjusted to your power yet, which means you're hurting yourself in the process. You should train gradually to control it, not stupidly pick fights with powerful beings just to get stronger. This isn't one of those Japanese animes," he said sternly.
"Yeah, I know. Don't worry," Owen replied calmly. "Honestly, I'd love to rest, but I barely came back from another universe and everyone's already making a mess. Seriously, I left them alone for one day."
Banner sighed, though a small smile tugged at his lips. "Judging by your sarcastic attitude—and the fact you sound more and more like Tony—I can tell you're in a lot of pain," he noted, already used to Owen's way of hiding discomfort behind humor.
"You have no idea," Owen admitted with a strained grin. "I might have a superhuman body now, but pain… that's something I'll never get used to. Not even back when I was just a regular soldier."
Banner nodded knowingly. "There's not much that can be done. Your body builds resistance to painkillers too fast. Like they say, sometimes a blessing is also a curse," he said with a light chuckle.
Owen shot him a flat, unamused look.
"Sorry," Banner muttered, clearing his throat. "Guess I've been spending too much time around Stark."
"You'll probably feel pain in that arm for at least another two days," he continued, regaining his professional tone. "Thankfully, that glove Tony made to cool your hand seems to be working quite well."
Owen raised his hand, examining the sleek black glove he wore. It was a piece of high-tech equipment, equipped with an internal system that released small bursts of cold air to soothe the burned skin.
"Yeah. Though I'm still waiting for him to make one that reaches my elbow," he said, flexing his fingers slowly.
It was the only effective way to ease the pain since no medication could help. His regeneration healed him rapidly, but that same ability caused him to metabolize any painkillers within minutes. Using high doses of morphine would only build immunity over time—something dangerous if he ever truly needed it. For now, the only option was to endure the pain and wait for his body to finish the job.
"Did you see the General? He was pretty worried about you," Banner asked, changing the subject.
"Yeah, I saw him. He was the first one there when I woke up yesterday," Owen replied calmly, though his tone cooled as he added, "Though it seems he's got a new scar too."
"So you found out," Banner said with a resigned sigh, adjusting his glasses. "He asked us not to tell you because he knew you'd try to rush out before you were fully recovered."
"I had to torture Nicholas a little, and he finally spilled," Owen said evenly, though Banner immediately understood the subtext.
"Don't worry," Owen added quickly. "I need to heal first. Besides, Tony seems focused on tracking him down."
He slowly rotated his wrist, testing its movement, then stood up, a faint wince crossing his face.
"By the way," he said, pausing before leaving, "no one's told me yet—what caused all that chaos?"
Banner leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "Well… I didn't completely get it myself, but from what I've pieced together, Scott Summers was having some personal and relationship issues. Between the stress of his job and becoming the leader of the X-Men squad, he started seeing a psychologist who also happens to be a telepath—Emma Frost."
Owen's expression flattened, already guessing where this was going.
"Emma uses mental illusions to help calm her patients, and it seemed to work well," Banner continued. "But during one of Scott's sessions, she accidentally appeared inside his illusion—and there, they lived a peaceful life together for years. When the session ended, Scott felt guilty and decided to tell Jean about it. Apparently, that's when everything went downhill. Her emotional control shattered… and something else seemed to be feeding on her darker feelings."
Owen sighed, crossing his arms. "So, the idiot fell in love with his therapist, then ran to tell his girlfriend he cheated on her… in his dreams. And she lost it," he said flatly, clearly unimpressed.
"That seems to be the case," Banner confirmed. "By the way, I heard from Hank that Jean asked Scott for some time apart, though she'll probably leave him for good soon. In the meantime, she's helping rebuild the damaged buildings and working with Emma at her clinic as an apology."
"I see," Owen said calmly, turning away and giving a casual wave. "See you later, Banner. I need to check if Sleeping Beauty's awake yet."
Banner looked up from his monitors and nodded with a small smile. "Ah, yes. Go ahead. She might've just woken up. Her power drained her completely, but physically she's fine," he said, returning to his work.
…
Wanda woke slowly, her eyes opening with effort. The first thing she noticed was the intense white of the ceiling above her. The place felt familiar; she soon recognized the Avengers' medical bay.
It was the same room where she usually ended up after training sessions with Owen—especially that one time when a barrage of rubber balls had knocked her unconscious during a simulation.
She turned her head slightly, and there he was, sitting beside her bed. He wore a black glove on his right hand and held a book in the other, pretending to be focused on reading.
"I didn't know you read," was the first thing Wanda said, her voice a little hoarse from the long rest.
Owen lifted his gaze from the book, his expression calm. "My strength grows with training, so I figured if I want my intelligence to grow too, I should train my brain. Though, to be honest, I'm not much of a reader," he said, setting the book aside.
"How long was I asleep?" Wanda asked as she slowly sat up, stretching with a small wince of pain in her back.
"Oh, about ten years," Owen said with mock seriousness. "At some point, we all lost hope… even Pietro. He ended up becoming a Buddhist monk. He lives on a mountain in the Himalayas now—shaved head, chanting for your soul."
Wanda looked at him with a smile, playing along. "Ten years? And you haven't aged a day?"
"Hey, we've got a Captain America who's over eighty and looks… what? Forty?" Owen replied with a teasing grin.
Wanda let out a small laugh. She knew he was just mocking, but she couldn't help imagining Rogers' face if he had heard that.
Her tone, however, shifted quickly. "She'll come back, won't she?" she asked quietly, her brow furrowing. "And she'll want revenge… on me."
"She'll be back," Owen admitted, his gaze firm. "And probably angrier than before. Stronger, too. What we faced wasn't even ten percent of her real power… maybe less."
Wanda lowered her gaze, but he continued, "That's why you can't stop training. And don't worry—I won't slack off either."
His words made Wanda smile faintly, a mix of relief and trust softening her expression.
The room fell silent for a few moments. The only sound was the steady rhythm of the machines monitoring her vitals.
"Owen…"
"What?"
"Would you like to go on a date?"
He froze for a moment, caught off guard by the straightforward question. Then a half-smile appeared on his face.
"Sure… as long as it's in this world," he replied, his tone so casual it completely threw her off.
Wanda blushed instantly, pulling the blanket over her head and turning away to hide her face.
"Then it's settled. Now go, I want to sleep a little longer," she said quickly, her voice muffled under the sheets.
Owen's grin widened, amused by her reaction. He stood up slowly, still feeling the dull ache in his injured arm, and left the room quietly.
As soon as he stepped into the hallway, he ran into a familiar figure. Natasha Romanoff was walking past with her usual composed stride, her red hair cascading over her shoulders and her tactical suit fitting her perfectly. He hadn't seen her in a while; her missions for S.H.I.E.L.D. kept her away from the base most of the year. Though she technically worked under Steve Rogers, everyone knew she still carried out covert operations for Fury—part of his desperate attempt to purge Hydra from the organization.
Owen, of course, knew that effort was doomed to fail… unless S.H.I.E.L.D. was destroyed and rebuilt from the ground up.
"Seems like you've got a thing for redheads, don't you?" Natasha said with a faint smile. Her tone was light, but there was a trace of jealousy in her voice that didn't go unnoticed.
"Jealous?" Owen asked, smirking slightly. They'd shared a moment once—something that lingered between them unresolved. Still, he wasn't entirely sure he could trust her; she was loyal to Fury, while he was loyal to General Nathaniel. And those two men were sworn enemies, even if they didn't say it out loud.
"Not at all. Just… genuine curiosity," she replied smoothly, walking past him. She paused briefly before adding, "It's good to see you didn't get lost in your trip across the universe."
"Multiverse, actually," Owen corrected over his shoulder, continuing down the corridor without looking back.
His voice faded into the distance, and an unusual calm accompanied him. He didn't expect it to last long.
In his mind, he was almost praying for just a few quiet days.
He'd stopped saying that old foolish line—"this year will be peaceful."
Experience had taught him those words only made chaos show up faster.