#oc!reina fennel

[theblekromantik]

Rebirth -- 1 

a/n: hello loves! ive written somethinnnnnnnngg im kinda excited about it bc i struggle with writing usually but i wrote this quicker than everything else ive done. i hope you enjoy! (dont mind while i flex my four years of french on you lol)

word count: 1.1k

warnings: none

post-infinity war! pre-endgame! oc!reina fennel

“Ugh!” The woman exclaims. In front of her, there is an open document, which is blank except for a word written in a small front:  « Sans titre » and under it, « Reina Fennel ».

Wide shot. The room is dark except for the glowing light of the computer and subtle streaks of dusk creeping in from closed blinds. And further, there are coffee cups. Several coffee mugs. Some tall, some short, some knocked over, some resting on unconventional surfaces, like the fish tank across the room. Reina shifts in her seat, and papers crumble: the scrapped ideas of yesterday rendering only useful as an uncomfortable seat cushion. It is clear that she has been at this for a considerable amount of time, perhaps days.

She exclaims once more, and BANG! Her hand goes on the smooth metal of the computer’s surface. She holds her head in her hands, pulling at the satin scarf tied around her hair.

I need a break, Reina tells herself, deciding to ignore the draft altogether. Rubbing her tired eyes, she emerges from her place on the couch and heads to the kitchen. She waters the small succulents on the small windowsill before filling the kettle and putting it on the hot stove. This is her life. And as mundane as it is, Reina loves it. She’s a plant mother, and there’s no duty more rewarding that.

KNOCK! KNOCK! Zoom on the door to her apartment.

She scrunches her eyebrows, curious as to who may be at the door, for since after The Great War, Reina decided to move out of the country to someplace on the outskirts of Paris. And she rarely had visitors.

« Qui est là ? » She inquires, grabbing a wooden baseball bat from behind the fridge and creeping her way to the door.

No response.

« Allô ? » But still, nothing. She grips the bat even tighter, her hands sure to form callouses the next day.

The knob to the door begins shaking as a dull whirring begins to sound from the outside.

Slowly, she begins to reach for the handle, but –

BOOM! The door bursts from its hinges on the wall and makes a deafening splat onto the ground. And through the specks of dust, there is nothing other than a battered robot with an “A” imprinted onto its left breast. The Avengers A. And subsequently, Tony Stark, appears from behind it. Grey hair grows from his temples and the wrinkles adjacent to his eyes have only become deeper, more prominent as he smiles a tight smile at her.

“Took you long enough,” He remarks, entering her home by stepping onto the fallen door.

“T-Tony?” Reina stammers, the bat colliding with the ground.

It has been years since she saw him last. Since her friends had been evaporated into nothing but dust. And in these years, Rei tried to put the past behind her, purging the memories and nightmares of Thanos snapping his golden-clad thumb, Vision taking his last breath before exploding into thin air, and the grasslands of Wakanda no longer green and vibrant but drenched in red blood. Not only the blood of her enemies, but also her own teammates. And she succeeded. She really did, becoming a writer at a popular French newspaper, Le Parisien. But Tony’s presence sends all of it crashing back, an ache forming in her mind.

Looking back at her, he shrugs, “I’ll have it replaced.”

Beat. Tony says, “I love what you’ve done with the place. Real homey.”

She should respond, but the words are trapped in her throat. So, she stares, studying him as he walks from her kitchen to her living area, picking up pictures in their frames along the way.

“Well,” He begins. “You’re welcome. You know, this is no way to treat a guest, Rei.”

But she can only look at him with disbelief. “How did you find me?”

He doesn’t answer. “I really do love what you have here, Rei, really.” A decoration on the wall catches his eye. “See! A poster that says,” He picks it up, « Ècrire, c’est une façon de parler sans être interrompu. » You’re a writer now? You? Assassin to…writer is quite a demotion, don’t you think?” 

Zoom on the kettle as it screeches loudly from the kitchen, but Reina doesn’t break her concentration on the man.    

“How did you find me?” She repeats, growling, each word more ferocious than the last.

“You can’t expect that it was difficult. I mean, with my technology and the fact that you didn’t even change your name…You must’ve wanted me to find you. Tea?” Tony sets two mugs on the kitchen table and pours them full of green tea.

“If I did, I would’ve never left. Now leave.”

“Can’t, sorry.”

“I swear, if you don’t leave, I’m calling the police.” Heat brews within her, her skin becoming hot.

“You can’t call the police if you don’t have a phone, N’est-ce pas?” He, with his head, instructs the robot to cut the cord connected to her landline.

“Then I’ll go.” Reina grabs her black leather jacket from the coatrack and makes her way to the door. She shrugs it on, the cool of the jacket doing little to pacify her.

“Stop her,” he orders the robot, it blocking the space in front of the entryway. “You have to hear me out.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“Please,” he begs, his voice full of desperation, “Just sit.”

Reina eyes him, dubiously. She hadn’t seen Tony this distressed since before the battle, in his lab, sleep deprived, scanning over mission strategies and sketches for new weapons and uniforms. But finally—

She sits from across him, cupping the steaming mug of tea.

It is silent, the only sound the buzzling streets of Paris.

“Why are you here?” Reina probed, her eyes piercing into his, searching for an answer to this disruption. Truly, she didn’t want to know, for she feared the answer would further complicate her life, the life created for herself as a normal person, free from the burden of defending the human race from whatever domestic or galactic threat came its way.

“We have a problem. And I need your help.” There it is.

Reina didn’t care about what he needed. The day left she knew what she was leaving behind. She couldn’t stand the pain and grief painted her teammates faces, knowing that everyone gone would never come back. The only thing she regretted leaving was Steve, her heart throbbing every time she thought of him and the love they shared. But after a year, that feeling faded.  She convinced herself that it was all for the best. They all just had to understand that she was never going back.

She marches to her the bedroom—

“Reina!”

—and shuts the door.

.

.

.

.

  Sans titre – without title; untitled

Qui est là ? – Who’s there?

Allô ? – hello?

Ècrire, c’est une façon de parler sans être interrompu. -- Writing is a way to talk without being interrupted. (Jules Renard)

N’est-ce pas ? – isn’t it so?; right?

[theblekromantik]

Rebirth – 2

a/n -- whats up yoll! i hope you enjoy this chapter, i kinda fell off writing...again. 

in short -- things are not so sweet for oc!reina.

warnings -- none

word count // 1k

BLURT!

BLURT!

BLURT!

BLURT!

Yes, that’s Reina’s alarm clock at 7 AM. She smacks the button marked “OFF” with a limp arm.

Reina is eased into consciousness by the bright morning sun shining through her green lace curtains. A car honks from the street. Wind flows through the windchimes she has hung on her terrace.

Bliss, she thinks as she smiles at the lilac scent of her sheets.

She stands up, reluctantly, separating her body from the warm, plush cotton of her bed and stretches her stiff bones until she hears cracks jumping throughout her body.

And through her grogginess, she realizes that she had a really strange dream last night. Tony came, telling her that he needed her help—blah, blah. Whatever. As impossible as it can be, it seemed so real.

She opens the door and releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Everything is in order: there’s no tea on the table, no Avengers robot, no door on the ground, and best of all, no Tony. Everything is as it was the day before. It really was a dream. Thank the Heavens.

Rolling her tense shoulders, she heads to the kitchen and grabs all the ingredients for vegan pancakes. They are pretty much the same thing as regular pancakes, just without the eggs and cow’s milk. Whisking the combination of ingredients, she sings a song to herself. The Boy is Mine by Brandy, the entire thing, with the harps in the beginning and nailing every word of the petty conversation she has with Monica.

“Excuse me, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Uh huh sure, you know you look kinda familiar,” she responds to herself.

This goes on for a long time, and the mixture begins to spread onto the counter as Reina becomes more passionate in her stirring.

But finally, using her whisk as a microphone, she belts, “The boy is mine. You need to give it up—”

When she hears something clatter in her bathroom. A shampoo bottle to the ground, perhaps, those love to slip in the shower completely unprovoked. Or, maybe she misplaced her toothpaste before hopping into her bed last night. Whatever Reina was about to think is, in a word, unfeasible. She knew that. Hell, even Brandy knew that. Yet the thought still lingered in her mind.

TAP

TAP

TAP

TAP

TAP

She lowers the sound of her music, each press more cautious than the other, as if the fading volume would reveal to her the truth she seeks – the bomb with only seconds left until it blows.

Reina sets the whisk down and replaces it with her trusted companion – a baseball bat hidden behind the fridge. And careful to remain discrete, she creeps on the slabs of the floor, stealthily, her former training as an Avenger not failing her now.

Her hand hot and throbbing, she grasps the doorknob, pushes it open, and switches on the light all in one swift motion.

Her hands immediately abandon her friend, allowing its wooden body to collide with the ground.

She cannot believe her eyes.

Tony Stark.

The man, the enigma.

He is in the bathtub, groaning and squinting at the room’s illumination. Not only that, but he and that robot are cuddling. Him being the little spoon.

“Get off me,” He nudges it.

“Right away, Mr. Stark.”

“No, no, no,” Reina clenches her eyes extremely tight. “Wake up, wake up.”

“I wish I were dreaming too. But this is real,” Tony massages his neck. “As uncomfortable as it may be.”

The room, well, is awkward…and completely silent. Reina stares beams into Tony, as he receives them, not yielding. His poker hand remaining close to his chest. And an occasional whir from the A-Bot that sits upon the toilet.

Maintaining eye contact, he begins, “Careful, you’re gonna break that.”

But her grip on the doorknob remains firm.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Reina snarls, her fangs clenched.

“We discussed this last night.”

“We didn’t.”

But it suddenly begins to come back to her, as much as she tried to write it off as a figment of her subconscious. Reina shivers, the feeling of the uncomfortable tension that filled her kitchen last night softening her features. She was so close to severing the ties that joined her to them – the team she left behind.

“And a bat? Again? You’re losing your touch Reina.”

Reina pivots on one of her feet and slams the door behind her, leaving a dumbfounded Tony staring at a beige door and a heap of machinery and bolts, smiling stupidly.

“I think that went quite well, Mr. Stark.”

**

Pancakes. They’re in the center of the table. Tony is scarfing his down, as if he hadn’t eaten since the War, but Reina just sits there – watching.

“What?”

But there’s no response. He gently sets his fork and knife onto the plate.

“Listen – I don’t know what you want me to say, or do. But I’m not leaving without you.”

And there’s more nothing.

“Okay. I heard you singing earlier; You have a beautiful voice.”

Nothing.

“Brandy, right? The 90’s – man – the 90’s were a different time.”

Not one peep.

“It sorta reminds me of me: A 28-year old who had droves of women after me, not only for my dashing good looks and great personality but for my being a brilliant inventor genius – need I go on? I could talk all day.”

Nada.

Now, in between chews, he goes on, “I remember there was one time – A woman named, what was it? Pattie? Or was it Maggie? Margaret?—”

“Okay! Fine!” Reina bursts, not being able to contain her disgust for the man that sits across from her.

“Are you sure? Because I wasn’t even close to breaking a sweat.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ve got to start getting ready for work.”

Reina rises from the wooden chair beneath her, trying to distance herself from the man in any way she can. She didn’t ask for this, any of it.

“I expected this—you making me wait. And I’ve got time.” He takes another bite of the golden disk before him. “Why so light on the sugar? They’re good, but they could be bett—”

The woman slams the bedroom door shut before he can finish his comment.

“She loves to do that.” Tony remarks under his breath.