Picture is Kathryn Prescott.

Music is "I'm Sending You Away" + "Oblivion" by M83 featuring Susanne Sundfør from the Oblivion OST.

All rights go to their rightful owners.

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"It's easy to feel hopeful on a beautiful day like today, but there will be dark days ahead of us, too. There will be days when you feel all alone, and that's when hope is needed most. No matter how buried it gets, or how lost you feel, you must promise me to hold onto hope.

Keep it alive. We have to be greater than what we suffer. My wish to you is to become hope. People need that, and even if we fail, what better way is there to live?

As we look around here today at all of the people who helped make us who we are, I know it feels like we're saying goodbye, but we will carry a piece of each other into everything we do next to remind us of who we are and who we're meant to be." ~Gwen Stacy's graduation speech, Part 2

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CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

"The State now calls Miss Gloria Northern to the stand."

"Place your left hand on the Bible and raise your right hand. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do."

"Please, take a seat."

It's been one week since I pushed both Black Death and I into the portal. While I arrived at my house in Maryland, Gregory Killbane Jr. was still in jail, pending a trial.

The lawyer that represented the State of Maryland, me, called me that very day and asked if I could be available for the trial in one week. He wanted me me a witness in his case against Mr. Killbane, saying that my words would seal the deal on his accused charges of harassment, assault, and attempted murder.

Gladly, I accepted.

So, it's the end of November, I'm back to being nineteen, and I'm sitting in the seat beside the Judge on the final day of the trial. This will decide what happens to Gregory. His eyes shoot daggers at me, for this isn't the boy who tried to kill me anymore. This is the ancient soul who killed my best friend.

"Miss Northern," Ms. Baxter, the prosecuting attorney, asks me, "is it true that at 10:48 p.m. on May 4th, 2015, the accused went to your house?"

"Yes," I reply, no fear in my voice.

"What was the nature of that visit?"

"Objection!" Mr. Westinghouse, the defense attorney, shouts. "The nature of the visit is speculation."

"Sustained."

"Okay, I'll rephrase: what happened when Mr. Killbane arrived at your house?"

"He wanted inside. I told him no, that I didn't think that him going in my house was a good idea. I was scared me might hurt me, so I texted... my best friend behind my back. When he heard the text noise, he became enraged and pushed me onto the floor in my house."

"You had stated in your report that he had been harassing you before?"

I nod. "Yes. He kept calling me, multiple times a day. I never answered if I could help it. He kept saying he wanted to see me."

"You said that a previous girlfriend had filed a report for a restraining order against the accused?"

"Objection! This trial is on the crimes from May 4th, 2015, not prior to that date."

"Sustained."

Ms. Baxter nods, changing her question. "So, he showed up when you had told him to stay away?"

"Yes. I told him if he did, I would call the police."

"Can I read from the report of what you told the officer at the scene?" The Judge nods his approval. "You said that he put his foot in the door when you tried to close it, and you said you'd call the cops. After he said, and I quote, 'If you do, I'll snap your pretty, little neck. You know I will.'"

I gulp and look down as the jury gasps. "That report is correct."

"You said you texted your friend for help. What was her name?"

"Objection!" Dude, come on. Give the objections a rest. "Relevance to the case, your Honor?"

The elderly African-American man sighs deeply. "Overruled. Continue, Ms. Baxter."

"What was her name?"

Keep it together, Northern. "Her name was... is... Aspen Penrose."

"You said that he chased you around your house. What did he physically do to you?"

"He did. I said things to make him angry. He doesn't think when he's angry, so I said things to enrage him. He pulled me up by my hair after shoving me into the house. He broke my arm when he caught up to me. He was about to hurt me more when my cousin came back from the pharmacy."

"Pietro Sokolov?"

"Objectio-!"

"Overruled! Let the story be told, Sir," the Judge scolds Mr. Westinghouse.

"Yes. He's my mother's sister's son. He was visiting for a couple days."

"If I may ask a question about what Mr. Sokolov was getting you at the pharmacy?"

"He was getting my medication for my sight."

"You have sight issues?"

"Where are you going with this, Ms. Baxter?" Judge Deacon asks.

"Just let her answer the question and I will make my point," the blonde lawyer says, and the Judge nods.

"I've had a condition where the optic nerves in my eyes aren't the number, or size, they should be. This causes me to see in 2D on bad days, and fuzzy 3D on better days. I can't tell if things are small or big, near or far when my sight starts acting up. I have to have lights along my hallways at night, and handrails to hold on to. There's no cure, but the medicine helps me be able to drive and stuff."

"So, Mr. Killbane attacked you while you were having one of these episodes? You had no medication in your system?"

"Yes. I tripped over things while he was chasing me. I was only caught because I couldn't tell that the chair was as near as it was."

Ms. Baxter smiles a little. "So, Mr. Killbane, knowing you had this condition, went into your home and attacked you? A girl that can't see properly?"

"Yes."

Ms. Baxter smirks. "No further questions, your Honor."

The Judge looks to the defense. "Does the defense have anything to add?"

Mr. Westinghouse sighs. "Just one, your Honor." He gets up and walks to stand in front of me. "When your cousin, Mr. Sokolov, was interviewed about the confrontation with Mr. Killbane, he said that he ran home from the pharmacy. Is this correct?"

"Yes."

"The pharmacy is twelve miles away. He was gone for merely fifteen minutes, according to him. How could be possibly have run there, gotten the medication, and run home?" Mr. Westinghouse looks at me with a slight smirk.

I answer without missing a beat. "He's a runner, Mr. Westinghouse. Training for the Olympics. Look on his bio."

Mr. Westinghouse chuckles a bit. "If I may ask about that, when we went to look for Mr. Sokolov again to ask him to take the stand as a witness for this case, we couldn't find him. Why is that?"

"He's back home in Europe now." I cross my arms over my chest.

"Yes, actually, we went to the Russians and asked for his papers and information, but they have no one in your family under the name Pietro Sokolov."

"Objection!" Ms. Baxter shouts. "That wasn't a question, and this case is about Mr. Killbane's actions, not the whereabouts of Mr. Sokolov."

The Judge looks between the two attorneys. "I'd like for Miss Northern to answer a question, once it's asked properly."

Mr. Westinghouse asks, "Why couldn't we find his papers?"

"Look again," I say, smirking. "Look him up again."

The attorney's assistant looks up his biography on the database as we speak and nods to Mr. Westinghouse. "There is a Mr. Pietro Erik Sokolov, from St. Petersburg, former Soviet Union, but it wasn't there before. How-?"

How? Rewriting my world's legal documents through the wormhole. That's how. Thank you, Natasha Romanoff.

"Clearly, someone didn't do their job right," Judge Deacon chuckles. "Are you done yet, Mr. Westinghouse?"

Mr. Westinghouse visibly sweats as he nods and scurries back to his seat.

Judge Deacon looks at me, and says, "You're dismissed. Thank you, Miss Northern."

I smile and nod back to him as I get down from the stand. I hurry to my seat in the row behind the prosecution. Ms. Baxter turns to me and smiles. "You did great, kiddo."

I smile a bit. "Thanks."

"It's time for closing arguments," Judge Deacon announces.

"That's my cue," Ms. Baxter says. "Don't worry, kid. We got this one." She stands up, straightens her blouse, and struts in high heels over to stand in front of the jury. It's people like her that give me hope in my gender. Strong, confident, commanding, and righteous.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you've seen the facts. We've shown you the surveillance from the apartment building where Miss Northern lives. We showed you the eyewitness testimonies from the neighbors and policemen and women that arrived on the scene. We spoke to the victim of assault, harassment, and attempted murder.

"This girl is visually impaired, and only nineteen. She has big dreams, and we have to prove to her and her society that the city of Annapolis will not tolerate the behavior of people like Mr. Killbane. She ended an abusive relationship, and yet he still called her, texted her, and showed up at her house to hurt her. If Mr. Sokolov had not been there to protect her, we may be doing a murder trial and not an assault case. These actions cannot and will not be allowed in this city. I ask you to find the defendant guilty of all charges."

After Ms. Baxter takes her seat, Mr. Westinghouse takes a stand and says his closing argument. "Mr. Killbane has done some wrong things, and he is sorry for them. He never intended to hurt Miss Northern, but things got out of hand." Mr. Westinghouse sighs, shaking his head. "I ask the jury to make the morally right decision. That is all."

And that is why I could never be a defense attorney.

The Judge calls for a break in the sessions for the jury to come to a unanimous conclusion on the charges. Ms. Baxter and her assisting attorney, Mr. Chapel, lead me away with them as the jury is lead back into the deliberation room.

The wait outside is murder... pun intended. We make small talk with the policeman that guards us while we wait. They seem like nice people.

Over an hour passes, and still, no jury conclusion. "What's taking them so long?" Mr. Chapel asks to no one in particular.

"Relax, Chapel," Ms. Baxter says. "It's not like they're discussing murder in their or anything."

We all chuckle a little bit. Inappropriate? Probably, but if I can laugh about it, I'll be able to live through it.

"You're a brave kid for taking the stand today," the policeman tells me.

I smile. "Thanks, Officer..."

"Reagan," he answers. "Jamie Reagan."

I grin. "Thanks for keeping watch on us, Officer Reagan."

He nods at me, smiling, as the Judge calls the court back in order. We file in, and Ms. Baxter gives my shoulder a pat. "You got this, kiddo."

"Thanks, Ms. Baxter."

"Call me Rory," she whispers.

"All rise!"

We rise, and Judge Deacon enters, asking us to be seated once more. "Have you come to a conclusion?" Judge Deacon asks the jury spokeswoman.

"Yes, we have." The middle aged woman with brown hair reads from a sheet of paper the consequences. Rory reaches back and gives my hand a squeeze, reassuring me. I gladly take the comfort.

This is it. My plan, this world, hangs on this decision.

"On the charge of harassment, we find the defendant... guilty."

I sigh of relief, but there's still more to come. My grip on Rory's hand tightens.

"On the charge of assault, we find the defendant also guilty."

Last but not least, murder.

"And on the charge of attempted murder, the jury finds the defendant... guilty."

A huge sigh escapes my lips as I sink back into my chair. I close my eyes, and the fear I once had slips away like water.

He's gone. He's going away for a very, very long time.

· ~ · ~ · ~ ·

I take a seat in front of the glass. A telephone hangs to my right, and another on the opposite side of the glass. Sitting in front of me is Gregory Killbane Jr.

I pick up the telephone and wait for him to do the same. "Prison suits you. You should've tried it earlier."

He scoffs. "You're cruel."

"You killed my best friend. I'll be as cruel as I want. Why did you want to see me, Killbane?" I ask in an annoyed sigh. "We won. You're going away for a very long time. How long did they say?"

He looks down, anger filling his rigid body. "Forty-five years. Thirty-five on good behavior."

I hum to myself. "Hmmm. Can't say I'm not pleased. We can arrange for more, if you like."

"I want to ask you one thing," he asks, changing the subject back to why he wanted me to come here. "Just one thing."

I nod. "I'm listening."

"Why?" he asks. "I killed your friend in front of you. I killed her, you, and your boyfriend in past universes. Why spare me? Why show any mercy?"

I chuckle, placing the phone against my forehead as I laugh. "You really are as dumb as you look, Killbane. This isn't mercy. This is your punishment." He looks at me confused, and I roll my eyes. "Here, you are weak. Here, you are young. Here, you are going to prison for the rest of your God-forsaken life, and if you do happen to survive, I will be coming back here to kill you myself."

"Did we not just have this conversation?" he chuckles. "You won't kill me."

I shrug. "Maybe, maybe not. I haven't figured out what I'm capable of yet; you went and threw my morals out the window when you killed Aspen, and that should scare the shit out of you. You know what else should scare you?"

"What?" he asks, dully, but I can see his throat move as he gulps.

I lean in closer to the glass frame and look him straight in the eye. "The more you take away from me, the less I have to lose. I sent you here not as mercy, but as a punishment." I lean back. "Now you'll think about death every single day for the rest of your pathetic life. There will be no second chance, no escape from the end, no place to run. Time catches up with us all, and even gods die."

His face freezes in his shocked position. "You're the devil."

"No, but make sure to tell him I said 'hi' when you get to hell." I pause, glaring daggers at him. "You know," I say, laughing to myself, "you know what I find truly hilarious about all this?"

"What."

"What I find funny is that somewhere deep inside you, there's still someone who could've been good. You could've chosen to help people with your abilities."

"I am a victim of my circumstances-"

"-No!" I slam my hand on the table in front of me. "That is absolute bullshit! You chose to be this way! This had nothing to do with what happened to you. We all have choice. That's what makes the human race different from anything else on this damn planet. Fate, destiny, they're all crap. You make your own path, and you ruined yours."

"You didn't have to go through what I did." He shakes with anger. "You didn't see the love of your life die in front of you!"

"Yes, I did!" I shout at him. "I did! Thanks to you, I did watch one of the loves of my life die! Sometimes being a strong female means knowing when to not take a life, but trust me when I say it is taking every atom of my being not to drag you out of that glass cage and blast you to kingdom come." A couple tears roll down my cheeks. I brush them away on the back of my hand and focus on my breathing. "I have a question for you now."

He waits for me to ask.

"Why?" More tears threaten to fall as my lower lip trembles. "Why did you have to do it again, and again, and again? If you loved me, loved her, why did you hurt us? Clearly, you didn't learn from your mistakes, because you kept making them!"

"I'm sorry!" He shouts, his eyes watering. "I never meant for it to go this far! I just wanted to see you again, be with you again, but in every fucking world, Maximoff ruined everything!" He curses again. "He's mister perfect, and I'm not! I know that! I've heard it from you a million times, but why him?"

"He's not perfect," I chuckle lowly. "Far from it. He has a temper, like you. He has daddy issues, like you. He's been through hell in his life time, like you. You have a lot of things in common, and you'll never hear me say that again."

"What makes him better than me?"

I'm tempted to not answer, but the desperate look in Gregory's eyes makes me say a simple reply. "He dealt with his pain. He grew up. He moved on. It made him better. He's stronger now because of it. It fuels him to help people, not kill them. He doesn't go around trying to say sorry to everyone he's harmed because he knows he's trying to do the right thing. He learned from his mistakes the first damn time. He does what's right for everyone, even if it means he gives up something he wants."

I lean in closer again. "That's what love is, Killbane. Love is sacrificing something you want for someone else to be happy. You can't buy that kind of joy. You can't buy it, you can't force it, and you can't go looking for it selfishly. If you really loved me, you would have let me rest and moved on with your life.

"That's the other reason why I spared your life. I spared you for Aspen, for Pietro, for my own selfish reasons, and for my past self. I have dignity, unlike you. I will respect the love I must've had for you. Unlike some people, I see the flaws, and then I see past them, if you're worth it." I shake my head. "I must've seen something, because I don't love just anybody. Obviously. That's why I'm marrying Pietro Erik Maximoff, according to you, again."

I get up from the chair and start to place the phone down. "Wait!" he shouts. "Will I ever see you again?"

A short pause proceeds my reply. "Maybe, but if you do, I'll be coming to end you. So you might want to say your prayers. Oh... that's right. Now might be a good time to start believing in something, because you sure as hell aren't going to make it through this one by yourself." I place the phone down and turn to leave. "Goodbye, Killbane."

I exit the room, and I swear I hear sobs from the other side of the glass.

END CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE