❝ it's called:
freefall ❞

006. routines

𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒. Not the kind that came with a normal life, anyway. She’d tried— more than once, actually —but it never stuck. The truth was, she thrived in chaos. The unpredictability of missions, the split-second decisions, the danger that constantly loomed— those were the rhythms she understood. The adrenaline pumping through her veins, the quick-thinking required to survive, the sense of purpose that came with being an Avenger. That was her world. But ever since the world went quiet, ever since the dust settled and the fighting wasn’t a part of her everyday reality, Ingrid had felt... lost.

Normal didn’t suit her. The slow monotony of daily life felt like a suffocating weight, like it was pulling her under. She could pretend, and she did. But pretending only lasted so long before it became exhausting. She missed the fight. Missed the feeling of her muscles coiled with readiness, missed that clarity of focus that only combat seemed to bring. She felt like she was built for something she was no longer allowed to do.

And today? Today had been one of those days she hated most. No battles, no missions. Just the endless monotony of acting like everything was fine when all she wanted to do was scream, break something, burn through the suffocating boredom.

Ingrid sat at her desk, supposedly doing her homework. At least, that’s what she’d call it if anyone asked. In reality, she hadn’t touched her textbook in hours. She sat there, still as a statue, staring at the wall with such intensity it felt like her eyes might burn a hole through it.

The wall didn’t even look like a wall anymore. After staring at it for so long, the blank surface had morphed into something else entirely. It was no longer flat, no longer lifeless. In the dim light of her room, the shadows played tricks, twisting the familiar shapes of her mind into the plaster.

If she squinted, she could almost see faces. The more she stared, the more defined they became. Her father’s face appeared first, his stubble-covered chin, that ever-present look of guilt etched into his features. Then Evelyn’s nose, sharp and defined. There were eyes, too— big, brown, desperate. Peter’s eyes. Ingrid blinked, heart sinking as those familiar brown eyes stared back at her.

It was late now— so late it was probably closer to early —but she hadn’t moved. Hours had slipped through her fingers, and she was still frozen in place, her body stiff and her mind spiraling. She was sure if she tried to stand, her muscles would protest, as though they’d forgotten how to work altogether. She was numb, trapped in this endless loop of thoughts she couldn’t escape.

Her fingers absently tapped the pen against the notebook, the steady rhythm the only thing tethering her to reality. The page in front of her was blank, save for the indentation marks from where she’d pressed too hard with the pen earlier, trying to force herself to concentrate. Why couldn’t she just focus? It should be simple. Numbers on a page. Formulas she’d memorized a thousand times over. But tonight, her brain refused to cooperate, her thoughts darting back and forth between everything and nothing all at once.

Her lip caught between her teeth, the pressure grounding her in a way she desperately needed. She could feel the sting, but even that wasn’t enough to break the fog that clouded her mind. A sigh escaped her, frustrated and heavy. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she just settle into this new life, this quiet existence? Why couldn’t she be like everyone else and just... be okay?

A ringing pierced the silence, cutting through the haze that had settled over Ingrid's mind. She blinked, trying to focus on the sound, and slowly turned her head toward the noise. Her phone. It was lying face down at the edge of her desk, the soft hum of the vibration barely audible against the wooden surface. Ingrid had deliberately placed it like that earlier in the evening, hoping it would stop being a distraction. Now, though, it was impossible to ignore.

With a tired sigh, she wondered who could be calling her so late at night. Her heart gave a slight lurch, a flicker of hope catching her off guard. Could it be Peter? Her mind flashed back to their conversation, to when he’d said he'd call if he needed anything, even just to talk. She hadn’t expected him to follow through— not really —but as soon as the thought crossed her mind, her hand shot out, grabbing the phone and flipping it over.

Her breath caught. The number on the screen wasn’t Peter’s. In fact, it wasn’t a number she recognized at all. Ingrid's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Could it be Fury? It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, but something about the unfamiliar digits made her hesitate. It could just as easily be a wrong number, some random person dialing by mistake. She considered letting it go to voicemail, but her curiosity, mixed with the faint hope it was something important, got the better of her.

With a resigned exhale, Ingrid swiped to answer. "Hello?" Her voice was steadier than she felt, trying to sound confident while masking the exhaustion that clung to her.

"Hey." The voice on the other end was unmistakable. Peter. Familiar and comforting, though there was something different about it tonight— rushed, almost breathless. "Hey, I messed up. I need a... I need a ride."

Ingrid’s heart dropped into her stomach. Messed up? What did that even mean? Her mind raced with possibilities, the worst of them making her pulse quicken. She tried to keep her voice calm, but the worry slipped through anyway, sharp and immediate. "Of course. Where are you?"

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a shuffle of movement. Ingrid could hear the distant murmur of voices, but it was too muffled to make out clearly. Then Peter’s voice came through again, confused and a little out of breath. "Where am I?" He echoed her question, and then she heard him ask someone else nearby, "Where am I, sir?"

The distant talking became clearer for a second, though Ingrid still couldn’t make out the words. Her fingers tightened around the phone, her mind racing. She could feel her anxiety creeping in, gnawing at the edges of her composure. What kind of situation was he in? Was he hurt? In trouble? The thought of him being out there, needing help, made something twist uncomfortably in her chest.

The man on the other end of the phone spoke, his voice unfamiliar but calm. "Hi. It’s Broek op Langedijk."

Ingrid’s mind immediately latched onto the location—Netherlands. She closed her eyes for a second, nodding to herself, piecing together the distance in her head. "Got it. Thank you," she replied, her voice clipped but polite.

"Yeah, no problem," the man responded before the phone was handed back to Peter.

"Did you get that?" Peter’s voice broke through again, more hurried this time, as if he wasn’t sure how much longer he had to talk.

Ingrid, her thoughts racing, resisted the urge to ask why Peter was in the Netherlands and not with his classmates. There was no time for that right now. She could hear the slight tremor in his voice, the desperation hidden beneath the surface. Whatever he’d gotten himself into, he needed her. And she wasn’t about to let him down.

"Yeah, I got it. I'll be on my way. Don’t worry, okay?" Her voice was firm, stronger than she felt inside, as she tried to reassure him.

Without waiting for a response, she hung up and immediately fumbled with her phone, her fingers shaking slightly. Panic was rising, but she couldn’t afford to lose control. Not now. She scrolled through her contacts, her vision blurring slightly from the intensity of it all. When she reached Happy’s name, she didn’t hesitate— he was the only person she could think of who had the resources to help.

The phone rang, and Ingrid pressed it to her ear, chewing her bottom lip nervously as she waited. It rang again, and for a moment, she feared he wouldn’t pick up. But then, after a few more seconds, his familiar, gruff voice cut through the silence. "Yeah?"

"Happy, it’s Ingrid. I—I need your help." Her voice wavered, despite her best efforts to stay calm.

There was a brief pause on the other end, and Ingrid could hear the faint sound of papers rustling. "What's going on? You sound off."

Of course he’d notice the tremor in her voice. Ingrid swallowed hard, trying to compose herself before answering. "It's Peter. He’s in the Netherlands, somewhere outside Broek op Langedijk. He called me asking for a ride." She blinked rapidly, her mind racing. "But I don’t think he’s okay, Happy."

Silence fell between them for a moment, the weight of Ingrid’s words sinking in. She could practically feel Happy processing the situation, trying to make sense of it.

"The Netherlands?" Happy finally asked, disbelief coloring his tone. "How did he even get out there?"

Ingrid shook her head, though she knew he couldn’t see it. "I don’t know. He didn’t say, but he sounded… off. I’m worried, Happy. He needs someone to get him." She paused, taking a breath to steady herself. "Please."

Happy's tone grew more serious, sharper, as if he knew the situation had just gotten real. "Alright, I’ll get the jet ready. But Ingrid, what about you? Where are you?"

Ingrid hesitated for a moment, feeling a sudden weight in her chest, the words sticking in her throat. "I’m home," she finally answered, her voice quieter now. "Can you—can you please come pick me up?"

There was a heavy sigh on the other end, one filled with unspoken concern. "I’m on it. I'll call you when I'm close."

"Thank you, Happy," Ingrid whispered, the words barely loud enough for him to hear. But before she could hang up, she stopped herself, her voice trembling slightly as she added, "Just… hurry up if you can, please."

Happy’s voice softened, his usual gruffness fading as he tried to reassure her. "Of course, kid. I'll be there soon."

The line went dead, and for a long moment, Ingrid just stared at her phone, the silence in the room growing louder by the second. The panic she had been holding back began to bubble to the surface, her chest tightening as she fought to control her breathing. Peter needed her, and it felt like time was moving too slowly, like everything was out of her control. She ran her hand through her hair, pulling at the strands as if the pain would bring her some kind of focus.

She pushed herself up, her body moving on autopilot as she walked over to her closet. Digging through the clothes, she found what she was looking for— a box shoved deep in the corner, nearly forgotten. Ingrid pulled it out and flipped open the lid, revealing the black and red suit she hadn’t worn in what felt like forever.

For a moment, she just stared at it. The suit represented everything she’d been trying to avoid, everything she’d convinced herself she didn’t need anymore. Normal life, routine— it was all supposed to be a way out of the chaos. But here she was, falling back into the same patterns. No matter how much she tried to break free, she was always drawn back to this life, back to the action.

With a resigned sigh, Ingrid grabbed the suit and shoved it into her backpack. The weight of it felt familiar, comforting in a strange way.

Returning to her desk, Ingrid grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. She chewed on the end of the pen, her mind racing as she tried to figure out what to say. After a moment, she scrawled a quick note for her dad, the words barely legible in her haste.

"Dad, something’s come up. Don’t worry about me— I’ll be back soon. I promise."

She stared at the note for a second before placing it on the desk, right where he’d see it. Her hand lingered over the paper, her fingers trembling slightly. How many times had she done this? How many times had she left without a real explanation, always with the promise to return? It was the same old pattern, the same routine she’d told herself she was done with.

But she knew, deep down, that she wasn’t built for normalcy. She thrived in the chaos. And no matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise, the truth was that she would always be drawn back to this life. The fights, the missions, the unpredictable— this was who she was.

Now, all she could do was wait for Happy’s call, knowing that once again, she was breaking the very routine she’d tried so hard to maintain.