JBB: An Artblog!
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Not today Justin
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$LAYYYTER
Cosmic Funnies
art blog(derogatory)
#extradirty
Xuebing Du
shark vs the universe
JVL
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styofa doing anything
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
AnasAbdin
izzy's playlists!
h
almost home
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Andulka
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@masterrofmagnetism
— "𝙈𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨𝙣'𝙩 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙."
* ᴠᴇᴛᴇʀᴀɴ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏᴇʀ. * ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇ. * ᴀᴅᴜʟᴛꜱ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ. * ɴᴏᴠᴇʟʟᴀ ꜱᴛʏʟᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ. * ᴀꜱ ᴄᴀɴᴏɴ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟɪᴀɴᴛ ᴀꜱ ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴀᴛᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʙʟᴇɴᴅ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴄᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴀʀᴛʜ 616 ᴄᴏᴍɪᴄꜱ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴄᴏʜᴇꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʀᴇʜᴇɴꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴀɴɴᴇʀ. * ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ. * ɴᴏ ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀꜱ.
Writing schedule.
About the writer.
**ᴾᵉⁿⁿᵉᵈ ᵇʸ: ᴴᵃᵛᵒᶜ — ᵗʰⁱʳᵗʸ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ**
magnet family my beloved
(commission info // tip jar!)
My favourite little x men thing is when someone is like "Give up, Magneto! You stand no chance against this plastic weapon/gun/suit I have built!"
And Magneto is like "I see. Whatever will I do."
and throws the surrounding infrastructure at them.
❛ i had it under control. you didn’t need to do that. ❜
Her comment was met with a very obvious eye roll that he wouldn’t dare attempting to hide. A disdainful shake of his head soon followed. The slight smirk on his face betrayed the irritated facade.
They were all the same.
“From where I was standing Darling, it didn’t look like you had anything under control.”
Oh, if looks could kill, she would have met her target and more.
She had spent days studying this nazi's movements and setting the trap. It was hard to find out who he worked alongside when his blood was splattered across the wall.
"Perhaps next time look harder. Darling."
Typical man seeking out their daily fix of stroking their own ego.
He would not stand down.
There was no justice when it came to these men. They didn’t deserve a trial and the only use they served could only be fulfilled when they were dead.
“I know hesitation when I see it.
Why?”
"Hesitation?"
Scoffing at the accusation as she pulled out gloves from her purse, stretching the rubber before putting them on.
"You really do have no idea." Squatting beside the corpse, she would carefully check the pockets, pulling out his phone, wallet, and keys before bagging them up.
"My business is classified, and you have already seen too much."
One eyebrow raised as he watched the woman go about her business. Was she robbing him? Not that it mattered. The man was dead. Anything he had owned had likely been obtained with blood money anyway.
“Are you worried I am going to tell on you? You aren’t exactly a welcome sight either. I couldn’t risk you getting in my way.
Do you intend to take his DNA as well?”
"In your way?"
Echoing his statement as she rose to her feet, bewildered by his audacity to assume she was the inconvenience in this situation.
"You want his money?" Tearing the bag open with an exaggerated sigh, she would fish out the wallet. Pulling out the small pile of notes and forcing them into his hand as she walks past. "It's yours."
Purposely evasive.
He should have expected it. The stench of specialized training and indoctrination wafted off of her like cheap perfume.
“I would sooner starve than pay my way with blood money. What business did you have with him? Or rather, what business does your handler have with him?”
Dropping the money, not caring who benefited from the discovery nor the debate of what money wasn't covered in blood.
"A rather bold assumption, can't a woman have a hobby? Im sure you would love the chat, but Im a little busy now. Darling."
Hold out the car key as she approached the opening of the alleyway. She will press the lock multiple times until the soft beep from a parked car pulls a satisfied hum.
The car wasn’t going anywhere.
A subtly raised hand would make sure of it. Until she gave him something more than a sour attitude, he would keep the vehicle in his grasp.
The hunter had easily become a hostage.
“That’s a shame. I suppose you better make haste with the answers then, hm?
There is only one sort of person who makes a hobby out of killing Nazis and you do not fit any of the usual criteria.”
She heard the metal groan as she gripped the handle. This man really didn't know when to quit, and what was once mildly amusing was quickly being irritating.
"You make a lot of wrong assumptions."
Slowly, her focus would turn from the car back to him, burning his face to memory. The ptoblem was that the more he gripped the metal, the more determined she was to not back down.
"My hobby is not killing Nazi's. It's weeding. Would you like the car when I'm done? I only need a few moments."
He shook his head as he remained in place. His grip tightening around the metal frame of the vehicle as he hand reached the handle. If only so she would be able to feel it vibrate against her fingertips.
“I have no need of it. The only thing I need is answers.
Here, let me make it simple for you. I only need one answer. Who do you work for?
CIA? Interpol?
The United Nations?
Give me what I need and I will let you go.”
She wanted to know what gave him the impression that his little party trick was going to work. Eying him up and down as he got closer, any chance of a swift escape slipping away fast.
"Not exactly." Keeping her voice low and even, as people walked past oblivious to the crime scene barely 50 feet away. The irony of having links to all three of his suggestions wasn't lost on her.
"Consider myself as checks and balances. I don't like it when one person thinks of themself as God above all others. I really don't like it when they abuse their power to enforce it."
Self righteous bullshit.
It seemed as though such things came along with the training. How often they tried to portrayed themselves as benevolent and virtuous, while doing nothing but carrying out the orders of someone else.
He couldn’t help but scoff. His voice low so the civilians scampering around wouldn’t hear him.
“You expect me to believe this was a personal mission? What an unconventional way to spend your free time.”
"What makes you think I care about your expectations?"
She stood a moment, watching him as he spat out his dummy. Entitled, demanding, condescending. Was this how he moved about his life, threatening people for answers he had no right to know?
"You know as well as I do, no matter what answer I give you, you won't believe it, and it would never be enough." With a forcful tug, she will attempt to pull open the door. "Go find another bone to chew on."
“Unfortunately, my dear—
You probably should.”
There was no way she was getting into the car. Not while he had it caught in an invisible grip that she would not be able to counter.
“This car is not going anywhere until you tell me what I want to know. But since I am a reasonable man, I am willing to propose a deal.”
Clenching her jaw, she pulled on the handle one last time. A final check that failed before she let it go entirely.
She was debating the likelihood of what she needed in the car at all. No stone unturned, but he was making this unnecessarily difficult, and with every passing moment, the likelihood of that body being found grew fast.
"Amuse me."
He had no concern over the body lying in the building behind them, in a pool of his own blood, felled by his own weapon.
It didn’t matter who found him or who would be the unfortunate soul to come upon the mess. He had no reason to conceal his identity or his motives.
He wasn’t in the business of working in the shadows.
At the request to amuse her, he smiled.
“You tell me who sent you here and I will tell you who the dead man reports to. Tit for tat.”
❝Power isn’t your problem, it’s knowledge.❞
:)
"My problem," Turning to face him, pressing her lips to a tight line as she looked him over carefully. "Is people getting in my way."
"Knowledge can easily be gained if granted a slither of peace or space to learn it." A soft smile tugs the corner of her lips as she shakes her head softly of any frustration clouding it. "Or if someone is willing to share it?"
Skipping a few steps to catch up to him, she could only try and decode his face to determine just what exactly he meant. What did he mean by know her?
The thought of anyone knowing her made her stomach turn with unease. She hadn't exactly the best public record. It felt like every one of her mistakes was out there for the world to see and tear apart with judgement.
There was a variety of questions forming in her mind faster than she could voice them. Not that any of them would change the outcome. It wasn't like she had many options before her.
"Homemade." It wasn't until she was in the car, tucking her legs up on the seat and shut away from the outside world once more that she found her voice again. "Cookies. My favourite ones are homemade." Time spent on preparing food was something you simply couldn't put a price on. It made any treat worth savouring.
"White chocolate ones make a solid default."
Watching the world drift past her, she would hunt for any familiar or distinguishable structure. Mapping the turns and street names in case needed later.
America was nothing like home. The streets carbon copies of each other. Such a large country, and yet at times, it felt you could hardly move.
"Are they like us?"
There was no doubt in his mind that Charles had a special interest in her and often made it a point to check up on her, when locked in the captains chair of Cerebro. Invasive and always crossing boundaries while he lectured others not to.
If her mind was truly as frayed and damaged as the nations leaders had deemed it, at the very least his old friend might be able to help.
He suspected she had merely been shaped and molded by the wrong hands. Guided by the wrong people. And he had nobody to blame but himself. It had taken him far too long to step in.
The stout and pimple faced younger man in the drivers seat said not a word as the pair got into the car.
“You know where we’re going, Toad. Make haste.”
A nod of obedience and the car pulled away; winding along the tree fringed roads of upstate New York.
“They are like us. Yes. Completely insane and entirely misguided. There is no need to be on your best behaviour.
. . .
That was a joke.”
"I dont really know him." Wanda would sit forward, casting a sideways glance towards Erik before meeting the drivers gaze in the mirror. Despite seeing immediately how the driver got his name, she couldn't help but shift uncomfortably at the brazen disrespect.
"And he's German." Looking to Erik directly, she could only shake her head. The familiar feeling of scolding Pietro when he too spoke without consideration of others.
"A joke about them being like us or about my behaviour?" Arching her brow before turning to stare out the window once more.
"Relax, I had my medication this morning." What they were or what good they did was a mystery to her. All she did know was that she only got to watch her shows after proving that she swallowed the small cup of pills.
Either she wasn’t fond of jokes or he wasn’t very good at them. Something that would need to be worked on.
“Both”, he replied a little too matter of factly, as though to leave absolutely no confusion between them.
“Both statements made in jest.”
A small frown pulled at the corners of his mouth as he gave a light shake of his head.
“I promise you have nothing to worry about. It is I who will do the worrying. You would never be turned away. Or mistreated. That I am sure of.
It’s me who must cross a bridge I’ve set fire to a hundred times over.”
There were times when pride and ego needed to be set aside. When one would have to take a bullet for someone they loved.
He might not be welcomed with open arms, but the child would be. An innocent victim in a game played by professionals.
“You are going to have to trust me. Just this once. After that you are free to make up your own mind.”
"To set fire to the bridge, you must have rebuilt it as many times." A simple statement she perhaps wasn't intending to speak aloud. "Either you have impulse control issues, or your friend can't establish healthy boundaries."
Watching the traffic roll past. The landscape turned more lush and green by the mile, yet she couldn't help that nervous energy bubbling within.
Catching glances every so often to check if his composure was still as calm as before. Like stone, his expression gave nothing away. It was hard to be disappointed when she felt impressed.
"I'll trust you." She hoped it would be taken as a trust concern. If they were to take her down, she would ensure he would go first. Reality was she was hoping to keep this person in her corner that little longer. "But I'm not staying there unless you are. Even if just for a few days."
“Both.”
He wouldn’t hold back and he wouldn’t pretend as though reality was anything less or anything more than it was.
Impulse control issues and lack of boundaries.
He had never heard a more simple and accurate explanation.
There were a hundred other places he would have preferred to stay then in THAT house. A hotel. The car. A park bench. But she didn’t want to be left alone and he would not abandon her this time.
For the sake of the greater good, he would have to take one for the team.
“A few days is all I can tolerate, I’m afraid. However, you can choose to stay, if the environment suits you.
You mentioned baking. Is this something you enjoy?”
The silence that followed lasted only a minute or so before the smirk on her face turned to a snicker, finally a quiet giggle.
Shaking her head at the question not as an awnser but at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. For someone often referred to as a chaotic person, she thought she was used to the unordinary life that fell upon her, and yet on random days like this, she still found herself surprised.
Before she replies, she would cast him and amused look, silently asking if they were really having this conversation now.
"I like food." She a finally answers, a small genuine smile on her face, "But it's not the same in America as it was back home. Nothing here feels... fresh." Srunching her nose at the thought of processed chemicals and the mountains of sugar compressed into every ingredient. "Cooking, baking, it's a love language. For oneself and for others. Perhaps in those 'few days' I could make you something, I know a few German recipes..."
It was a sentiment they shared.
How difficult it was to find good, healthy food every time he found himself in the land of the free.
It was so amusing he actually scoffed.
“That is because nothing is fresh. Genetically modified ingredients. Meat injected with hormones. Preservatives and fillers.
Though it doesn’t seem as though they do a lot of their own cooking. Not anymore.”
Now it was his turn to raise a brow.
It was a little ironic that someone who tried to hide their accent, clung to traditional and regional recipes. Perhaps it was her way of retaining at least a small part of her identity?
An identity that she was hardly fully aware of.
“Your grandmother used to make the best whipped shortbread. So light and fluffy. It would melt in your mouth.
Heidesand”…
Her grandmother.
A simple phrase that had her pause.
The grandmother she knew was a jolly woman who would tell stories of all kinds whilst knitting socks that rubbed the skin on your feet raw. The thought that there could have been another face in place, another name, other stories...
"Heidesand." Repeating the word as though savouring a taste. "I will attempt it."
Her German was poor, much like the average child who picked it up in school, not from choice but from an enforced curriculum. She never thought a day would come she might need it. Nor did she ever assume she would wish she had it.
"What part of Germany are you from?" She barely knew the country, never even considered visiting until now, but the question felt like testing waters. He wanted to small talk about baking, and she wanted to know who her mother was and how he found out about her at all... small steps were needed.
He knew it was only a matter of time before the questions came pouring out. Years and years worth of them.
Although he didn’t particularly enjoy talking about himself and was absolutely adamant to leave the past exactly where it belonged— in the past— he knew he owed her answers.
He just hadn’t expected the interview to begin so soon.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as she inquired about his homeland. Looking up his eyes met with those of the driver in the rear view mirror. A deliberate and calculated look that told the other man not to listen.
There were things he had never told anyone before. Not even his closest allies.
“Nuremberg. I was born and raised in Nuremberg.”
He knew she would not be satisfied with such a direct and plain answer.
“My father— your grandfather was a manager at a department store. My mother stayed home to look after her children and keep the house. Excellent baker. Made the best windbeutel in the upper east side of the city.”
She picked up the shift immediately.
Glancing between the man sat next to her and "toad" she was about to change topic, tell him she was being nosey and that he didn't owe her anything.
And then he spoke.
Humble beginning was not what she would have assumed looking at how sharply dressed he appeared now.
The image of every perfect family from her beloved shows flashed in her mind. A hard-working father, adoring mother, home cooked meals. Simple living. Who could want anything more?
A smile was all she could offer, a spark of wonder as her mind flooded with all the memories stolen from her.
She wouldn't press further.
The past was a place many preferred buried.
"Thank you." For what she wasn't fully able to comprehend, sharing details, breaking her out of a facility, offering a new option she didn't have prior? The list was building quicker than she would usually be comfortable with.
"It's not always like this." Her life was pure chaos, every choice she made subconsciously fueling her next mistake, but between the catastrophic events, there was good. Peaceful.
It sounded as though she was apologizing. For nothing but being who and what she was. A tone of voice that tugged at something deep within him. An old wound that would never fully heal. He had heard that tone in so many voices before.
Nobody should ever feel as though they needed to apologize for existing.
“No, it’s not.”
A solemn agreement. If anyone understood how she felt, it was him.
“Sometimes it’s good. Normal. Quiet. And for the briefest of moments you genuinely feel as though everything is going to be alright.
But it never lasts, does it? The world certainly doesn’t make it easy for us.”
A long moment of contemplative silence passed between them as the car ambled up the road. He had set his eyes out the window and he knew from memory that they were nearly at their destination.
“You don’t remember her, do you?”
Could she really blame the world? Perhaps, in her darkest of moments, the days she lashes out wanting to inflict an ounce of the pain and loneliness she feels every waking second. Yet most of her pain, most her troubles, they always came from within.
A ticking bomb waiting to detonate the second that spark of joy struck.
There was no need to rock anything further today. Step back before she found out the hard way where exactly the line was drawn.
Almost asleep, the pur of an engine the lull of traffic drifting by mixed with the wariness of whatever cocktail of medication she had been fed. His question almost fell on deaf ears.
Lifting her head to check, she really had heard him, a glance towards the driver as a final chance for him to take it back.
"I knew they weren't my real parents, there was so many orphans in Sokovia it wasn't exactly rare... but I dont remember a time before them."
She wouldn't lie, even if it made him uncomfortable. She knew little facts in her life, and it felt the few she could depend on were quickly crumbling away.
"They were good people, I don't know what they knew or what they chose to hide, but they did their best with the little they had. I can't - " contemplating her next choice of words, she would brush the thought away with a shrug.
"It's all new, as I imagine it is for you."
He was not known for his delicacy.
Not the kind of poker player who would hide his hand and bet modestly. It was all in as all the cards were laid out on the table.
This situation was different. Her psyche was already fragmented and fragile. So much so that THEY had considered her a danger. Punished for things beyond her control.
He did not want to make it worse.
He had no idea what she knew or how much of it she had been able to find out. No knowledge regarding the truth and what she had been told.
He would have to choose his words carefully and he careful not to make excuses. That was definitely the last thing she wanted to hear.
“Well isn’t that just a debate meant for philosophers? Is it kinder to forget or to live with the memories of that which you can never get back?”
A small pause as he thought.
“Patient. Soft spoken. Kind.
Empathetic.
Funny how it is always those who have experienced the most pain that are left with a profound desire to ease it in others.
I think she had a way with nature. Animals. Plants. People.
Almost mystical.
That’s what I remember.”
Shifting in the seat to roll her shoulders and stretch her spine the best she could as she listened to his big philosophical questions.
"Does it make any difference? I don't know what's real anymore."
The comment had no thought to it until spoken. Pausing mid stretch to carefully observe the car and the people within it, for that cursed red glimmer in a reflection, or an expression that failed to meet the eyes.
Slowly, she would sink back into her seat. Keeping her breath even as the thought burrowed deeper.
As he spoke about her mother, she tried to listen. Not so much on is description, but for more, for that feeling of something sounding just that little bit too good to be true.
"What happened?"
Something bad was what she needed to hear. Something that her own mind would have blocked out or rewritten to fit a better story.
"What went wrong?"
What happened.
The same thing that always happened. A chain of misfortunes that led to a tragedy. Effectively ripping everything he had fought so hard for right out of his white knuckled grip.
And he had nobody to blame but himself.
How quickly things always seemed to spiral out of control.
He was taking a huge risk by telling her the truth, but the truth was exactly what she deserved to hear. He was not in the business of cherry picking which events to include when recounting history and he didn’t have the power to erase them from anyone’s memory, whether for his own convenience or what he thought was the greater good.
“There was a fire. An accident.”
He paused there. The next bit of the story was sure to hit her like a ton of bricks.
“Another child. A sibling. A sister. They held me back. Prevented me from going in to save her.
I murdered them all.
Decimated an entire village.
She fled. Afraid.
I didn’t know.”
No excuses. There was no room for excuses.
“Whatever happened after that, I could not tell you. She went to the mountain and I went to Israel.
These are blanks you will have to fill in yourself.”
She listened.
Waiting to see what would happen next, keeping her own mind as still as possible to prevent any type of influence on the story.
The hesitation before his words had her holding her breath in case she missed that uncanny clue. This was all a twisted delusion.
She couldn't help but wonder how the fire was caused. Had her sister shown the same signs? Had they too been surrounded by the superstitious who believed it was the only way to purify what was left of her soul?
"I'd have done the exact same thing." That uncomfortable thought lingering in the back of her mind dulled as she placed her hand over his own. There was nothing she could do to take away that kind of pain. She had been trying to battle grief most of her life. It's what broke her.
"I always felt a pull towards America, even as a child. I used to think that if I sat on a boat in the sea, I'd drift across the oceans to its shore with no effort at all. It's why I agreed to come here, not because I liked their culture or people, I could have killed Stark or brenner in their sleep and not think twice." Twitching her nose at the mere mention of their names. Fakes.
"I was drawn in because I knew there was something here... something waiting for me. Perhaps it was you."
I’d have done the exact same thing.
A statement meant to ease his guilt and soften the grief. Yet, it only made the knot in his stomach pull tighter.
Had she really inherited his most undesirable trait? The anger that bubbled to the surface quicker than he could stop it? The wrath and fury that was unleashed in moments of amplified emotion? The complete disregard for consequences while deep in the heat of the moment?
He gave a light shake of his head as his eyes lingered downward to her hand had moved to rest atop his own.
“No. It was you who was waiting for me. Waiting for far too long. Had I known earlier I could have done something. I could have spared you from… all of it.
You and your brother.”
A regret he would never shake off. Never spoken aloud until that very moment.
“You deserve better than what you’ve been given. Treated like something that can be owned. Rejected and feared when they realized that you cannot tame a tiger. The least I can do is give you a chance to choose your own path. Free of leashes and chains. Expectations and requirements. Freedom.
I offer only freedom. Real freedom.”
The mention of Pietro was like a knife to her heart. Possibly the worst wound of them all. Losing him, it was like losing her very arms. Who else could claim they knew her, understood her as well as her twin.
Pulling her hand back, she adjusted her hoodie, stretching the sleeves and zip like it suddenly became all too important.
The promise of freedom, it sounded a little too much like those before. A better world. Peace and unity. A dream many had but one she was beginning to feel was less and less attainable as life carried on.
She lacked any further questions. Any she had was swallowed down for another day, another chance if it happened to come.
"Have you any questions?" Before life gets in the way again. Gods only know how much it liked to snatch away things as soon as she has them. Was best to make the most of the time whilst it was present.
For a long while, he remained silent as he considered all of the questions he could have asked her. In the wake of the conversation they had just had, none of them seemed appropriate or important anymore.
“No. I know everything I need to.”
Shifting in his seat, he moved forward so to get a glimpse out of the windshield. He knew from memory that when the road grew more narrow, they were nearly upon their destination.
He knew it was nothing but a trick of the mind, but he could practically see the peaks of the old mansion poking out above the tree line.
“Anything more you wish for me to know is at your own discretion.”
Panel of the Week #30:
Would you read?
Gambit (2012) #1
On that note—
Now that Disney owns the rights, what are the odds that whole thing will be retconned back to the original material?
I am thinking of that scene in X-Men 97 of the silhouettes on the boat.
Very clearly Wanda, Pietro and Lorna.
Why put that in there?
Although I don’t really like the 2014 retcon and refuse to knowledge it in my writing, when you really think about things, it’s just another layer of tragedy.
Man discovers two adults he’s been connected to for years are actually his children that he didn’t even know existed. Man goes decades thinking they are his children. Man then finds out through a seemingly random event that they aren’t actually his children.
So much wasted energy and emotion for everyone involved. Probably a relief to those kids though.
Let’s be honest here.
He couldn’t be sure if it was him who cut the boy off or if he had done it himself; afraid to say anymore and have his emotions betray him.
The affection he held for his surrogate family would complicate things.
“Have you considered telling them the truth? Any relationship should be built on a foundation of trust and honesty. Especially if you are so worried about someone getting hurt.
Lies and deception. All truths are eventually revealed in time.”
He glanced over to the man. "Truth about what?"
Billy was pretty sure he hadn't said anything too weird, had he? What did the man think he was hiding? He was searching for someone, someone likely named Tommy. Someone fast, and his age. Was that somehow inherently weird? Was he being inherently weird again?
He hated that. "Not always. I just told them I was on a school trip, they don't have to worry, I don't want them to worry, I... Springfield is just father away than a weekend trip."
The age and experience between them was made blatantly obvious as he offered a patronizing smile and a shake of his head.
“You will not get very far here if you insist on being coy about things.
The truth of who you are. What you are. All you can do.
Though I have to admit… that’s a pretty good cover story. A school trip.
You are smarter than you look.”
❛ i had it under control. you didn’t need to do that. ❜
Her comment was met with a very obvious eye roll that he wouldn’t dare attempting to hide. A disdainful shake of his head soon followed. The slight smirk on his face betrayed the irritated facade.
They were all the same.
“From where I was standing Darling, it didn’t look like you had anything under control.”
Oh, if looks could kill, she would have met her target and more.
She had spent days studying this nazi's movements and setting the trap. It was hard to find out who he worked alongside when his blood was splattered across the wall.
"Perhaps next time look harder. Darling."
Typical man seeking out their daily fix of stroking their own ego.
He would not stand down.
There was no justice when it came to these men. They didn’t deserve a trial and the only use they served could only be fulfilled when they were dead.
“I know hesitation when I see it.
Why?”
"Hesitation?"
Scoffing at the accusation as she pulled out gloves from her purse, stretching the rubber before putting them on.
"You really do have no idea." Squatting beside the corpse, she would carefully check the pockets, pulling out his phone, wallet, and keys before bagging them up.
"My business is classified, and you have already seen too much."
One eyebrow raised as he watched the woman go about her business. Was she robbing him? Not that it mattered. The man was dead. Anything he had owned had likely been obtained with blood money anyway.
“Are you worried I am going to tell on you? You aren’t exactly a welcome sight either. I couldn’t risk you getting in my way.
Do you intend to take his DNA as well?”
"In your way?"
Echoing his statement as she rose to her feet, bewildered by his audacity to assume she was the inconvenience in this situation.
"You want his money?" Tearing the bag open with an exaggerated sigh, she would fish out the wallet. Pulling out the small pile of notes and forcing them into his hand as she walks past. "It's yours."
Purposely evasive.
He should have expected it. The stench of specialized training and indoctrination wafted off of her like cheap perfume.
“I would sooner starve than pay my way with blood money. What business did you have with him? Or rather, what business does your handler have with him?”
Dropping the money, not caring who benefited from the discovery nor the debate of what money wasn't covered in blood.
"A rather bold assumption, can't a woman have a hobby? Im sure you would love the chat, but Im a little busy now. Darling."
Hold out the car key as she approached the opening of the alleyway. She will press the lock multiple times until the soft beep from a parked car pulls a satisfied hum.
The car wasn’t going anywhere.
A subtly raised hand would make sure of it. Until she gave him something more than a sour attitude, he would keep the vehicle in his grasp.
The hunter had easily become a hostage.
“That’s a shame. I suppose you better make haste with the answers then, hm?
There is only one sort of person who makes a hobby out of killing Nazis and you do not fit any of the usual criteria.”
She heard the metal groan as she gripped the handle. This man really didn't know when to quit, and what was once mildly amusing was quickly being irritating.
"You make a lot of wrong assumptions."
Slowly, her focus would turn from the car back to him, burning his face to memory. The ptoblem was that the more he gripped the metal, the more determined she was to not back down.
"My hobby is not killing Nazi's. It's weeding. Would you like the car when I'm done? I only need a few moments."
He shook his head as he remained in place. His grip tightening around the metal frame of the vehicle as he hand reached the handle. If only so she would be able to feel it vibrate against her fingertips.
“I have no need of it. The only thing I need is answers.
Here, let me make it simple for you. I only need one answer. Who do you work for?
CIA? Interpol?
The United Nations?
Give me what I need and I will let you go.”
She wanted to know what gave him the impression that his little party trick was going to work. Eying him up and down as he got closer, any chance of a swift escape slipping away fast.
"Not exactly." Keeping her voice low and even, as people walked past oblivious to the crime scene barely 50 feet away. The irony of having links to all three of his suggestions wasn't lost on her.
"Consider myself as checks and balances. I don't like it when one person thinks of themself as God above all others. I really don't like it when they abuse their power to enforce it."
Self righteous bullshit.
It seemed as though such things came along with the training. How often they tried to portrayed themselves as benevolent and virtuous, while doing nothing but carrying out the orders of someone else.
He couldn’t help but scoff. His voice low so the civilians scampering around wouldn’t hear him.
“You expect me to believe this was a personal mission? What an unconventional way to spend your free time.”
"What makes you think I care about your expectations?"
She stood a moment, watching him as he spat out his dummy. Entitled, demanding, condescending. Was this how he moved about his life, threatening people for answers he had no right to know?
"You know as well as I do, no matter what answer I give you, you won't believe it, and it would never be enough." With a forcful tug, she will attempt to pull open the door. "Go find another bone to chew on."
“Unfortunately, my dear—
You probably should.”
There was no way she was getting into the car. Not while he had it caught in an invisible grip that she would not be able to counter.
“This car is not going anywhere until you tell me what I want to know. But since I am a reasonable man, I am willing to propose a deal.”
He would not waste any time. He would go from one initiative to the next.
Time was not something that was on his side. He could not lend any to putting together any sort of calculated plan. He would not rest to gain his bearings and he didn’t need a single moment to find his resolve.
He would follow her map to the suspected hotel as soon as he left the swanky bar and his feet hit the pavement of the street. If her theory about which hotel they were housing the child’s family proved to be incorrect, he would check the next closest one in the area. A methodical and thorough process, that would not end until he was aware of their fate.
She had played her part and been more forthcoming and helpful than he ever could have guessed. Now it was time to complete his own part. He could rest and regroup when all was said and done.
“Anyone having to spend their lives wondering is exactly what I am trying to prevent here.”
With a curt nod, as though to physically embody his resolve, he leaned forward against the table so to push his chair out.
“I will contact you. And thank you. For the drinks. Your company is a lot more pleasant than I would have expected.”
He stood and took a step that would take him beside their table. A suppressed smirk lingering on his face as he swept her a very regal bow.
“I bid the Duchess of Chelsea a pleasant evening. May she be blessed with nothing but more fortune.”
He had her name and her address, if he remembered it, and she didn't doubt that he would provide that promised closure rather than leave her tormented by what ifs.
"Thank you,” she said simply, genuine relief shifting into her tone, though it offered little comfort for how things would end.
He was a man on a mission, quite literally, and the restless energy cascading off of him made it clear that he would not waste a moment more now that he had his direction. Any wasted time could dramatically change the outcome, if there were any other outcome.
"Your company wasn't entirely unpleasant either," she countered with an amused laugh. As he sidled alongside the table, she leaned her head back, angling to watch him sweep into that theatrical bow. In return, she offered a stiff, slow-motion royal wave.
"Safe travels, Max."
Saying his name aloud again seemed to make it real, transforming him from the ghost she had found haunting that ruined structure. Her eyes trailed after him as he exited, sorting through the pieces of who he was.
Somehow, he was still a mystery - maybe even more so now. That fierce determination to help that family, all tied up with an effortless grace. A flair for dramatic presentation, but a seriousness that spoke of experience with working in the shadows. And beneath it all, there was something simply magnetic about his personality.
She shook her head slowly as if that would halt whatever train of thought that was.
Raising her hand slightly, she caught the waitress's eye to signal for the check and then leaned back in her chair to let her gaze sweep over the sprawling city lights.
The ambient hum of the rooftop bar flooded into the vacuum left in his absence - people laughing, the clink of glasses, the low buzz of a city that had no idea what was happening in its shadows. She didn't want to dwell on the fallout, as if giving the thought too much life would determine how his efforts went.
The lines in their world were often blurred, but the way he spoke of this family, this kid, the way he was doing everything possible to prevent the dark from swallowing them whole - it left her with that rare, fragile hope that the world still had those who refused to simply look the other way.
This mission required a little more delicacy than the last. He couldn’t bust into the hotel ripping off doors and crushing elevators. Not if he wanted to protect the child’s family.
For the sake of their safety and the promise he had made, this time he would not leave a path of destruction in his wake.
Just as he suspected the hotel staff were oblivious to what their place of employment was being used for. The man in the lobby was waiting for his wife to arrive for a real estate conference and the one who paced the third floor hallway while talking on the phone suffered from insomnia.
They had no motive to question the explanations they had been given. No reason to suspect that perhaps there was no wife and the phone the walker held to her ear wasn’t actually connected to anyone.
The house keeper did find it strange however, that she had not been permitted to enter room 312. After three days she had not even been able to get inside to change the sheets. Fresh towels were exchanged for room service dishes and the do not disturb sign was never removed from the door.
The woman who stood watch in the hallway was easily subdued. Stripped of everything but her clothing and secured inside the elevator. The ensuing scuffle was short. Despite all her training, he was stronger and larger and had talents she could not counter. The lift would remain stuck between the third and second floor. Nobody would be able to hear her cries or take note of how she banged on the door with a desperate futility.
Inside room 312 was a mother. Just a mother. The dark circles under her eyes indicating that she had not slept since the incident. Worry and concern for her child and confusion over why she was being treated like a criminal likely making it impossible to do so.
She had tears in her eyes but determination in her heart. Relieved that her child was alive and mostly well. Resolve to make certain it remained that way. They would not be able to hold her forever. Especially not if she pretended to comply.
She would leave the state when she was released to stay with her sister and he would keep her updated for as long as it was safe to do so, but reunification was too much of a risk.
He had left her behind in a state of grief and gratitude. In awe at how selfless a creature a mother could be.
He would not notice the napkin with the crudely drawn map written on it as he left. His eyes and mind focused forward. During the short altercation with the woman still trapped in the elevator, it had fallen out of his pocket and gotten swept to the side, stuck against a baseboard that hadn’t been cleaned in months. Too fine of a detail for a minimum wage worker to be bothered with.
A silent nod of his head was offered to the ignorant guard posted in the lobby, as he walked right past him and left the same way he had entered; out the front door, as casually as though he belonged there.
By the time he realized what had happened while he sat and pretended to read the newspaper, Erik would be long gone.
The tired smile was impossible to wipe from his face and exhaustion had nothing to do with his boldness nor could it be blamed for the antagonizing playfulness in his demeanour.
“I will never admit defeat. Not to you. Not to them. Not to anyone.”
A jest and the truth all rolled into one.
“You look about ready to surrender yourself. If I was a lesser man, I would take advantage of that weakness.
How long have you been up working on this?”
With a slow and melodramatic air, he pushed himself to sit up. Preparing himself for the inevitable rise to his feet, regardless of where his steps happened to take him afterwards.
“I would rather hold you hostage in bed. But if you are so adamant to dismiss me, perhaps I should say goodnight?”
“You might not admit defeat but I think passing out mid conversation is an automatic forfeit.”
She was barely keeping up with the banter but refusing to admit defeat herself. That yawn she had stifled was still threatening to escape and it was like he knew.
“Too long, probably.” Glancing at her watch she shrugged. “Long enough, for today.” She didn’t need to throw a number at him to quantify the dark circles under her eyes.
“I don’t think you have the energy to hold anyone hostage. You’re all talk, and barely that right now. If you didn’t sit up, you’d already be asleep again.”
A shrug.
“My bedroom. Spare bedroom. Same floor. You’re pretty good with directions, right? Do I need to draw you a map?” She didn’t wait for his answer and simply headed for the stairs.
A soft let down, but a let down nonetheless.
He was far too exhausted for guessing games and deciphering hidden context. He had already spent all evening trying to decipher blueprints.
He would definitely blame the late hour on the fact he had zoned out more then a few times as she explained one structure or another, focused much more on the way her lips moved when she spoke than what she was actually saying.
It was his turn to get up.
He rose to his feet and strode across the room, slow but deliberate, to return the pillow she had tossed at him.
“No need. I know my way to the door quite well.”
As though to prove his point, he moved right past the staircase her left foot lingered on.
“Make sure you get some sleep. We can reconvene another night. Perhaps with a fresh mind I will actually be able understand half of what you’re saying?”
He offered a small half smile, before reaching for the doorknob of the front door.
“Gute Nacht, Liebling.”
❝Power isn’t your problem, it’s knowledge.❞
:)
"My problem," Turning to face him, pressing her lips to a tight line as she looked him over carefully. "Is people getting in my way."
"Knowledge can easily be gained if granted a slither of peace or space to learn it." A soft smile tugs the corner of her lips as she shakes her head softly of any frustration clouding it. "Or if someone is willing to share it?"
Skipping a few steps to catch up to him, she could only try and decode his face to determine just what exactly he meant. What did he mean by know her?
The thought of anyone knowing her made her stomach turn with unease. She hadn't exactly the best public record. It felt like every one of her mistakes was out there for the world to see and tear apart with judgement.
There was a variety of questions forming in her mind faster than she could voice them. Not that any of them would change the outcome. It wasn't like she had many options before her.
"Homemade." It wasn't until she was in the car, tucking her legs up on the seat and shut away from the outside world once more that she found her voice again. "Cookies. My favourite ones are homemade." Time spent on preparing food was something you simply couldn't put a price on. It made any treat worth savouring.
"White chocolate ones make a solid default."
Watching the world drift past her, she would hunt for any familiar or distinguishable structure. Mapping the turns and street names in case needed later.
America was nothing like home. The streets carbon copies of each other. Such a large country, and yet at times, it felt you could hardly move.
"Are they like us?"
There was no doubt in his mind that Charles had a special interest in her and often made it a point to check up on her, when locked in the captains chair of Cerebro. Invasive and always crossing boundaries while he lectured others not to.
If her mind was truly as frayed and damaged as the nations leaders had deemed it, at the very least his old friend might be able to help.
He suspected she had merely been shaped and molded by the wrong hands. Guided by the wrong people. And he had nobody to blame but himself. It had taken him far too long to step in.
The stout and pimple faced younger man in the drivers seat said not a word as the pair got into the car.
“You know where we’re going, Toad. Make haste.”
A nod of obedience and the car pulled away; winding along the tree fringed roads of upstate New York.
“They are like us. Yes. Completely insane and entirely misguided. There is no need to be on your best behaviour.
. . .
That was a joke.”
"I dont really know him." Wanda would sit forward, casting a sideways glance towards Erik before meeting the drivers gaze in the mirror. Despite seeing immediately how the driver got his name, she couldn't help but shift uncomfortably at the brazen disrespect.
"And he's German." Looking to Erik directly, she could only shake her head. The familiar feeling of scolding Pietro when he too spoke without consideration of others.
"A joke about them being like us or about my behaviour?" Arching her brow before turning to stare out the window once more.
"Relax, I had my medication this morning." What they were or what good they did was a mystery to her. All she did know was that she only got to watch her shows after proving that she swallowed the small cup of pills.
Either she wasn’t fond of jokes or he wasn’t very good at them. Something that would need to be worked on.
“Both”, he replied a little too matter of factly, as though to leave absolutely no confusion between them.
“Both statements made in jest.”
A small frown pulled at the corners of his mouth as he gave a light shake of his head.
“I promise you have nothing to worry about. It is I who will do the worrying. You would never be turned away. Or mistreated. That I am sure of.
It’s me who must cross a bridge I’ve set fire to a hundred times over.”
There were times when pride and ego needed to be set aside. When one would have to take a bullet for someone they loved.
He might not be welcomed with open arms, but the child would be. An innocent victim in a game played by professionals.
“You are going to have to trust me. Just this once. After that you are free to make up your own mind.”
"To set fire to the bridge, you must have rebuilt it as many times." A simple statement she perhaps wasn't intending to speak aloud. "Either you have impulse control issues, or your friend can't establish healthy boundaries."
Watching the traffic roll past. The landscape turned more lush and green by the mile, yet she couldn't help that nervous energy bubbling within.
Catching glances every so often to check if his composure was still as calm as before. Like stone, his expression gave nothing away. It was hard to be disappointed when she felt impressed.
"I'll trust you." She hoped it would be taken as a trust concern. If they were to take her down, she would ensure he would go first. Reality was she was hoping to keep this person in her corner that little longer. "But I'm not staying there unless you are. Even if just for a few days."
“Both.”
He wouldn’t hold back and he wouldn’t pretend as though reality was anything less or anything more than it was.
Impulse control issues and lack of boundaries.
He had never heard a more simple and accurate explanation.
There were a hundred other places he would have preferred to stay then in THAT house. A hotel. The car. A park bench. But she didn’t want to be left alone and he would not abandon her this time.
For the sake of the greater good, he would have to take one for the team.
“A few days is all I can tolerate, I’m afraid. However, you can choose to stay, if the environment suits you.
You mentioned baking. Is this something you enjoy?”
The silence that followed lasted only a minute or so before the smirk on her face turned to a snicker, finally a quiet giggle.
Shaking her head at the question not as an awnser but at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. For someone often referred to as a chaotic person, she thought she was used to the unordinary life that fell upon her, and yet on random days like this, she still found herself surprised.
Before she replies, she would cast him and amused look, silently asking if they were really having this conversation now.
"I like food." She a finally answers, a small genuine smile on her face, "But it's not the same in America as it was back home. Nothing here feels... fresh." Srunching her nose at the thought of processed chemicals and the mountains of sugar compressed into every ingredient. "Cooking, baking, it's a love language. For oneself and for others. Perhaps in those 'few days' I could make you something, I know a few German recipes..."
It was a sentiment they shared.
How difficult it was to find good, healthy food every time he found himself in the land of the free.
It was so amusing he actually scoffed.
“That is because nothing is fresh. Genetically modified ingredients. Meat injected with hormones. Preservatives and fillers.
Though it doesn’t seem as though they do a lot of their own cooking. Not anymore.”
Now it was his turn to raise a brow.
It was a little ironic that someone who tried to hide their accent, clung to traditional and regional recipes. Perhaps it was her way of retaining at least a small part of her identity?
An identity that she was hardly fully aware of.
“Your grandmother used to make the best whipped shortbread. So light and fluffy. It would melt in your mouth.
Heidesand”…
Her grandmother.
A simple phrase that had her pause.
The grandmother she knew was a jolly woman who would tell stories of all kinds whilst knitting socks that rubbed the skin on your feet raw. The thought that there could have been another face in place, another name, other stories...
"Heidesand." Repeating the word as though savouring a taste. "I will attempt it."
Her German was poor, much like the average child who picked it up in school, not from choice but from an enforced curriculum. She never thought a day would come she might need it. Nor did she ever assume she would wish she had it.
"What part of Germany are you from?" She barely knew the country, never even considered visiting until now, but the question felt like testing waters. He wanted to small talk about baking, and she wanted to know who her mother was and how he found out about her at all... small steps were needed.
He knew it was only a matter of time before the questions came pouring out. Years and years worth of them.
Although he didn’t particularly enjoy talking about himself and was absolutely adamant to leave the past exactly where it belonged— in the past— he knew he owed her answers.
He just hadn’t expected the interview to begin so soon.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as she inquired about his homeland. Looking up his eyes met with those of the driver in the rear view mirror. A deliberate and calculated look that told the other man not to listen.
There were things he had never told anyone before. Not even his closest allies.
“Nuremberg. I was born and raised in Nuremberg.”
He knew she would not be satisfied with such a direct and plain answer.
“My father— your grandfather was a manager at a department store. My mother stayed home to look after her children and keep the house. Excellent baker. Made the best windbeutel in the upper east side of the city.”
She picked up the shift immediately.
Glancing between the man sat next to her and "toad" she was about to change topic, tell him she was being nosey and that he didn't owe her anything.
And then he spoke.
Humble beginning was not what she would have assumed looking at how sharply dressed he appeared now.
The image of every perfect family from her beloved shows flashed in her mind. A hard-working father, adoring mother, home cooked meals. Simple living. Who could want anything more?
A smile was all she could offer, a spark of wonder as her mind flooded with all the memories stolen from her.
She wouldn't press further.
The past was a place many preferred buried.
"Thank you." For what she wasn't fully able to comprehend, sharing details, breaking her out of a facility, offering a new option she didn't have prior? The list was building quicker than she would usually be comfortable with.
"It's not always like this." Her life was pure chaos, every choice she made subconsciously fueling her next mistake, but between the catastrophic events, there was good. Peaceful.
It sounded as though she was apologizing. For nothing but being who and what she was. A tone of voice that tugged at something deep within him. An old wound that would never fully heal. He had heard that tone in so many voices before.
Nobody should ever feel as though they needed to apologize for existing.
“No, it’s not.”
A solemn agreement. If anyone understood how she felt, it was him.
“Sometimes it’s good. Normal. Quiet. And for the briefest of moments you genuinely feel as though everything is going to be alright.
But it never lasts, does it? The world certainly doesn’t make it easy for us.”
A long moment of contemplative silence passed between them as the car ambled up the road. He had set his eyes out the window and he knew from memory that they were nearly at their destination.
“You don’t remember her, do you?”
Could she really blame the world? Perhaps, in her darkest of moments, the days she lashes out wanting to inflict an ounce of the pain and loneliness she feels every waking second. Yet most of her pain, most her troubles, they always came from within.
A ticking bomb waiting to detonate the second that spark of joy struck.
There was no need to rock anything further today. Step back before she found out the hard way where exactly the line was drawn.
Almost asleep, the pur of an engine the lull of traffic drifting by mixed with the wariness of whatever cocktail of medication she had been fed. His question almost fell on deaf ears.
Lifting her head to check, she really had heard him, a glance towards the driver as a final chance for him to take it back.
"I knew they weren't my real parents, there was so many orphans in Sokovia it wasn't exactly rare... but I dont remember a time before them."
She wouldn't lie, even if it made him uncomfortable. She knew little facts in her life, and it felt the few she could depend on were quickly crumbling away.
"They were good people, I don't know what they knew or what they chose to hide, but they did their best with the little they had. I can't - " contemplating her next choice of words, she would brush the thought away with a shrug.
"It's all new, as I imagine it is for you."
He was not known for his delicacy.
Not the kind of poker player who would hide his hand and bet modestly. It was all in as all the cards were laid out on the table.
This situation was different. Her psyche was already fragmented and fragile. So much so that THEY had considered her a danger. Punished for things beyond her control.
He did not want to make it worse.
He had no idea what she knew or how much of it she had been able to find out. No knowledge regarding the truth and what she had been told.
He would have to choose his words carefully and he careful not to make excuses. That was definitely the last thing she wanted to hear.
“Well isn’t that just a debate meant for philosophers? Is it kinder to forget or to live with the memories of that which you can never get back?”
A small pause as he thought.
“Patient. Soft spoken. Kind.
Empathetic.
Funny how it is always those who have experienced the most pain that are left with a profound desire to ease it in others.
I think she had a way with nature. Animals. Plants. People.
Almost mystical.
That’s what I remember.”
Shifting in the seat to roll her shoulders and stretch her spine the best she could as she listened to his big philosophical questions.
"Does it make any difference? I don't know what's real anymore."
The comment had no thought to it until spoken. Pausing mid stretch to carefully observe the car and the people within it, for that cursed red glimmer in a reflection, or an expression that failed to meet the eyes.
Slowly, she would sink back into her seat. Keeping her breath even as the thought burrowed deeper.
As he spoke about her mother, she tried to listen. Not so much on is description, but for more, for that feeling of something sounding just that little bit too good to be true.
"What happened?"
Something bad was what she needed to hear. Something that her own mind would have blocked out or rewritten to fit a better story.
"What went wrong?"
What happened.
The same thing that always happened. A chain of misfortunes that led to a tragedy. Effectively ripping everything he had fought so hard for right out of his white knuckled grip.
And he had nobody to blame but himself.
How quickly things always seemed to spiral out of control.
He was taking a huge risk by telling her the truth, but the truth was exactly what she deserved to hear. He was not in the business of cherry picking which events to include when recounting history and he didn’t have the power to erase them from anyone’s memory, whether for his own convenience or what he thought was the greater good.
“There was a fire. An accident.”
He paused there. The next bit of the story was sure to hit her like a ton of bricks.
“Another child. A sibling. A sister. They held me back. Prevented me from going in to save her.
I murdered them all.
Decimated an entire village.
She fled. Afraid.
I didn’t know.”
No excuses. There was no room for excuses.
“Whatever happened after that, I could not tell you. She went to the mountain and I went to Israel.
These are blanks you will have to fill in yourself.”
She listened.
Waiting to see what would happen next, keeping her own mind as still as possible to prevent any type of influence on the story.
The hesitation before his words had her holding her breath in case she missed that uncanny clue. This was all a twisted delusion.
She couldn't help but wonder how the fire was caused. Had her sister shown the same signs? Had they too been surrounded by the superstitious who believed it was the only way to purify what was left of her soul?
"I'd have done the exact same thing." That uncomfortable thought lingering in the back of her mind dulled as she placed her hand over his own. There was nothing she could do to take away that kind of pain. She had been trying to battle grief most of her life. It's what broke her.
"I always felt a pull towards America, even as a child. I used to think that if I sat on a boat in the sea, I'd drift across the oceans to its shore with no effort at all. It's why I agreed to come here, not because I liked their culture or people, I could have killed Stark or brenner in their sleep and not think twice." Twitching her nose at the mere mention of their names. Fakes.
"I was drawn in because I knew there was something here... something waiting for me. Perhaps it was you."
I’d have done the exact same thing.
A statement meant to ease his guilt and soften the grief. Yet, it only made the knot in his stomach pull tighter.
Had she really inherited his most undesirable trait? The anger that bubbled to the surface quicker than he could stop it? The wrath and fury that was unleashed in moments of amplified emotion? The complete disregard for consequences while deep in the heat of the moment?
He gave a light shake of his head as his eyes lingered downward to her hand had moved to rest atop his own.
“No. It was you who was waiting for me. Waiting for far too long. Had I known earlier I could have done something. I could have spared you from… all of it.
You and your brother.”
A regret he would never shake off. Never spoken aloud until that very moment.
“You deserve better than what you’ve been given. Treated like something that can be owned. Rejected and feared when they realized that you cannot tame a tiger. The least I can do is give you a chance to choose your own path. Free of leashes and chains. Expectations and requirements. Freedom.
I offer only freedom. Real freedom.”
This guy always talks all the way through movies.
❝Power isn’t your problem, it’s knowledge.❞
:)
"My problem," Turning to face him, pressing her lips to a tight line as she looked him over carefully. "Is people getting in my way."
"Knowledge can easily be gained if granted a slither of peace or space to learn it." A soft smile tugs the corner of her lips as she shakes her head softly of any frustration clouding it. "Or if someone is willing to share it?"
Skipping a few steps to catch up to him, she could only try and decode his face to determine just what exactly he meant. What did he mean by know her?
The thought of anyone knowing her made her stomach turn with unease. She hadn't exactly the best public record. It felt like every one of her mistakes was out there for the world to see and tear apart with judgement.
There was a variety of questions forming in her mind faster than she could voice them. Not that any of them would change the outcome. It wasn't like she had many options before her.
"Homemade." It wasn't until she was in the car, tucking her legs up on the seat and shut away from the outside world once more that she found her voice again. "Cookies. My favourite ones are homemade." Time spent on preparing food was something you simply couldn't put a price on. It made any treat worth savouring.
"White chocolate ones make a solid default."
Watching the world drift past her, she would hunt for any familiar or distinguishable structure. Mapping the turns and street names in case needed later.
America was nothing like home. The streets carbon copies of each other. Such a large country, and yet at times, it felt you could hardly move.
"Are they like us?"
There was no doubt in his mind that Charles had a special interest in her and often made it a point to check up on her, when locked in the captains chair of Cerebro. Invasive and always crossing boundaries while he lectured others not to.
If her mind was truly as frayed and damaged as the nations leaders had deemed it, at the very least his old friend might be able to help.
He suspected she had merely been shaped and molded by the wrong hands. Guided by the wrong people. And he had nobody to blame but himself. It had taken him far too long to step in.
The stout and pimple faced younger man in the drivers seat said not a word as the pair got into the car.
“You know where we’re going, Toad. Make haste.”
A nod of obedience and the car pulled away; winding along the tree fringed roads of upstate New York.
“They are like us. Yes. Completely insane and entirely misguided. There is no need to be on your best behaviour.
. . .
That was a joke.”
"I dont really know him." Wanda would sit forward, casting a sideways glance towards Erik before meeting the drivers gaze in the mirror. Despite seeing immediately how the driver got his name, she couldn't help but shift uncomfortably at the brazen disrespect.
"And he's German." Looking to Erik directly, she could only shake her head. The familiar feeling of scolding Pietro when he too spoke without consideration of others.
"A joke about them being like us or about my behaviour?" Arching her brow before turning to stare out the window once more.
"Relax, I had my medication this morning." What they were or what good they did was a mystery to her. All she did know was that she only got to watch her shows after proving that she swallowed the small cup of pills.
Either she wasn’t fond of jokes or he wasn’t very good at them. Something that would need to be worked on.
“Both”, he replied a little too matter of factly, as though to leave absolutely no confusion between them.
“Both statements made in jest.”
A small frown pulled at the corners of his mouth as he gave a light shake of his head.
“I promise you have nothing to worry about. It is I who will do the worrying. You would never be turned away. Or mistreated. That I am sure of.
It’s me who must cross a bridge I’ve set fire to a hundred times over.”
There were times when pride and ego needed to be set aside. When one would have to take a bullet for someone they loved.
He might not be welcomed with open arms, but the child would be. An innocent victim in a game played by professionals.
“You are going to have to trust me. Just this once. After that you are free to make up your own mind.”
"To set fire to the bridge, you must have rebuilt it as many times." A simple statement she perhaps wasn't intending to speak aloud. "Either you have impulse control issues, or your friend can't establish healthy boundaries."
Watching the traffic roll past. The landscape turned more lush and green by the mile, yet she couldn't help that nervous energy bubbling within.
Catching glances every so often to check if his composure was still as calm as before. Like stone, his expression gave nothing away. It was hard to be disappointed when she felt impressed.
"I'll trust you." She hoped it would be taken as a trust concern. If they were to take her down, she would ensure he would go first. Reality was she was hoping to keep this person in her corner that little longer. "But I'm not staying there unless you are. Even if just for a few days."
“Both.”
He wouldn’t hold back and he wouldn’t pretend as though reality was anything less or anything more than it was.
Impulse control issues and lack of boundaries.
He had never heard a more simple and accurate explanation.
There were a hundred other places he would have preferred to stay then in THAT house. A hotel. The car. A park bench. But she didn’t want to be left alone and he would not abandon her this time.
For the sake of the greater good, he would have to take one for the team.
“A few days is all I can tolerate, I’m afraid. However, you can choose to stay, if the environment suits you.
You mentioned baking. Is this something you enjoy?”
The silence that followed lasted only a minute or so before the smirk on her face turned to a snicker, finally a quiet giggle.
Shaking her head at the question not as an awnser but at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. For someone often referred to as a chaotic person, she thought she was used to the unordinary life that fell upon her, and yet on random days like this, she still found herself surprised.
Before she replies, she would cast him and amused look, silently asking if they were really having this conversation now.
"I like food." She a finally answers, a small genuine smile on her face, "But it's not the same in America as it was back home. Nothing here feels... fresh." Srunching her nose at the thought of processed chemicals and the mountains of sugar compressed into every ingredient. "Cooking, baking, it's a love language. For oneself and for others. Perhaps in those 'few days' I could make you something, I know a few German recipes..."
It was a sentiment they shared.
How difficult it was to find good, healthy food every time he found himself in the land of the free.
It was so amusing he actually scoffed.
“That is because nothing is fresh. Genetically modified ingredients. Meat injected with hormones. Preservatives and fillers.
Though it doesn’t seem as though they do a lot of their own cooking. Not anymore.”
Now it was his turn to raise a brow.
It was a little ironic that someone who tried to hide their accent, clung to traditional and regional recipes. Perhaps it was her way of retaining at least a small part of her identity?
An identity that she was hardly fully aware of.
“Your grandmother used to make the best whipped shortbread. So light and fluffy. It would melt in your mouth.
Heidesand”…
Her grandmother.
A simple phrase that had her pause.
The grandmother she knew was a jolly woman who would tell stories of all kinds whilst knitting socks that rubbed the skin on your feet raw. The thought that there could have been another face in place, another name, other stories...
"Heidesand." Repeating the word as though savouring a taste. "I will attempt it."
Her German was poor, much like the average child who picked it up in school, not from choice but from an enforced curriculum. She never thought a day would come she might need it. Nor did she ever assume she would wish she had it.
"What part of Germany are you from?" She barely knew the country, never even considered visiting until now, but the question felt like testing waters. He wanted to small talk about baking, and she wanted to know who her mother was and how he found out about her at all... small steps were needed.
He knew it was only a matter of time before the questions came pouring out. Years and years worth of them.
Although he didn’t particularly enjoy talking about himself and was absolutely adamant to leave the past exactly where it belonged— in the past— he knew he owed her answers.
He just hadn’t expected the interview to begin so soon.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as she inquired about his homeland. Looking up his eyes met with those of the driver in the rear view mirror. A deliberate and calculated look that told the other man not to listen.
There were things he had never told anyone before. Not even his closest allies.
“Nuremberg. I was born and raised in Nuremberg.”
He knew she would not be satisfied with such a direct and plain answer.
“My father— your grandfather was a manager at a department store. My mother stayed home to look after her children and keep the house. Excellent baker. Made the best windbeutel in the upper east side of the city.”
She picked up the shift immediately.
Glancing between the man sat next to her and "toad" she was about to change topic, tell him she was being nosey and that he didn't owe her anything.
And then he spoke.
Humble beginning was not what she would have assumed looking at how sharply dressed he appeared now.
The image of every perfect family from her beloved shows flashed in her mind. A hard-working father, adoring mother, home cooked meals. Simple living. Who could want anything more?
A smile was all she could offer, a spark of wonder as her mind flooded with all the memories stolen from her.
She wouldn't press further.
The past was a place many preferred buried.
"Thank you." For what she wasn't fully able to comprehend, sharing details, breaking her out of a facility, offering a new option she didn't have prior? The list was building quicker than she would usually be comfortable with.
"It's not always like this." Her life was pure chaos, every choice she made subconsciously fueling her next mistake, but between the catastrophic events, there was good. Peaceful.
It sounded as though she was apologizing. For nothing but being who and what she was. A tone of voice that tugged at something deep within him. An old wound that would never fully heal. He had heard that tone in so many voices before.
Nobody should ever feel as though they needed to apologize for existing.
“No, it’s not.”
A solemn agreement. If anyone understood how she felt, it was him.
“Sometimes it’s good. Normal. Quiet. And for the briefest of moments you genuinely feel as though everything is going to be alright.
But it never lasts, does it? The world certainly doesn’t make it easy for us.”
A long moment of contemplative silence passed between them as the car ambled up the road. He had set his eyes out the window and he knew from memory that they were nearly at their destination.
“You don’t remember her, do you?”
Could she really blame the world? Perhaps, in her darkest of moments, the days she lashes out wanting to inflict an ounce of the pain and loneliness she feels every waking second. Yet most of her pain, most her troubles, they always came from within.
A ticking bomb waiting to detonate the second that spark of joy struck.
There was no need to rock anything further today. Step back before she found out the hard way where exactly the line was drawn.
Almost asleep, the pur of an engine the lull of traffic drifting by mixed with the wariness of whatever cocktail of medication she had been fed. His question almost fell on deaf ears.
Lifting her head to check, she really had heard him, a glance towards the driver as a final chance for him to take it back.
"I knew they weren't my real parents, there was so many orphans in Sokovia it wasn't exactly rare... but I dont remember a time before them."
She wouldn't lie, even if it made him uncomfortable. She knew little facts in her life, and it felt the few she could depend on were quickly crumbling away.
"They were good people, I don't know what they knew or what they chose to hide, but they did their best with the little they had. I can't - " contemplating her next choice of words, she would brush the thought away with a shrug.
"It's all new, as I imagine it is for you."
He was not known for his delicacy.
Not the kind of poker player who would hide his hand and bet modestly. It was all in as all the cards were laid out on the table.
This situation was different. Her psyche was already fragmented and fragile. So much so that THEY had considered her a danger. Punished for things beyond her control.
He did not want to make it worse.
He had no idea what she knew or how much of it she had been able to find out. No knowledge regarding the truth and what she had been told.
He would have to choose his words carefully and he careful not to make excuses. That was definitely the last thing she wanted to hear.
“Well isn’t that just a debate meant for philosophers? Is it kinder to forget or to live with the memories of that which you can never get back?”
A small pause as he thought.
“Patient. Soft spoken. Kind.
Empathetic.
Funny how it is always those who have experienced the most pain that are left with a profound desire to ease it in others.
I think she had a way with nature. Animals. Plants. People.
Almost mystical.
That’s what I remember.”
Shifting in the seat to roll her shoulders and stretch her spine the best she could as she listened to his big philosophical questions.
"Does it make any difference? I don't know what's real anymore."
The comment had no thought to it until spoken. Pausing mid stretch to carefully observe the car and the people within it, for that cursed red glimmer in a reflection, or an expression that failed to meet the eyes.
Slowly, she would sink back into her seat. Keeping her breath even as the thought burrowed deeper.
As he spoke about her mother, she tried to listen. Not so much on is description, but for more, for that feeling of something sounding just that little bit too good to be true.
"What happened?"
Something bad was what she needed to hear. Something that her own mind would have blocked out or rewritten to fit a better story.
"What went wrong?"
What happened.
The same thing that always happened. A chain of misfortunes that led to a tragedy. Effectively ripping everything he had fought so hard for right out of his white knuckled grip.
And he had nobody to blame but himself.
How quickly things always seemed to spiral out of control.
He was taking a huge risk by telling her the truth, but the truth was exactly what she deserved to hear. He was not in the business of cherry picking which events to include when recounting history and he didn’t have the power to erase them from anyone’s memory, whether for his own convenience or what he thought was the greater good.
“There was a fire. An accident.”
He paused there. The next bit of the story was sure to hit her like a ton of bricks.
“Another child. A sibling. A sister. They held me back. Prevented me from going in to save her.
I murdered them all.
Decimated an entire village.
She fled. Afraid.
I didn’t know.”
No excuses. There was no room for excuses.
“Whatever happened after that, I could not tell you. She went to the mountain and I went to Israel.
These are blanks you will have to fill in yourself.”
