Ұ - for my muse to comfort yours after witnessing an emotional meltdown
He wasn’t adjusting well. If he’d ever bothered to see a psychiatrist, he was sure they would tell him that this was a chronic condition; Pietro had never adjusted to change, particularly not when it concerned his immediate support system. It was why it had taken him so long to warm up to the Avengers, why he still didn’t trust them, why he might not be in the Tower at all if not for Wanda.
It was also why he still hadn’t quite accepted the idea of Lorna as his sister.
Pietro was used to it just being him and Wanda. The two of them, the Maximoffs against the world. All they’d ever need was each other, they used to say, and it was true. Pietro had never needed anyone but Wanda.
That didn’t change the fact that Lorna was here now, didn’t change the fact that the blood that ran through his veins, through Wanda’s, was in hers as well. They shared a father, and even if they shared little else, that had to mean something. Didn’t it?
So that was what brought him here, to Lorna’s living room. (His sister’s door, he tried to force himself to think. It didn’t work. In spite of the facts, Pietro couldn’t make himself think sister without thinking Wanda. It was as if there was no room for someone else to share the title.)
So far, conversation had been strained, clipped. Sharing DNA didn’t give people much to talk about, it seemed, didn’t make it easier to relate to them. Once upon a time, he’d thought relating to Lorna was easy but now, it was different. It was one thing to see a friend grow up better than you had, one thing to see an acquaintance live in the States with a family and a home. It was another thing entirely when it was your sister who’d grown up in a warm house worrying about homework and crushes while you’d lived on the streets worried only for survival. It stung more than a little.
She flipped on the television, presumably to fill the silence, and Pietro was relieved for it. He’d never liked the quiet much. He was glancing around the apartment, unable to focus on the TV, when he felt Lorna stiffen beside him. Immediately on edge, he turned towards to TV, faltering when he saw the screen.
They were talking about Registration (thye always were, these days), but this time, this time, there was a photo of Magneto in the corner of the screen. Of their father.
Lorna’s breathing quickened as the anchor spoke of Magneto’s horrifying abilities, showed images of him tearing things apart. Men like this are why we need Registration, the anchor was saying in a clipped tone. How could anyone with those abilities be anything but dangerous?
Quickly, Pietro flipped the television off and came to Lorna’s side. He was used to witnessing such things, had seen Wanda go through it too many times to count. He knew that sometimes, all you could do was watch it happen. Sometimes, all you could do was wait for it to end.
Eventually, Lorna’s breathing slowed to a more normal rate, though tears still streamed down her cheeks. “Sorry,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. I don’t --- I didn’t --- I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Pietro said, tone soothing and quiet. Hesitantly, he touched her hand, and when she didn’t flinch or pull away, he took it into his and squeezed. “You’re okay. You’re not him, Lorna. You aren’t.”
“I could be,” she said, voice small and afraid. “One day, I could be like that. Like him.”
“No,” he said softly, “you couldn’t. You’re good, Lorna. You’re so good."
“How do you know?” God, she sounded so young in that moment. Pietro had never thought of her as young, but she was. He had three years on her, and a lifetime of experience.
He hesitated a moment before answering, unsure what to say. After a second or two, he squeezed her hand tightly, looking up to catch her eye.
“Because you’re my sister. That’s how I know.”
They didn’t say much after that, but the silences were different. More comfortable. Pietro had never adjusted to change well, but maybe, maybe he could get there this time. It might just be worth it.
