[Summary] Your first Easter as an adopted Avenger doesn't really go as Wanda had planned.
1.0k words | [Tags] enhanced!teen!reader, soft!wandanat!moms, tony in a bunny suit?
Masterlist
Wanda was pacing the kitchen like it owed her an apology.
“There’s not enough pastel…”
“I should’ve gone with the lemon frosting, not the vanilla….”
“What if the lavender sprinkles look too mature?...”
“Do you think the sugar carrots are condescending?”
Natasha didn’t even look up from her spot at the counter, where she was sipping her coffee and watching her wife spiral.
“They’re sprinkles, babe. Not SAT scores.”
Wanda threw a dish towel at her, missing by three feet. “This is her first Easter with us, Nat. I want it to be perfect.”
It was your first Easter since the Avengers had found you. You had been hiding in an abandoned building… an experiment and when they had been tipped off that the Avengers knew of their location they packed up and left, but you hid and stayed behind. 3 months since Wanda and Natasha had finalized the adoption so you could stay with them. And Wanda was panicking.
Nat set down her mug and walked around the counter of their shared kitchenette in the tower, placing a comforting hand on Wanda’s lower back. “And it will be. You’ve made, like, eight different types of cupcakes. There’s a literal egg map.”
“I know! But… what if she thinks it’s weird? Or overbearing? Or what if we do nothing and she hates it here?”
“She already lives with us and she is a walking power generator.” Natasha said dryly. “We’re way past weird.”
Wanda groaned and ran both hands through her hair. “I just want her to feel like she belongs. That this isn’t temporary. That we’re her home.”
Natasha’s eyes softened. She tightened her grip on the younger woman and pulled her closer. “She already knows that. You don’t need theatrics to prove it.”
Wanda hesitated. Then, “I already ordered the bunny.”
Natasha blinked. “Define ‘ordered.’”
Wanda grimaced. “Tony. In a suit. Full commitment. I may have said there’d be cupcakes.”
Natasha stared. “You gave Stark sugar and purpose. Well, if she didn’t think we were weird before…”
You were mid-giggle, elbow-deep in glitter egg dye, when the door flew open.
“HOPPY EASTER!” boomed a voice that sounded like Tony Stark if he’d been stuffed into a dryer and left on ‘delirious.’
And in waddled a 7-foot bunny.
He had massive ears. A rainbow vest. Sunglasses on over the suit’s glassy black eyeholes. The costume looked like Easter and a fever dream had a child.
You froze.
But your powers had a mind of their own.
Blue light crackled up your arms instinctively.
“DON’T PANIC,” the Bunny yelled. “IT’S ME, YOUR FAVORITE UNCLE-”
Too late.
There was a flash, a POP, and the scent of singed polyester filled the room as Tony Stark was electrocuted right in the rear end of his costume.
The bunny helmet flew off and bounced off a wall.
Tony hit the floor with a wheeze. “Ow. My… everything.”
You stood there, trembling, static crackling faintly around your fingertips.
Wanda gasped. “Oh my GOD!”
She dropped the cupcake tray and rushed to your side.
You were already crying. “I didn’t mean to! I just… I didn’t know it was him and the eyes and…”
“I know, I know, it’s okay, sweetheart.” Wanda pulled you close, holding you against her chest as your powers fizzled out.
Natasha knelt beside Tony and patted his cheek. “Still alive?”
“Barely,” he groaned. “I think I saw the light. It had jelly beans.”
Wanda didn’t let you go.
Even after your hands stopped glowing and your breaths came a little slower, she held you like you might vanish. Her thumb rubbed slow, soft circles into your back, grounding you in the smell of vanilla, lemon frosting and burnt bunny suit.
“I ruined it,” you whispered into her shirt. “You worked so hard and I-I…”
“Shhh, no. No, baby.” She said instantly. “You didn’t ruin anything.”
Natasha snorted behind you. “Honestly, that was a public service.”
Tony groaned louder from the floor. “Rude. Uncalled for.”
Wanda pulled back just enough to cup your cheeks in her floury hands, her eyes soft and a little glassy.
“You got scared. And your powers reacted. That’s not your fault, sweetheart. And no glitter-demon rabbit is ever worth your tears.”
You hiccuped a laugh. “He looked like a haunted Peep.”
Natasha had finally helped Tony up and was now dragging his half-fried bunny suit toward the trash. “That’s it. Easter’s officially Stark-free next year.”
“Seconded.” Wanda muttered.
After the bunny-shaped trauma had been banished from the premises and Tony had left with a cupcake and several sarcastic comments about "super-charged children," the house returned to something like peace.
You were wrapped in a giant blanket burrito on the couch, your static still tickling the ends of your hair. Wanda sat beside you with a brush, gently working through the tangles.
Natasha brought in a plate of pastel pancakes, complete with whipped cream ears and a strawberry nose.
“These ones don’t explode.” She promised.
You giggled, leaning into Wanda’s shoulder. “Sorry I zapped the party.”
“You were the party,” Wanda said, kissing the top of your head. “We just had an unfortunate guest appearance.”
Natasha handed you the plate, then sat on the floor in front of you, looking up with her usual steady calm. “Hey. You know this… what happened today… it doesn’t change anything, right?”
You blinked at her.
“I scared you. I scared everyone. What if I mess up worse next time?”
Wanda’s hand stilled in your hair. Natasha reached up and took your hand gently.
“Then we help you. Every time. That’s the deal.”
“No matter what.” Wanda added, voice quiet but sure. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be ours.”
You felt that one in your chest.
And when you looked between them… Wanda’s soft eyes, Natasha’s unwavering calm, the quiet safety of your new home.
And you believed it.
“Okay.” you whispered.
“Also,” Natasha added with a small smirk, “if you have to zap someone next time, aim for Stark’s ego. It’s a much bigger target.”
You burst out laughing, nearly spilling your pancakes.
Wanda smiled wide, eyes bright again. “There’s my energizer bunny.”
Agatha Harkness is brilliant, terrifyingly efficient, and emotionally unavailable... a CEO whose reputation is colder than the marble floors of her penthouse. When a PR disaster puts her empire at risk, her team comes up with a desperate solution... humanize her. Make her seem... relatable. Then there's you. A struggling coffee shop employee with a sharp tongue, a stack of overdue bills, and zero patience for corporate nonsense.
The deal is simple... pretend to be Agatha’s charming, grounding, very real girlfriend at public events. There’s a contract. A salary. A set end date.
But nothing stays simple when feelings start to bloom where they’re not supposed to. Especially when Agatha, who doesn’t know how to express love, starts trying to buy it.
[Summary] Wanda returns to Westeview and comes face to face with what she's done.
1.8k words | [Tags] Angst, Sad!Wanda
Chapter Index
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The silence was the worst part. After the roar of collapsing universes, the screams of the damned, and the final destruction of Wundagore, the quiet that followed was a suffocating shroud. Wanda Maximoff existed within it, stuck in the wreck of her own making. Guilt was a constant.
She’d found refuge, of a sort, in a remote cabin nestled deep within snow-dusted mountains, far from any prying eyes or lingering magical signatures that might betray her location. Days bled into nights, marked only by the meager meals she forced herself to eat and the fitful hours spent pouring over ancient texts, searching not for power, but for something else… Atonement? Understanding? Oblivion? She didn’t know anymore. All she knew was the emptiness where her children’s laughter should have been, where Vision’s presence should have grounded her.
Westview had been a desperate act. An open wound lashed out upon reality. Frowning, Wanda closed her eyes, letting herself feel every emotion. She decided it was time to face her sins. Returning to Westview.
Wanda took her time traveling back to New Jersey, most of that time spent feeling anxious. Anxious over the reactions of people, in her mind she saw an angry mob formed with torches and pitchforks like in Frankenstein. As much as she loved the classics, she wasn't Frankenstein. Frankenstein wasn't the monster, his creator was, and in this story, she was the creator. Forcing an entire town to live in her own reality, one that they didn’t want. She was the monster here.
She dealt with the stares and hushed whispers, people crossing to the other side of the street and the look of fear in their eyes as she walked past. All to walk up to her own home, or what should have been her home, covered in graffiti calling her an evil witch. She didn’t feel sadness or anger when she saw the words written on the concrete foundation, she felt understanding.
This was her punishment.
The lot was hers since no one wanted to buy it after she lifted the Hex, and what better way to atone for her actions than to rebuild her life from the ground up?
She spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the concrete foundation, sweeping off the dust and leaves, and scrubbing the paint off the side. It felt safe to do the entire project without magic. It was therapeutic in a way, like forcing herself to focus on something tangible, something that didn’t change with her emotions. The weight of each motion, of every scrub and every sweep, grounded her, like she was actively working toward some sort of repair, if not of the town, then of herself.
By the time the sun was beginning to set, she decided to head out of town to find a motel to stay in. No place in Westview would allow her to stay, so she found a small motel in Eastview that took pity on her, agreeing to let her stay if she did a bit of housekeeping for them until her house was rebuilt. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. She opened the door to her room and looked around at the dingy and under-kept conditions. This was her punishment.
Wanda spent the entire night tossing and turning, barely getting any sleep. She stopped at the grocery store to get something to put in her stomach, even though she couldn't stomach much. This was how she would start over.
With only a few vegetables and snacks in hand, she left to head to the home improvement store to get some items to begin rebuilding her home.
Then she saw you.
As if sensing her gaze, you looked up. Your eyes met hers across the street. There was no fear in your expression, no shock. Instead, a slow, warm smile spread across your face, a look of such genuine, uncomplicated affection that it struck Wanda like a physical blow.
"Wanda," you called out, your voice gentle, familiar. "You're back early today."
Wanda. Not the Scarlet Witch. Not the monster who tore through Kamar-Taj. Just… Wanda. The version of her that existed here, apparently. The version you smiled at with such open adoration, your cheeks flushing slightly.
She expected everyone in Westview to still hate her for what she did, but you didn’t. It unnerved her. There was something else, something was off about you. Something she couldn't put her finger on. She wanted to look away, to hide, but instead, she found herself frozen in place, as if she were a child caught doing something wrong. As if she were still that girl, hiding behind an illusion of family, of happiness.
“She hasn’t been the same… since you.” A passerby hissed at her, disdain clear in their voice.
“What?” Wanda felt sick.
“When you left, she stayed stuck. Still thinks she lives in the past.”
Nausea churned with a bitter, possessive longing. You were here. Still trapped. Trapped in her creation, a cage built from her subconscious desires and tainted magic. And you were looking at the very source of your imprisonment, with eyes full of burgeoning love.
The urge to rip it all down, to shatter the facade and pull you out with a deeper, more potent fear. If she broke the spell, if she showed you the jagged, broken thing she truly was, stained by the Darkhold and soaked in blood and grief… that adoration in your eyes would turn to ash. You wouldn't be so nice to the real Wanda. Nobody did.
She stood frozen on the street, suddenly feeling a desperate, terrifying need to save you and also to run for the hills.
This was her punishment.
So she ran. Wanda ducked her head down and continued on with her day, a deep weight settling in her stomach and in her heart.
The entire time she was working on rebuilding her house, her body was moving on autopilot, her mind moving a million miles a minute. Seeing you made her think, how many other people were stuck in their minds? How many people were stuck in the reality she created?
“Finally fixing it up?”
She froze, instinctively turning to where your voice came from, her eyes wide.
You looked at her sweetly, a smile reaching your eyes. “Sorry, Wanda. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“O-oh, no-no problem.”
“I was just wondering if you decided to fix up the house finally?”
Wanda stood up from her spot and awkwardly played with her hands. “Y-yeah, I guess it felt like a good thing to do.”
“By yourself?”
She just nodded.
“Well, props to you, I could never. If you decide you need a snack while you’re hard working, feel free to stop by. I’m still just two houses down.” You smile at her softly before readjusting the bag of groceries in your hand and turning to head back to your own house, completely unaware of the emotional turmoil Wanda's feeling.
Wanda watched you walk away, the cheerful swing of the grocery bag a stark contrast to the leaden weight settling deeper within her chest. Two houses down. So close. Living in a gentle memory while Wanda stood in the harsh sunlight of reality, surrounded by the literal and figurative wreckage of her actions. You saw the Wanda from the fantasy, the one who maybe deserved such simple comforts, not the woman scrubbing hateful graffiti off a foundation, trying to rebuild something from ashes she herself had created.
She sank back onto her heels, the rough concrete scraping against her jeans. The hammer felt heavy and useless in her hand. Rebuilding this house piece by painful piece felt like a tangible act of repentance, something solid she could focus on. But you… you were different. A living, breathing consequence, trapped not by physical walls but by the magic she’d desperately tried to leave behind.
The passerby’s words echoed… “She hasn’t been the same… since you.” Since Wanda left.
Since Wanda ripped away the illusion for everyone else, but somehow, you remained tethered to it. Why? Was it some quirk of the magic? Something specific to you? Or just another random cruelty dealt by forces she barely understood?
Her atonement couldn’t just be manual labor and glares, it had to include fixing what she broke within people, too. Especially you.
Later that evening, after forcing down a few bites of the meager groceries she’d bought and enduring another tense check-in at the Eastview motel, Wanda found herself drawn back. Not to the lot, shrouded in darkness, but down the quiet street, towards your house. She stayed in the shadows across the road, a phantom watching the warm light spill from your windows. She didn’t dare use her magic overtly, terrified of strengthening the illusion or causing more damage. Instead, she reached out tentatively with her senses.
There it was. Faint, almost imperceptible, but undeniably hers. Threads of chaos magic, woven into a soothing, repetitive pattern. It wasn't the suffocating blanket of the Hex, it was softer, more personal, like a favorite song playing endlessly on repeat, designed to comfort. It clung specifically to your house, to you. It seemed the Hex hadn't fully lifted here, it had just collapsed inward, keeping you in a personalized memory bubble.
A porch light flicked on, and Wanda instinctively pulled back further into the shadows as your front door opened. You stepped out, holding a small plate covered loosely with a napkin. You glanced towards Wanda's dark, empty lot, a soft, almost melancholic smile on your face, before looking up and down the quiet street. You seemed hesitant, perhaps debating whether to leave the plate on the foundation for Wanda to find tomorrow. After a moment, you sighed softly, shook your head, and went back inside, the lock clicking softly in the night.
Wanda leaned her head back against the rough bark of a tree, closing her eyes. Seeing you, seeing the lingering magic, seeing the simple, persistent kindness you held onto for a version of her that never truly existed… it solidified something within her. Fear with protective determination. Rebuilding the house was one thing. Freeing you was another.
It wouldn’t be easy. Breaking the illusion might shatter the gentle peace you currently existed in. Facing the reality of what Wanda had done, who she truly was now, might destroy the affection you held. It might break you. And it might break Wanda, facing that rejection.
But she had to try. Leaving you trapped wasn't atonement… it was cowardice.
This, too, was her punishment. And maybe, just maybe, her path to actually fixing something that mattered. She turned away from the warm glow of your house, the weight in her chest now mingled with a fragile, dangerous resolve. Tomorrow, she would continue rebuilding the house. And tomorrow, she would start figuring out how to bring you back.
[Summary] It's getting harder and harder for Wanda to ignore your kindness, if it's even yours.
1.6k words | [Tags] Angst, Sad!Wanda
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Each day, Wanda returned to the empty lot, methodically rebuilding her house. The work was slow, grueling in its mundanity, but she welcomed it. It kept her hands busy, her mind occupied. If she focused on aligning beams and setting frames, she wouldn’t have to think about the wreckage inside her, the ghosts that haunted every quiet moment.
And each day, like clockwork, you arrived.
The first time, she barely registered that you had walked up to the lot until you were standing beside her, holding out a plate wrapped in a cloth napkin. "You’ve been working so hard," you said, your voice light and familiar, like no time had passed at all. "Thought you could use something sweet."
She hesitated before taking it, fingers brushing against yours. A shiver passed through her at the warmth of your touch. She didn’t deserve it. "Thank you."
Lemonade, too. Always in a glass, the kind with little ridges along the sides. Wanda stared at it longer than she should have, the moment stretching unnaturally. This was real. You were here, offering her kindness, and she felt sick with it.
Each day, the pattern repeated. You’d show up with something new. It started with fruit slices, then cookies, then a sandwich, and maybe a cold drink. You never asked for anything in return. Wanda wished you would. Maybe then she could justify it, chalk it up to some unspoken exchange rather than the unbearable softness of your goodwill.
You didn’t seem to notice the way she stiffened under your kindness, the way she hesitated before accepting. Or maybe you did, but you chose to ignore it, determined to help in whatever small ways you could. You saw something in her… a person worth saving, worth helping. It hurt, that you thought that. That you didn't know what she had done.
She never ate in front of you. She couldn’t. The guilt turned her stomach too much. Instead, she’d mumble a thanks, keep working, and only eat when she was certain you were gone. Even then, the food felt too warm, too comforting, like something stolen.
By the time the framing was finally done, she found herself half-expecting you to show up before she even began working. And you did, as always, your presence something steady in the shifting tides of her thoughts.
"It’s really starting to look like a home." You said with a half chuckle as you set down a glass of lemonade next to her.
Home. The word sat strangely in her chest.
You wiped your hands on your jeans and looked at the house-in-progress. "Where have you been staying, anyway? I never see you around after dark."
She tensed, hesitating. "Eastview. A motel."
Your nose wrinkled. "That’s so far. You walk all that way every night?"
Wanda shrugged. "It’s fine."
"No, it’s not. That place is awful. And expensive." You frowned. "You could stay with me, you know. Just until this is done. It’s gotta be better than that dump."
The offer settled over her like a weight. She didn’t deserve that. You didn’t even know the full extent of what she’d done to you, to this town, and yet here you were, inviting her into your home like she hadn’t been the one to tear reality apart.
She swallowed hard. "I… I need to think about it."
You smiled at her like you understood. "Of course. No pressure. Just let me know."
That night, Wanda barely slept. The mattress in the motel was stiff, the air stifling, but it wasn’t that keeping her awake. It was the way you had looked at her… soft, open, like she was someone worth helping. It clawed at something deep inside her, something she wasn’t sure she could name.
She kept thinking about the offer. The way your eyes held no hesitation, no judgment. Just... care. Simple, unfiltered care. The kind she hadn’t known in what felt like lifetimes.
And yet, a small voice whispered… was it really care? Or was it just the lingering remnants of her control, still twisting the edges of reality in ways she didn’t understand? The thought made her breath hitch. If you knew, would you still have invited her in? Or was this kindness just another illusion, a side effect of what she had done?
The next day, when you arrived, she found herself saying, "Alright. I’ll stay."
Your smile was bright enough to make her breath catch. "Great! I’ll get some blankets set up for you."
Following you home felt surreal. She had only ever seen glimpses of your house before, but as she stepped inside, a strange sense of vertigo washed over her. The walls, the furniture, the patterns… It was all frozen in time. The 70s decor, the warm colors, the exact aesthetic of a sitcom episode she had long since erased.
She gripped the doorway, pulse stuttering. This was the Hex. It had to be. Or rather, what was left of it. The town had moved on, changed, evolved… but not you. Your world was still wrapped in the illusion she had created, untouched by time. You lived here, happily, unaware that the reality around you had shattered long ago.
You turned back to her, smiling. "You okay?"
Wanda forced herself to nod. "Yeah. Just… taking it all in."
It wasn’t just the decor. It was the warmth of the space, the way everything felt so painfully welcoming. She shouldn’t feel at home here. But she did.
You gave her a quick tour… kitchen, living room, a small guest room that smelled faintly of lavender. You chatted as you moved through the house, like it was the most natural thing in the world. She followed in silence, heart thudding with every step.
The guest room had a handmade quilt on the bed, books stacked on the nightstand, a soft light in the corner. Someone had taken care to make this room feel lived in, even if it had sat unused.
"I figured you'd want something quiet," you said. "Let me know if you need anything."
Wanda sat on the edge of the bed after you left, fingertips trailing over the edge of the quilt. It was too much. Too kind. She pressed her hands against her face and breathed in slowly. She couldn’t fall apart. Not here.
But it was hard. Especially when everything smelled like you. When the walls echoed laughter she wasn’t sure had ever truly existed. When she looked at the living room and saw visions of twins giggling on the carpet, a husband on the couch with a remote, a version of herself smiling in the kitchen. A dream she made and destroyed.
Here, in your home, the illusion lingered. She could pretend, for a moment, that none of it had happened. That Westview was still frozen in sitcom laughter and studio lighting. That the pain she’d left in her wake had never reached you.
But it had. She knew that now.
She walked back into the kitchen later that evening, drawn by the faint hum of a radio playing something old and easy. You were humming along while chopping vegetables, the scent of rosemary and garlic in the air.
Wanda paused in the doorway. "Need any help?"
You glanced up, surprised. Then smiled. "Sure. You can stir."
And just like that, she was part of it. Standing beside you, stirring a pot of soup, your arm brushing hers occasionally, the rhythm of something... familiar.
She shouldn't have been comfortable. She shouldn't have wanted to stay. But she did.
And that terrified her.
As she stood in your kitchen, bathed in yellow lamplight, she wondered: How could she ever undo this without destroying you?
Maybe she couldn't.
Wanda’s first night in your home was so far, anything but restful. Even as she settled into the guest room, the weight of the space pressed in on her. The house smelled warm… lavender from the sheets, a faint trace of something baked earlier in the day, but it wasn’t home. Not really. It was a ghost of something she had created, a warped reflection of the life she had once desperately tried to build.
She sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, staring at the neatly folded blanket at the foot of it. The kindness of it all made her stomach twist. She wondered what your home would look like if you weren’t trapped. Would it still be decorated in 70’s decor? What would it smell like? Maybe Vanilla and fresh linen. Maybe you would have modern decor, and the house would smell clean and have lingering scents of you.
When she finally lay down, she kept still, staring at the ceiling. The silence of the house was deafening. No static from an old television, no laugh track filling the spaces between moments. Just stillness. It made her skin itch.
Sleep did not come easily. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw flashes of what she had lost. Her boys, calling for her. She turned onto her side, curling in on herself, as if that could keep the memories from reaching her.
At some point in the night, she heard you moving in the other room. The soft creak of a floorboard, the muffled clink of a glass being set down. A reminder that you were here, in the same house, still offering her a place in your life without even realizing the full truth.
For a long moment, she considered getting up, knocking on your door, telling you everything. She wondered if you would still look at her the same way if you knew. If the warmth in your eyes would turn cold.
But she didn’t move. Instead, she gripped the blanket tighter, pressing her face into the pillow to silence the thoughts clawing at her mind.
Eventually, exhaustion won. It was a restless sleep, plagued with dreams she wouldn’t remember in the morning, but for a few hours, she let herself rest.
4.1k words | [Tags] self destructive thoughts, self doubt
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Love doesn’t disappear under pressure. It just goes quiet.
Sleep didn’t come easily anymore.
Aliah lay awake staring at the ceiling, counting the faint pulses of light from the Tower’s systems as they dimmed and brightened in quiet cycles. One. Two. Three. She kept her breathing steady, even, careful not to let it hitch into something that might wake the hum under her skin.
Eventually, she gave up.
She slipped out of bed, careful not to let the door click too loudly behind her. Bare feet padded down the hallway, stopping just before the living space opened up. The lights were low, but not off. Someone was awake.
Natasha sat on the couch, back against it, methodically cleaning a handgun. Each movement was deliberate. Soft voices coming from something easy on the TV. Calm. Familiar in a way that made Aliah’s chest tighten.
She didn’t look up right away.
“Can’t sleep?” Natasha asked, voice low enough not to echo.
Aliah hesitated, then stepped fully into the room. “No.”
That was it. No elaboration. No joke. The version of her that used to fill silences had gone quiet again.
Natasha glanced up at her then, eyes sharp but not unkind. She took in the rigid posture, the way Aliah hovered just inside the room instead of settling in. She gestured to the carpet beside her.
“You can sit. Or stand. Whatever.”
Aliah chose the floor, but she didn’t lean back. She sat cross-legged, hands resting neatly in her lap, shoulders squared. Natasha noticed immediately.
That posture.
She set the weapon aside and turned her full attention to the little red head beside her. “What’s going on, kid?”
Aliah stared at the far wall. “I have a question.”
Natasha nodded once. “Okay.”
“How old were you when you went to the Red Room?”
The words landed cleanly. No tremor. No fear in her voice. Just… precision.
Natasha didn’t answer right away. “Why?” She asked instead.
Aliah shrugged, small and contained. “I want to understand.”
Understand. Not talk. Not feel. Understand.
Natasha exhaled slowly. “I was younger than you. Younger than I should’ve been.”
Aliah nodded like she was filing it away. “Did they tell you what they were doing was for your own good?”
A beat.
“Yes.”
“Did you believe them?”
“For a long time.” Natasha said. “Because believing was easier than fighting.”
Aliah’s fingers curled slightly into the fabric of her hoodie. “What did they teach you first?”
Natasha’s jaw tightened. “Obedience.”
That got Aliah’s attention. She finally looked at her. “Before fighting?”
“Yes.”
Before survival skills. Before weapons. Before pain tolerance.
They taught her how to listen. How to wait. How to follow.
Aliah swallowed. “If Hydra still had me…” She paused, then corrected herself. “If I’d stayed with them long enough. Would they have sent me there?”
Natasha didn’t soften the truth.
“Yes.”
The answer hit the room like a held breath finally released.
Aliah nodded again. Calm. Controlled. She absorbed it without reaction, which worried Natasha more than any outburst would’ve.
“They would’ve tried to refine you.” Natasha continued quietly. “Strip out anything unpredictable. Anything that didn’t serve the mission.”
“Like attachment.” Aliah said.
“Yes.”
“Like choice.”
“Yes.”
Silence settled between them. Heavy. Dense.
Aliah stared down at her hands. For a moment, Natasha thought she might finally see it crack… the fear, the grief, the anger. But it didn’t come. Instead, Aliah asked “How do you stop thinking like that?”
Natasha’s heart twisted.
“You don’t.” She said honestly. “Not completely.”
Aliah looked up, eyes sharp now. “Then how did you survive it?”
Natasha leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees. “I learned to recognize the voice in my head that wasn’t mine.”
Aliah tilted her head slightly. “And then what?”
“I learned to tell it to shut up.”
That earned a faint twitch at the corner of Aliah’s mouth. Not quite a smile. But something.
“And if it doesn’t listen?”
“Then you remind yourself who you are now.” Natasha said. “Over and over. Until it sticks.”
Aliah considered that. “Does it ever get easier?”
Natasha didn’t lie. “It gets quieter.”
That seemed to satisfy her. Or at least, it ended the questions.
Natsha tried to brush her hand through the long auburn hair that seemed to get more red day by day, only to stop as soon as she noticed Aliah stiffening ever so slightly. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
Aliah shifted, standing smoothly. Too smoothly. She didn’t linger, didn’t hesitate.
“Thanks.” She said. Polite. Controlled. “That helps.”
Natasha stood too. “Aliah–”
But the girl was already halfway down the hallway.
She paused only once, glancing back over her shoulder. “You survived it.”
Natasha nodded. “I did.”
Aliah’s voice was almost too steady when she replied. “Good.”
Then she disappeared into her room, door clicking shut behind her.
Natasha stood there for a long moment, staring at the hallway. Something cold settled in her chest.
Aliah hadn’t asked how to heal.
She’d asked how to endure.
And that scared Natasha more than the Red Room ever had.
By the time Natasha had gone back to her room and laid down, she couldn’t get that conversation out of her head.
The way Aliah held herself. Straight, stiff, didn’t let Natasha touch her.
It kept her reeling all night long.
For a moment it felt like the Aliah that they had known when she first came to the tower, unsure of herself.
Thoughts kept running through Natasha’s mind until the sun began peeking in through the windows.
Too quietly.
Wanda noticed it the moment she woke up… the absence of noise where there should have been some. No faint hum of energy through the walls. No soft footsteps pacing the hallway. No off key humming drifting out of Aliah’s room while she brushed her teeth or debated clothes.
Just stillness.
That alone set Wanda’s nerves on edge.
She padded into the kitchen, hair loose, oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder. The coffee machine hummed to life, filling the space with a familiar sound she clung to like a lifeline. Tea kettle boiling silently off to the side. For a moment, she let herself pretend it was just another morning. That this quiet wasn’t loaded.
Then Aliah appeared in the doorway.
She was already dressed. Hoodie zipped. Shoes on. Hair pulled back neatly, not a strand out of place. She didn’t wander in or lean against the frame like she usually did. She stood straight, waiting to be acknowledged.
Wanda’s chest tightened.
“Morning.” Wanda said gently.
“Morning.” Aliah replied.
Too polite. Too even.
Wanda watched her carefully as she crossed the room and poured herself a glass of water instead of reaching for the cereal cabinet. She drank it in slow, measured sips, eyes scanning the space like she was mapping exits.
“How’d you sleep?” Wanda asked, keeping her tone light.
“Fine.”
One word. No embellishment. No sarcasm.
That was new.
Wanda turned off the coffee machine and leaned against the counter. “You’re up early.”
Aliah nodded. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Normally, that would’ve come with an eye roll or a joke. Blame the nightmares or too much thinking. Today, it came with nothing.
Natasha stepped out of the hallway a moment later, drawn by instinct more than sound. Her eyes immediately found Aliah… and stayed there. She clocked the posture, the stillness, the way the girl’s shoulders were set like armor.
Something passed between them. A silent acknowledgement.
Wanda saw it.
“Did you want eggs?” Wanda asked softly.
“No.” Aliah said. “I’m not hungry.”
Another warning sign.
“Okay, what about waffles then?”
“No thanks.”
Natasha leaned against the island, arms crossed loosely. “We have a briefing in twenty.”
Aliah’s gaze snapped to her. “I know.”
Natasha raised a brow. “You do?”
“I heard you talking to Wanda last night.”
That wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was the way she said it… factual, not curious. Not even with a hint of laughter when she usually notices the shift between the two older women.
Wanda exchanged a glance with Natasha. She’s listening more than she’s speaking again.
Before either of them could respond, the elevator chimed.
All three of them froze.
The doors slid open and Nick Fury stepped out onto their floor like he owned it, which, frankly, he did. He took one look at the scene… Wanda tense by the counter, Natasha alert but unreadable, Aliah standing too straight for a fifteen year old.
“Morning.” Fury said. His good eye lingered on Aliah. “Didn’t realize we were already fully operational up here.”
Wanda forced a polite smile. “Can we help you?”
“I was coming to grab you both.” Fury said. “But since I see the kid’s already dressed… figured I’d ask.”
Natasha stiffened. “Ask what?”
Fury gestured vaguely. “We’re briefing on Hydra movement. Full picture. Start to finish. Thought it might be useful for her to see how these things actually work.”
Wanda’s heart dropped.
“She wasn’t scheduled.” Wanda said carefully.
“I know.”
“She’s fifteen.”
“I know that too.”
Fury looked at Aliah again. “But she’s already involved, whether we like it or not. And I don’t love surprises.”
Silence.
Aliah didn’t look at Wanda. Or Natasha. She kept her eyes forward, hands clasped loosely behind her back like she was waiting for a verdict.
Wanda’s instinct screamed no. Every protective bone in her body wanted to shut this down, to wrap Aliah in safety and routine and keep her far away from rooms where words like asset and contingency were spoken.
Natasha saw it… the hesitation, the fear.
“She doesn’t need to hear everything.” Natasha said slowly.
Fury shrugged. “She doesn’t need to understand everything either. Just the process.”
Wanda opened her mouth to argue.
Aliah beat her to it.
“I want to go.”
Both women turned to her at once.
Wanda’s voice was soft but firm. “Sweetheart–”
“I won’t speak.” Aliah said quickly. “I won’t interrupt. I just want to listen.”
Natasha searched her face. “Why?”
Aliah hesitated. Just for a second. “I don’t want things to be decided around me anymore. It’d be nice to understand how missions work when I‘m ready.”
That landed.
Wanda closed her eyes briefly, pain flashing across her face. When she opened them, she looked at Natasha… searching, pleading.
Natasha held the look for a long moment. Then she nodded once.
As they moved inside, Wanda placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Aliah didn’t flinch, but she didn’t lean into it either.
And that hurt worse than anything.
The entire walk to the briefing room was tense.
Aliah walked ahead quietly following Fury while Wanda and Natasha hung back behind. Wanda reached for Natasha’s hand and squeezed.
A silent conversation, of concern and understanding for the girl they’ve come to care for.
The conference room felt clinical in a way Aliah recognized immediately.
Not hostile. Not threatening. Just… efficient.
She took the seat Natasha indicated, posture straight, hands folded neatly in her lap. Wanda sat on her other side, close enough that their knees brushed. The contact should have been comforting. Instead, Aliah cataloged it as a presence maintained.
Nick Fury stood at the head of the table, one hand resting on the back of a chair.
“We’ve got movement.” He began. “Nothing overt yet. But Hydra’s circling.”
The screen lit up with city maps, red markers pulsing softly across familiar streets. Aliah watched without blinking.
Bruce spoke next. “They’re tracking her patterns. Where she goes. How long she stays. Behavioral shifts.”
Wanda’s fingers tightened on the edge of the table. “You mean surveillance.”
“Yes.” Bruce said. “But not just physically.”
Tony frowned. “They’re profiling her.”
“That’s what Hydra does.” Fury replied. “They don’t rush extraction unless they’re sure the subject is primed.”
Aliah listened carefully. No reaction. No questions. She felt Natasha glance at her once, sharp and assessing, before returning her focus to Fury.
Steve leaned forward slightly. “Aliah…” He said gently. “Have you noticed anything… off when you’re out in the city?”
The room stilled.
Aliah’s pulse spiked.
For half a second, her mind flashed back to the bookstore. The trench coat. The folded paper burning in her palm. Do they truly love you? The number they used to call her.
Her throat tightened.
She knew, instantly, what the right answer was.
She also knew what the safe answer was.
“No.” She said.
The word came out smooth. Easy. Practiced.
“I haven’t noticed anything unusual.”
Wanda turned toward her immediately, concern etched across her face. Natasha didn’t move… but something in her gaze sharpened, just a fraction.
Bruce nodded, already moving on. “That aligns with what we’re seeing. Hydra prefers indirect contact at this stage.”
Aliah kept her eyes on the screen.
Tony sighed. “So psychological pressure first. Then escalation.”
Fury folded his arms. “Exactly.”
Wanda swallowed. “If they escalate…”
“They’ll try to isolate her…” Bruce said. “Make her doubt her support system. Undermine trust.”
Aliah’s fingers curled slowly into her palm.
Natasha spoke then, voice low. “And after that?”
Bruce hesitated. “External conditioning.”
The room went quiet.
“The Red Room.” Steve said, grim.
“Yes.” Bruce confirmed. “If Hydra had retained control long term, that would’ve been the next step.”
Aliah didn’t flinch.
She didn’t need to ask what that meant anymore.
Wanda’s chair scraped softly as she leaned forward. “You’re talking about them turning her into a weapon.”
Bruce met her gaze. “I’m talking about what Hydra would’ve tried to do.”
Natasha’s jaw tightened. “They wouldn’t have ‘tried.’ They would’ve broken her.”
Aliah finally looked at her. “Would it have worked?”
The question cut through the room.
Bruce answered carefully. “They would’ve made you very powerful.”
“And?” Aliah pressed.
“And very alone.”
That settled something in her chest. Cold. Certain.
Fury cleared his throat. “Regardless. That’s not the future we’re allowing.”
“Security increases.” Tony said. “No solo outings. No unsupervised city time.”
Wanda nodded immediately. “Of course.”
Aliah didn’t argue.
She didn’t push back.
She simply absorbed the directive, filed it away, adjusted.
That worried Natasha more than if she’d protested.
The meeting wrapped soon after. Routes, contingencies, contingency-for-the-contingencies. As they stood to leave, Steve lingered.
“You sure you’re okay?” He asked quietly.
Aliah nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Sir.
Natasha froze at the word.
As they stepped back onto their floor, Wanda reached for Aliah’s hand. Aliah let her take it… light grip, distant. Controlled.
Wanda spoke softly. “So you understand, no more going out to the city by yourself?”
Aliah simply nodded. No words, just acceptance.
Natasha watched her walk ahead of them, back straight, steps measured.
She’d seen that walk before.
And now she knew why Hydra was still winning ground.
Because Aliah had learned, once again, that the safest thing to do was lie.
Aliah packed slowly.
Not because she didn’t know what to take, she did… but because each item had to be deliberate. Thought through. Justified. She laid everything out on her bed first, neat rows like she was inventorying herself.
Extra hoodie.
Spare phone charger.
Cash, folded small.
The compact med kit Natasha had shown her how to use, tucked carefully into the side pocket.
She didn’t take much. She never had.
Her room was quiet, the Tower humming beneath the floor in a steady rhythm that used to calm her. Tonight, it only reminded her how many people were above her, below her. How many eyes might be watching.
She zipped the bag halfway, then stopped.
Her reflection stared back at her from the mirror, too composed, too still. Fifteen years old and already good at disappearing into usefulness. She swallowed, forcing her shoulders to relax, her jaw to unclench.
I’m not running, she told herself. I’m protecting them.
That part mattered.
Wanda panicked when things spiraled. Natasha hardened. Aliah had seen it enough now to understand the pattern. If Hydra made a move, if something went wrong, it wouldn’t just be her caught in the blast radius. It would be them.
So she would remove herself from the equation.
Just for a little while.
Just long enough to draw Hydra’s attention somewhere else. Long enough to make sure they didn’t come crashing through the Tower doors with guns and threats and words that would hurt worse than bullets.
She tightened the strap on the bag and slung it over her shoulder, testing the weight. Light. Efficient.
They taught you well, a voice whispered… not Hydra’s, not really, but something older. Something ingrained.
She hated that it sounded like praise.
Aliah moved to the door, resting her hand against the frame for a brief moment. She could hear Wanda and Natasha in the kitchen… low voices, close together. Safe. She didn’t want to interrupt that. Didn’t want to explain.
Explanations made things messy.
She slipped the bag under her bed instead, out of sight. Not yet. Soon.
First, she needed to make sure of something.
She padded down the hallway, stopping just short of the living space. Wanda’s laughter drifted out softly… quiet, tired, real. Natasha murmured something back, low enough that Aliah couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was familiar.
Protective. Steady.
Her chest tightened.
This is why, she thought. This is what I’m keeping safe.
She turned back before she could lose her nerve.
Miles away, in a room that smelled faintly of metal and recycled air, a soft beep from a screen alerted that an electric signature was found inside of the famous Avenger’s Tower.
The feed was grainy, pulled from a camera two buildings down, long lens, stabilized.
A technician leaned closer to the screen. “She’s preparing.”
The figure at the head of the table didn’t respond immediately. They watched in silence, fingers steepled, as Aliah lifted the med kit and tucked it away.
“Classic.” Another voice said. “She thinks she’s being selfless.”
The figure finally spoke. “She is.”
They tapped the table once, bringing up a second feed… a schematic of the Tower, exits highlighted in faint blue.
“She won’t run.” The figure continued. “Not yet. She’ll convince herself she’s protecting them by creating distance. She’ll leave alone.”
A pause.
“Because that’s what we trained her to do.”
The technician frowned. Doctor Enez. “But she’s not fully conditioned. There’s attachment.”
“Yes.” The figure agreed calmly. “That’s the variable. And also the lever.”
Another screen blinked to life, the bookstore footage, the alley, the moment Aliah had stopped walking and gone very still.
“Doubt introduced.” The figure said. “Identity destabilized. Now she’s reverting to survival logic.”
A red line traced across the map, following a familiar route.
“Prediction?” Someone asked.
“She’ll choose a controlled environment.” The figure replied. “Somewhere public. Somewhere she thinks she can disappear.”
“And then?”
The figure smiled, just barely. “We let her.”
Back in her room, Aliah sat on the edge of her bed, bag hidden beneath it, hands folded in her lap. She stared at the floor, breathing slow, steady.
She wasn’t scared.
That was the strangest part.
She felt calm. Focused. Like things finally made sense again. There was a problem, and she knew how to solve it.
She would go out alone. She would keep them safe. She would handle it.
She lay back and stared at the ceiling, whispering the words like a promise.
“I won’t let them hurt me anymore.”
The Tower hummed on, unaware.
And somewhere in the dark, Hydra adjusted its timing… patient, confident.
Because the trap wasn’t snapping shut yet.
It was waiting for her to step into it.
Lights dimmed floor by floor, the hum of activity easing into something softer, more domestic. Wanda sat on the couch with her knees pulled to her chest, fingers twisting absently in the fabric of her sweater. The TV was on, volume low, but she wasn’t watching it.
Natasha stood near the window, arms folded, gaze fixed on the city below. She’d been standing like that for several minutes now, unmoving, like she was guarding something invisible.
“She’s not herself.” Wanda said finally.
Natasha didn’t turn around. “I know.”
Wanda swallowed. “It’s subtle. But it’s there. She’s… smaller. Quieter. Like she was when we first brought her back.”
Natasha’s jaw tightened. “She asked me about the Red Room last night.”
Wanda’s head snapped up. “What?”
Natasha exhaled slowly, finally turning to face her. “Not emotionally. Not like she wanted reassurance. Like she was… studying it.”
The word made Wanda’s chest ache. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t know what it meant yet.” Natasha said honestly. “I do now.”
Silence stretched between them.
Wanda rubbed her arms, a chill creeping in that had nothing to do with temperature. “She didn’t say anything to me. She barely talked at breakfast.”
“That’s the point.” Natasha said quietly. “She’s reverting.”
Wanda’s throat tightened. “Because of Hydra. They did something to her.”
“She’s lying about noticing Hydra activity. During the briefing, she lied.”
“She doesn’t feel safe enough to be vulnerable.” Wanda added, the words tasting bitter. “Not fully.”
Natasha didn’t argue. She crossed the room and sat beside Wanda, close but not touching yet. “She feels responsible.”
Wanda let out a shaky breath. Her voice caught. “She’s our d—”
She stopped herself, swallowing. “She’s a child.”
Natasha nodded. “Hydra didn’t let her be one.”
Wanda stared at the dark hallway leading to Aliah’s room. The door was shut. Too shut. She should’ve gone to check on her. Should still go. The thought hovered, heavy, insistent.
“She packed her bag earlier.” Wanda said suddenly.
Natasha’s eyes snapped to her. “What?”
“I saw it under her bed when I went to put away laundry.” Wanda’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Just… a few things. Neat. Organized. A go bag, like you and I have.”
Natasha closed her eyes briefly. “Shit.”
“We should go check on her.” Wanda said, half rising.
Natasha hesitated.
That hesitation… brief, rational, devastating, changed everything.
“She’s not gone.” Natasha said. “If she were, alarms would’ve tripped.”
“I know, but–”
“If we go in now...” Natasha interrupted gently. “We teach her that privacy doesn’t exist. That she’s being watched. That we don’t trust her.”
Wanda sank back into the couch, torn. “But what if she thinks we don’t care?”
Natasha’s voice softened. “She knows we care.”
Wanda wasn’t so sure.
The thought circled back to something else that had been gnawing at her since the briefing.
“Nat.” She said quietly. “We should adopt her.”
Natasha stilled.
“Legally.” Wanda continued. “Papers. Custody. Everything. Fury had asked me about it before and I said I would talk with you.”
Natasha looked at her, something raw flickering behind her eyes. “I thought that was already decided.”
“It is.” Wanda said quickly. “Emotionally. Practically. But not on paper. And Hydra…” She swallowed. “Hydra deals in loopholes.”
Natasha leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Paper didn’t protect me.”
“I know.” Wanda said softly. “But it might protect her. Or at least… tell her she’s not temporary.”
That landed hard.
Natasha turned to her then, voice low. “You think she feels temporary.”
Wanda nodded, tears threatening. “I think she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like if she’s not perfect, not useful, we’ll change our minds.”
Natasha reached for her without thinking, pulling Wanda into her space. Wanda folded into her instantly, forehead pressing against Natasha’s shoulder.
“We won’t.” Natasha murmured.
“I know.” Wanda whispered. “But does she?”
Natasha held her tighter. “We’ll fix it.”
They sat like that for a long moment, breathing together, the quiet thick but not suffocating. Wanda’s fingers curled into Natasha’s shirt, grounding herself in the solid warmth of her.
Natasha’s thumb brushed soothing circles against her arm. “You’ve been spiraling all day. You’ll just sit there and worry.”
“And you won’t?” Wanda asked weakly.
“I will.” Natasha admitted. “But at least we’ll be worrying together.”
Wanda hesitated. Just for a second. Then nodded. “Thank you.”
They stood, moving toward Natasha’s room, the one at the far end of the floor, intentionally distant from Aliah’s. The irony wasn’t lost on either of them.
At Natasha’s door, Wanda paused, glancing back down the hallway. “We should check on her in the morning.”
“Yes.” Natasha said. “First thing.”
Wanda let herself believe that would be enough.
Inside, Natasha’s room was dim and quiet, the bed neatly made. Wanda kicked off her socks and curled beneath the covers without protest. Natasha followed, lying beside her, careful not to crowd her.
For a moment, they lay facing each other in the dark.
“You’re a good mother.” Natasha said quietly.
Wanda’s breath hitched. “So are you.”
Natasha reached out, brushing Wanda’s hair back from her face, the gesture gentle and unguarded. Wanda leaned into the touch instinctively, eyes closing.
Outside, the Tower hummed on.
Down the hall, Aliah lay awake, bag already packed beneath her bed.
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i am soooo sooo sorry it took so long to get the next chapter! life happened...
3.4k words | [Tags] none for this chapter :) just enjoyable fluff
Chapter Index | Ao3 Link
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“Children are not things to be molded but are people to be unfolded.”
“Just a walk around the block.” Steve said, leaning next to Aliah at the bar on the common floor of the tower.. “Maybe a bookstore. A street vendor. Just… the world.”
Aliah was sitting at the island, sipping on a Shirley Temple that Natasha had made for her. She perked up at the mention of “bookstore,” though she tried to hide it.
Natasha leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, mouth twitching like she was trying not to smirk.
“She’s not a puppy, Steve.”
“No offense, but she kind of acts like one.” He replied with a shrug. “Skittish. Sticks close to home base. Barks at strange appliances.”
“I don’t bark.” Aliah mumbled into her straw.
Wanda, standing beside the fridge, said nothing at first.
Steve continued, undeterred. “When I came out of the ice, it was overwhelming. Everything was too loud or too fast or… just too much. But it helped to see it. Piece by piece. Make a list of things I heard and didn’t understand.”
He looked to Aliah, his voice softening.
“Figured I could pay that forward.”
She smiled at him finally, a soft smile that she felt more seen. “That could be fun.”
Wanda finally spoke, measured and calm. “How long will you be gone?”
Steve glanced at the clock. “Couple hours? We’d stay in the city. Take it slow.”
“Would you stay away from crowded areas?”
“We’d avoid anything loud. I promise.”
“And you’ll keep an eye on her the whole time?”
“She won’t leave my line of sight.”
Wanda still didn’t nod. She wasn’t trying to be difficult.
She just… didn’t know how to let go.
“She’ll be fine.” Natasha cut in.
It wasn’t dismissive.
It was firm.
Like a line drawn in soft sand.
“She knows how to handle herself. You’ve seen her train.”
Wanda turned toward her. “That doesn’t mean she’s ready to go out alone with someone. Even someone we trust.”
“I’m not suggesting we drop her in the woods.” Natasha said. “It’s Steve. He carries moral compass snacks in his fanny pack.”
Steve raised a hand. “Confirmed.”
Aliah let out a small, honest laugh.
Wanda didn’t.
“She just got here.” Wanda said. “She’s still adjusting. We shouldn’t rush her into normal when she’s not–”
“She wants normal.” Natasha interrupted, quieter now. “You think she’s not adjusting, but I see the way she listens when people talk about weekend plans. About music. About street vendors and record stores.”
Wanda’s jaw tightened. “Wanting something and being ready for it aren’t the same.”
The silence that followed wasn’t long.
But it was heavy.
Aliah stopped sipping, and just played with the straw. “I want to go.”
Steve shifted slightly, glancing between the two women like he wasn’t sure whether to intervene or evaporate.
Wanda looked down at her hands.
When she finally spoke, it was quieter.
“I just don’t want you to get overwhelmed. You’ve already got so much to untangle–”
“I know.” Natasha said, voice softer now too. “But she doesn’t need a lock on the door. She needs to open it herself.”
And that was the line.
Not cruel. Not confrontational.
But enough.
Wanda stepped back slightly. Not in anger.
But like someone realizing the space between them had shifted.
Steve cleared his throat gently. “I’ll keep it low-key, if it’s okay.”
Wanda didn’t answer him right away. She just looked at Aliah.
And the girl looked back. Eyes wide. Hopeful. Quietly begging.
“Okay.” Wanda said at last.
And when Aliah lit up, just barely… Wanda’s chest ached.
Because the smile felt real again.
“C’mon kiddo, let’s learn about the world.” Steve stood and walked out with Aliah in tow.
She turned and waved to both women and smiled softly before heading to the stairs with Steve. It was another moment of trust for her. She trusted Wanda and Natasha, fully.
She trusted Steve and Sam because they’d helped her escape.
Clint was like an older brother to Natasha so by default, he was trusted.
Tony was weird, but she trusted him. To a point. He was just fun.
Fury was a wild card. He was two sides of a coin to Aliah, one side she trusted out of pure respect… the other was a challenge, she couldn’t read the other side.
She supposed that was his way of protecting himself. More respect.
That she understood.
The kitchen was too quiet.
Not the peaceful kind.
The kind that felt like everyone had left the room, even when they were still inside it.
Natasha stood at the counter, slowly drying the cup Aliah had left even though she’d already dried it twice. She wasn’t looking at Wanda. But she wasn’t avoiding her either. Just… waiting.
Wanda sat at the table, her untouched tea growing colder by the minute.
“They just left. They can’t explore New York in 10 minutes.” Natasha said casually.
Wanda nodded. Another sip not taken.
A long pause.
“You mad at me?”
The question was blunt, dropped like a rock into still water.
Wanda blinked. “No.”
Natasha set the dish down. “Okay.”
She picked up another one.
“I’m not.” Wanda repeated, sharper this time.
“You said you aren’t.” Natasha replied, calm.
“You asked.”
“I asked if you were mad. I didn’t accuse you of lying.”
Wanda inhaled like she was going to argue… but didn’t.
Because she didn’t know what she would say.
The tension wrapped itself around the room like steam. It wasn’t loud. But it was stifling.
“She’s not a project,” Wanda said finally, voice low. “She’s not something we just let go and see what happens.”
“I know.”
“She’s... she’s complicated.”
“We all are.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know that too.”
Wanda stood, suddenly unable to sit still. She crossed to the sink, then stopped halfway, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “She needs structure. Balance. A routine. She needs to get used to being here before she can even begin to worry about adjusting out there.”
Natasha said nothing.
Wanda continued, voice trembling just a little. “And now I’m standing here, and I don’t even know what part of this is mine. What I’m doing. Why I feel like I’m screwing it all up.”
Natasha dried her hands on a towel and turned to face her.
Her expression was unreadable.
But not unkind.
“You’re not screwing it up.” She said.
Wanda looked up. Her eyes were red. “I feel like I am.”
Natasha stepped closer. Not too close. But close enough that her presence filled the space between them.
“You’re not Vision.” She said gently. “Those words feel like his. Think about when you first came here with us. You wanted to know everything all at once. You didn’t listen to anyone.”
Wanda’s breath hitched.
“I’m not you. I can’t understand this.”
“No.” Natasha said. “You’re softer. But softer doesn’t mean weaker.”
Silence.
“I don’t want to lose her.” Wanda whispered.
“You won’t.”
“You sound so sure.”
Natasha tilted her head. “She already picked us, didn’t she?”
Wanda laughed… just once, broken and tired and too full of feeling.
She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan and looked at Natasha like she was seeing something for the first time.
Not danger. Not armor. Not even understanding.
Just the truth.
“How are you so… naturally good at this?” Wanda muttered.
Natasha smirked. “Don’t worry. I’m as surprised as you are.”
Lower Manhattan: New York
The city was quieter than Aliah expected.
Not literally… it was still New York, still full of honking cars and sidewalk shouting and music spilling out of shop windows like confetti. But somehow, it didn’t feel overwhelming.
Maybe because Steve walked like he belonged here. Like the noise couldn’t touch him.
And by extension, it couldn’t touch her either.
They started with Central Park.
Not the loudest parts, not the carriages or the runners or the strange man screaming at a bagel… but the outer edges. The tree lined paths. The winding walkways with benches that hadn’t seen fresh paint in decades.
Steve let her walk ahead if she wanted. Let her linger. Let her be quiet.
It wasn’t like the tower. It wasn’t like Hydra.
It was just... open.
“I used to come here when I first got out…” Steve said, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. “After the ice.”
Aliah raised an eyebrow. “Because it’s pretty?”
“Because it made sense.” He said. “Everything else was moving too fast. Phones, computers, holograms. This…” He nodded at the trees, the dogs, the wind “This moved at my pace.”
Aliah didn’t say anything.
But she understood.
“Captain America didn’t know how to order coffee.” He added after a beat.
That earned him a tiny smile.
“And I didn’t know how to use a microwave without blowing something up.”
“You?”
“Oh yeah. Full popcorn bag detonation. It was… humbling.”
Aliah laughed… short and sharp, like it snuck out before she could catch it.
Steve smiled.
It wasn’t much.
But it was a beginning.
After an hour or so, they cut through side streets and dipped into the shopping district. Steve had a few favorite spots… the kind of places that didn’t exist online. That smelled like old wood and too much personality.
“I thought maybe we could find you a couple things.” He said. “For your room.”
Aliah blinked. “I don’t really... need anything.”
He looked at her, serious but kind.
“Wanting isn’t the same as needing.”
The record store was warm and dust scented and full of things that hummed with history.
Vinyl sleeves lined the walls, stacked in tilted rows like the world’s most fragile library.
There was a listening station in the back, with soft chairs that looked like they’d swallowed entire generations of teenagers.
Steve didn’t lead her.
He just waited.
Aliah walked slowly, fingers grazing the edge of the bins.
She didn’t know most of the names.
She didn’t recognize the covers.
But the colors pulled her in. The fonts. The softness of the cardboard sleeves. The feeling that these songs had lived before her… and might live after.
She stopped at a section labeled Jazz and pulled out an album with a cover that looked like moonlight.
She held it up to him.
Steve nodded. “Solid choice.”
They spent almost an hour there.
She didn’t ask for help.
But when she hesitated, Steve offered soft suggestions.
The first time she had asked for something. Steve had gotten her anything she felt curious enough about to take back home.
Three records. One two jazz, and one with no label (she liked the mystery of it). An old record player, even though FRIDAY could play music in her room if she asked, Steve said it’s not the same.
She believed him.
Steve also got her a journal with silver embossing that she seemed to enjoy. To write her list. Things she wanted to do and learn about.
Two movies she had seen that she thought Wanda and Natasha would like to watch with her.
It wasn’t much, but it was a huge step for her. For everyone.
The first hurdle in becoming normal. Living like how she should have.
As they walked back toward the tower, the weight of the bag in her arms felt strangely satisfying.
Not heavy.
Just real.
Like she was allowed to carry things now. Like maybe the world wasn’t only a place that had built her.
Maybe it was a place she could belong to.
Steve didn’t say much on the walk back. Just carried the record player for her while she carried the thin bag.
He didn’t need to.
But just before they reached the tower, he looked over at her and said:
“You did good today. Maybe next time we’ll knock out some things on your list.”
And for the first time in a long time, Aliah believed it.
Wanda didn’t mean to hover outside the door.
But when the record started playing… low and crackling, warm as a fireplace, she didn’t move.
The sound was... soft. Sad, almost. A saxophone wailing like it remembered something it couldn’t forget. And underneath it, laughter.
Not loud. Not unguarded.
But real.
Wanda stepped forward.
Aliah was inside, crouched beside the little turntable on the desk, gently adjusting the needle like it was made of glass.
Natasha sat cross legged on the bed, flipping through a small stack of old DVDs with a grin like she’d just found a relic.
Wanda cleared her throat.
Aliah turned. And she smiled. “Come in.”
Two words.
Simple.
But Wanda’s chest tightened like someone had pulled a string.
She crossed the threshold slowly, eyes scanning the room… the soft glow of string lights Natasha must’ve found and helped string up, the new journal on the nightstand, the still glowing price tag half peeled from the record player’s corner.
It started to look like someone lived here.
“Well looks like someone had a fun day out with Steve.”
Wanda sat on the edge of the bed, just barely.
Natasha handed her a DVD case.
“‘Gremlins.’ Classic.” She said. “I made Steve swear this wasn’t a trap.”
Wanda smiled. “Where did you even find this?”
“Downtown. Antique chaos. She picked it.”
Aliah beamed, then ducked her head like it was too much to hold.
The music shifted, slower now, dreamy.
Wanda glanced toward the record player, watching the vinyl spin.
“Do you like it?” She asked.
Aliah nodded. “It’s scratchy. But I like the scratch. Steve said listening to them this way was better.”
Wanda’s breath caught. “I used to say that about my mother’s records.”
Aliah looked up at her. Their eyes met.
And for the first time in days, it felt like something settled between them. Like a door that had been locked from the inside finally cracked open.
“Could we listen to them sometime?” Aliah asked.
Wanda’s heart swelled. “I’d love to.”
They sat together on the rug, cross legged, knees nearly touching.
Natasha stayed on the bed… silent now, watching with something close to pride and something closer to restraint.
The record hummed on.
The room was warm.
And for a moment, Wanda felt something she hadn’t felt in weeks.
Present.
Aliah leaned over and grabbed the journal from her nightstand.
“I found this too.” She said, flipping it open. “It smells like dust and paper and... something old. Like a spellbook.”
Wanda grinned. “That’s the best kind.”
Aliah held it out. “I started making a list, like Steve. Things I heard around the city and things I want to learn about.”
And just like that, the ache returned.
Not because of Aliah.
But because it felt like something more than trust. To be shown the things the young girl wanted to know. An inside to her mind.
Wanda opened the journal with a soft smile.
Vintage stores, more old stuff.The era of swing dancing (Steve said 40’s)Movie theatersHot dogs?More parksPlants? (Fred is lonely)
“I think I want to find some plants of my own. Tasha said you found Fred, and I wanted to know if you would take me to find a few for in here?” Aliah said, smiling at Wanda still.
“Of course. He does seem a bit lonely, doesn’t he?”
The last time Wanda had felt this seen, this naturally in tune… was in a world she had built out of grief.
And it terrified her to realize:
This wasn’t built.
This was real
And it only seemed to happen… when Vision wasn’t in the room.
She blinked, hard. And Aliah was still there. Still smiling.
Still asking her to stay. To be in her life.
Wanda closed the book, setting it back on the nightstand with care. Aliah went back to enjoying the music in the room.
Suddenly she realized that she didn’t need to worry about how to care for this young girl.
She could do that all herself. She just needed guidance.
Aliah wanted her there. If she needed help, she’d ask for it.
That was enough.
She didn’t need a spreadsheet of how to care for a traumatized child. A 101 book for being a parent to a child you never knew you had.
She chuckled softly at the thought. Was there a book for that?
After a few hours of spending time in Aliah’s room. Helping her set up the few things she had found, to personalize her space. Aliah had fallen asleep on Wanda, the green bear she’d simply named ‘Bear’, wrapped in her arms.
It was peaceful.
Her girl in her arms and Natasha by her side, grabbing the little bits of laundry the girl had to wash later.
They’d have to take her to find her own clothes later.
Her fingers curled around the edge of her sleeve as she reached her door.
It slid open automatically. Vision was already inside.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, posture perfect, reading something from a slim holographic screen.
When he looked up, he smiled.
Soft. Polite.
“You were gone longer than expected.” He said.
Wanda nodded. “We were relaxing. Listening to music.”
“That sounds pleasant.”
“It was.”
A pause.
He stood, walking toward her with a gentleness that always felt choreographed… not wrong, just... deliberate.
“I found a new recipe we might try for breakfast tomorrow. It involves wild berries and nutrient balanced oats. Good for getting Aliah her proteins for training.”
Wanda smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “That sounds nice.”
He stepped closer, brushing a hand against her arm. “Are you okay?”
She hesitated. Then nodded. “Of course.”
Vision’s hand stayed against her skin.
It was warm.
Familiar.
But Wanda didn’t lean into it.
She just stood there, held by something that used to feel like love.
And now it felt like a memory.
Later, he powered down beside her… soft glow beneath his skin, low hum like a lullaby.
Wanda lay still, facing the ceiling, one hand pressed lightly over her heart like she was trying to quiet something.
She wasn’t tired. She wasn’t calm.
She was… floating.
Drifting just outside the edges of the life she thought she wanted.
Down the hallway, faint through the walls, she heard it.
Laughter. Muffled. Light.
Aliah.
Natasha.
It wasn’t a performance. It wasn’t built.
It was theirs.
And Wanda realized. She didn’t know how to ask if there was room for her in it.
She closed her eyes.
Not to sleep.
Just to stop looking at the ceiling.
“Start small.”
She could still hear it. The music, now quiet. Natasha’s voice, low and teasing. Aliah’s laughter… not constant, but real.
She sat up.
The sheets whispered around her.
Vision didn’t stir.
Of course he didn’t.
Wanda slipped on her sweater and padded barefoot down the hallway, her fingers trembling as she brushed against the cool wall for balance.
She wasn’t sure what she’d say.
Or if this would ruin the delicate thing that had just started to grow.
But she couldn’t stay in that room another second and pretend like she wasn’t aching to be part of something again.
Something real.
The door to Aliah’s room was ajar.
Light spilled through the crack… golden, soft, woven with the distant crackle of a spinning record.
She paused.
Took a breath.
Then knocked once, quietly.
Natasha opened the door halfway, eyebrows raising in surprise.
Wanda’s voice caught, then cleared. “I… couldn’t sleep. Mind if I join you two?”
Natasha’s expression didn’t shift, but something about it softened. Without a word, she stepped aside.
Inside, Aliah was curled in the middle of the bed, feet tucked under a blanket, half laughing at something on the screen.
She looked up and blinked.
“Hi. Wanda, have you seen this yet?” she asked… no hesitation, just warmth.
Wanda smiled. “Gremlins? I can’t say that I have.”
She moved to the other side of the bed… slow, careful, and sat down like she wasn’t sure the floor wouldn’t fall out from under her.
It didn’t.
The blanket shifted.
Aliah scooted just enough to let her in.
Not a dramatic gesture.
Not an invitation.
Just… space.
“It’s really funny. Steve said it was scary, but I really think he’s just old.”
Natasha climbed back into her chair, arms crossed behind her head, smirking at the movie.
Wanda leaned back against the pillow.
Onscreen, a bunch of small, gross, little menaces are wreaking havoc in a bar.
Aliah laughed again.
Wanda did too.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t perfect.
But it was hers.
This was family. This was what she had wanted.
How long until she wants to admit it, is a different problem she needs to solve.
4.2k words | [Tags] more angst BUT, some fluff too
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Sometimes the scariest thing isn’t being unloved… it’s realizing you’ve been loved the wrong way all along.
The smell of cinnamon toast and burned coffee drifted lazily through the tower’s shared kitchen, with the late morning sunlight clinging to the ceiling. Inside, though, the Avengers were awake, just barely… and some? Deeply annoyed.
Aliah sat at the counter with her head leaning against her hand like it was the only thing keeping her sane.
Her breakfast plate sat untouched… eggs arranged like a smiley face that mocked her silently. A too organized planner sat beside it, open to a page titled “Curriculum Integration.” The words might as well have been written in blood.
“Seriously?” Aliah said, balancing a spoon on the edge of her cereal bowl. “If I have genetically enhanced DNA, shouldn’t I get a pass on standardized education?”
From across the kitchen island, Natasha didn’t look up from her tablet. “If you’re smart enough to argue your way out of school, you’re smart enough to do the homework.”
“That’s emotional manipulation.”
“That’s parenting.”
Wanda entered with a mug in one hand and a hopeful smile in the other, sleeves rolled up and damp curls framing her face from her morning shower. She looked like someone trying to manifest calm into a chaotic universe… one toast crumb at a time.
“I printed off your tutoring schedule.” She said cheerfully, sliding a few neatly stapled pages next to Aliah’s elbow. “We’re starting slow. History, algebra, and English for now. Just mornings. You still get afternoons free.”
Aliah stared at the packet like it contained classified Hydra documents. “Do I get a recess?”
“You get a fifteen minute break and a snack.”
“So... no?”
Natasha gave her a soft glare, almost daring the girl to make one more sarcastic comment. “You’re 15… Most kids your age are in school full time. Be lucky we’re keeping your afternoons free for training.”
Green eyes rolled again. “I don’t see how adding numbers and knowing how to write proper sentences is supposed to help me in the field.”
Maria, who had been sitting at the table on the other end from Aliah, her own tablet in hand, spoke up first. “If you want to go out into the field and take missions, you need to be able to do the paperwork. That requires learning proper sentences. Counting the ammunition you have left over while still fighting can save your life.”
“Okay, fine. But History?”
“Understanding your enemy’s motive and patterns based on the world’s past mistakes.”
Aliah dropped her head onto her crossed arms on the table and groaned. It made sense. But she didn’t have to like it.
Wanda just shook her head, chuckling. Mostly to distract herself from the gnawing feeling that keeps coming back when she’s in the same room as Natasha.
Vision appeared near the pantry, holding a cup of tea he had no biological need for.
“An established routine is critical to personal growth.” He offered politely. “I’ve found structured time blocks enhance not only discipline but emotional resilience.”
Aliah didn’t look at him. “I’ve found your voice enhances migraines.”
“Noted.”
Natasha almost snorted into her coffee.
Wanda did not.
“We all agreed on this.” She said, tone a little tighter now. “We want you to have a foundation.”
“Of what?” Aliah asked, flipping her spoon. “Colonialism and trigonometry?”
“Of opportunity.” Wanda replied. “Of choice. We want you to have a say in your future.”
“Cool.” Aliah muttered. “Then I choose not to do math.”
The elevator dinged.
A young man stepped out with a messenger bag slung over one shoulder and the distinct air of a man who had absolutely no idea what he’d just walked into. Late twenties. Slightly rumpled. Wearing a badge that said S.H.I.E.L.D. Education Initiative and a tie that said “I tried.”
Aliah took one look at him and whispered to Natasha. “He looks like he apologizes when people bump into him.”
Natasha didn’t argue. “Be nice.”
“I am being nice. That was an observation.”
Wanda walked over and extended a hand. “You must be Agent Foreman. Thank you for coming in so early.”
“Happy to help.” He said, trying to smile past the existential dread creeping into his eyes.
Aliah stood and grabbed her binder with all the enthusiasm of a condemned prisoner. “I go now to face my destiny.”
Vision stepped forward. “If you’d like assistance with note organization–”
Aliah held up a hand. “Please don’t say cognitive development again. I just ate.”
Agent Foreman followed, glancing nervously over his shoulder like he half expected her to levitate him into the ceiling.
Wanda watched them disappear down the hall.
Natasha took a long sip of coffee. “Well. That went better than expected.”
“You mean she didn’t actually set anything on fire.” Wanda muttered.
“It’s a low bar. I’m proud of her.”
They stood in silence for a moment, letting the stillness settle in around them… the smell of toast, the soft clink of dishes, the momentary illusion of peace.
Wanda glanced over. “Thanks for backing me up.”
Natasha didn’t look at her. “I didn’t do it for you.”
“I know,” Wanda said softly. “But thank you anyway.”
Across the room, Vision hovered, watching the retreating hallway with clinical interest. “Social tension aside, her integration is progressing marvelously.”
Natasha’s jaw twitched. “She’s not a lab project.”
Wanda froze.
Vision blinked. “I meant no offense.”
“You never do.” Natasha muttered, grabbing her coffee and leaving the kitchen, following Maria to the elevator to discuss her last mission.
Wanda stood in the kitchen, hands wrapped around a mug that had gone cold.
The warmth of five minutes ago now felt like a set after the actors left… quiet, staged, and more fragile than it looked.
The quiet in the hallway wasn’t peaceful. It was like something waiting to snap.
Wanda walked slowly, hands full… a fresh mug of tea (because it felt necessary to have… something), a stack of borrowed books, and a soft blanket Aliah had tossed aside hours ago. She moved like someone playing house, like someone with amnesia trying to trigger a memory they don’t even have. Maybe she was.
Around the corner, Natasha was already there.
Leaning against the kitchen counter like always. Face buried in a physical paper file, boots planted. She wasn’t pacing. That would imply nerves.
She was standing still… which meant she was angry.
Wanda stopped short.
Their eyes met. Just for a moment.
Natasha’s gaze flicked to the mug in her hand.
“Going a bit hard on the tea today?”
Wanda didn’t answer right away. “Just wanting something calm.”
“Sure.” Natasha said, turning back to her file but her tone was snarky.
Wanda’s jaw tightened. She moved past her without a word.
The kind of silence that had once been companionable between them… but now pulsed with tension.
“She’s doing better.” Wanda said at last, her voice calm but laced with something underneath.
“She likes History better than English.” Natasha said, still not looking up from her file, her tone sharper now. “Because it feels safe. We’ve made sure she feels safe. Because people show up for her.”
Wanda turned to her, one brow raised. “Is that supposed to be about me?”
Natasha didn’t flinch. “Should it be?”
The room had the soft, warm glow of sun at its peak and early afternoon stillness.
Wanda set the mug down on the counter, carefully. Like too much pressure might crack it.
Natasha stayed standing, hands on her hips.
“You keep saying you’re here.” Natasha said. “But you’re not really here. Not your whole self.”
Wanda folded her arms. “Is this about what I said? Because I’ve apologized almost a hundred times for that, Nat. I wasn’t thinking right and I shouldn’t have said it–”
“But you did.” Natasha said, moving closer. “You used the one thing I told you in confidence. Again.”
Wanda bristled. “And what would you like me to do? Get on my knees and beg for forgiveness? Cry over my mistakes?”
“No.” Natasha said, low and clipped. “I’d like you to act like someone who gives a damn about the people around her instead of pretending to be fine so she can avoid feeling anything.”
“That’s not fair–”
“What’s not fair…” Natasha cut in. “Is the way you walk through this place acting like it’s enough to just show up when you feel like it. You think kindness fixes everything? You think making tea will make you feel better?”
Wanda’s breath caught.
“I’m trying.” She said quietly. “I’m trying to be better.”
Natasha paused, long enough for Wanda to think maybe she’d step back. “Then why does it feel like we’re all stuck in the crossfire of whatever you have going on?”
Wanda blinked. “What?”
“You need to figure yourself out.” Natasha shook her head, voice cooler now, too calm. “You can’t keep using all of us as a way out for whatever it is that you’re feeling. I don’t know what you have going on that has you feeling upset, but it’s not my fault. We are not your emotional punching bags. It doesn’t work for her. And it sure as hell doesn’t work for me.”
There it was.
Too sharp to ignore. Too raw to smooth over.
The widow sighed and spoke again. “She’s young but she’s not dumb. She knows something is wrong.”
Wanda looked down, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of her sleeves.
Silence stretched between them.
Aliah’s laugh rang from the other room, soft and oblivious.
Wanda felt like she was breaking in reverse… not shattered, but folding. Slowly. Quietly.
“I’m doing my best.” She said, barely audible.
“Then maybe you should start doing better… For her sake.” Natasha said and walked out, not waiting to hear anything else.
Wanda stayed behind, staring at the hallway long after the door to Natasha’s room clicked shut.
In her hand, the tea had gone cold. Again.
Avengers Compound: Common floor - 8:24 pm
The common room still smelled faintly like floor polish and Thor’s burnt PopTarts (though no one would admit who ate them without permission). Moonlight streamed through the wide windows, spilling cool light over the couch where Aliah sat cross legged on the floor with a binder and a frown.
The girl wasn’t visibly angry… not in the explosive way Wanda had seen in the training room, but she was closed off. Her brow furrowed with focus, but her shoulders said something else: tension, frustration, maybe even a little resignation. Her pencil tapped against the paper, a slow, steady rhythm.
Wanda padded in quietly, carrying two mugs and a hopeful smile.
“Cocoa for the scholar.” She said softly, setting one down beside her.
Aliah looked up, blinking slowly. “I’m supposed to show my work.”
“You are the work.” Wanda teased, nudging the binder gently. “You’ve made it this far. I think you can handle a few equations.”
Aliah groaned, letting her head fall back against the cushions. “Can’t I just manifest the answers like I manifested the pen I lost last week?”
“You still haven’t found that pen.”
“I didn’t say it was a good manifestation.”
Wanda chuckled and sat beside her, tucking her legs underneath herself as she leaned in to scan the page.
Tony chuckled from his place on the couch and sat up, with his usual air of confidence. “Let’s see what ya got, Mini Maximoff. Pass it here.”
She chuckled and scooted her binder and journal close enough for him to see. I put on his glasses and looked at the math work in front of him. “Okay, let’s break it down. You’re trying to isolate for x here–”
But before he could continue, a calm, composed voice interrupted.
“I can assist.”
Vision stepped into the room with his usual impossible silence, clasping his hands behind his back as he approached. He tilted his head slightly at the worksheet, scanning it without needing to blink.
“I could create in world scenarios to help understand the numbers better. It might be easier to work through your problems that way if you would prefer?”
Aliah didn’t even look up. “Fine.” She said flatly.
She moved her pencil off the page like it had betrayed her, and leaned back into the couch, as if preparing herself to endure the lesson instead of participating in it.
Wanda watched the shift… subtle, but unmistakable.
Aliah, a girl who’d just made a joke about conjuring pens, now sat like a student bracing for a lecture she had no say in.
Still, she said nothing.
Vision sat down next to Tony on the couch, too close and too calm, gently adjusting the worksheet.
“Let’s begin with number six. This one’s interesting.”
Wanda stood up and stepped back. Too quickly.
From the other end of the couch, Natasha’s presence was quiet but felt.
Aliah kept her gaze low. Her fingers tensed slightly when Vision gestured to a line she hadn’t drawn yet.
Wanda noticed.
So did Natasha.
And when Vision finally stood, murmuring something about reviewing variables and "allowing the real world examples to sink in"... the silence he left behind was heavier than it should’ve been.
Natasha didn’t move.
Didn’t blink. She simply grabbed her empty cup from the table, ruffling Aliah’s hair before getting up under the guise of grabbing another drink.
She leaned towards Wanda on her way around and whispered tightly. “She’s more relaxed around people who breathe.”
Wanda turned sharply.
The comment wasn't meant to provoke.
But it landed.
Hard.
Wanda got up and followed Natasha to the bar, folding her arms. “He’s trying.”
Natasha let out a short breath… a laugh with no humor in it. “He’s trying to program a relationship. There’s a difference.”
“He’s part of this family.” Wanda snapped.
“Is he?” Natasha’s tone was soft, but not gentle. “Clearly she doesn’t want him to be. Why are you trying to force it?”
Wanda looked away. “Don’t.” She whispered. “Not now.”
“Then be honest.” Natasha said. “Not just with me. With yourself.”
She walked back to the couch, sitting behind the young girl, who was still groaning into her papers.
Aliah cleared her throat. “I still hate math, by the way.”
“Need help with question seven?”
Aliah nodded. “As long as it doesn’t involve vibranium or feelings.”
Natasha smirked. “My specialty.”
Wanda lingered by the bar, mug still warm in her hand, heart cold in her chest.
She didn’t speak again. Just watching as the rest of her found family accepted and welcomed Aliah.
The young girl didn't need to pretend she wasn't comfortable anymore. She didn't need to feel afraid.
Even if she's still learning who she is, she doesn't let that hold her back.
For a moment Wanda feels slightly jealous about it.
For a moment.
She spends the rest of the night stuck in her head, putting on a mask just long enough to say good night to Aliah before walking to her own room.
Wanda shut the door quietly behind her.
Not slamming it. Not locking it. Just… closing it. Like a person trying to hold herself together from the inside out.
The room was dark, the moonlight creating shadows across the carpet and furniture. She stepped out of her shoes and into the silence, setting the tea down on her nightstand with more force than necessary.
She wasn’t angry. Not really.
She just didn’t know what else to be.
“Wanda.” His voice was calm, even, perfectly modulated.
Vision was already in the room, sitting on the edge of the bed like he belonged there. Like nothing had shifted. Like the last few days… the tension, the cold looks, the silence hadn’t happened at all.
She startled, not because he scared her… but because she hadn’t noticed him there.
He smiled faintly. “I thought I might keep you company tonight.”
Wanda stayed by the door for a moment too long. Then crossed the room and sat in the chair near the window, not the bed.
Vision tilted his head, noting the distance. “You’ve seemed… off today.”
Wanda stared at the blinds. “It’s been a long day.”
He stood and walked to her slowly, pausing at her side.
“I understand you’re overwhelmed.” He said. “I want to support you. If there’s anything I can do–”
“You can’t.” She said, too fast.
He blinked. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t.” Wanda shook her head, rubbing her temples. “Not just now. Not today. Just… in general.”
He moved back, giving her space.
“I know things have changed. But our foundation is strong. We’re connected and I hate the notion that you’re upset–”
“Stop.” She said, quieter now.
He froze. Not physically, but emotionally. The pause was palpable.
“I’m not a simulation.” She continued, voice fraying at the edges. “You keep saying the right things, but none of them feel right.”
He stepped forward again, gentler this time. “You’re grieving something.”
Wanda laughed… bitter, soft, cracked.
“I’m grieving us. Or maybe the idea of us. I don’t know. All I know is… when you touch me now, it doesn’t feel like anything.”
He sat on the edge of the bed again, hands folded.
“I’ve done everything I can to try to help you. I care for you.”
Just the truth, spoken like a bruise that finally bloomed.
Vision nodded once. It wasn’t rejection. Not exactly.
Just understanding. The worst kind.
“You’re not just pulling away from me.” He said. “You’re pulling toward something else.”
Wanda didn’t respond. Because it was true.
She saw Aliah’s closed off posture when Vision sat too close.
She saw Natasha’s hands… the way they moved with care only when they thought no one was looking. She felt the tug… not love, not yet, but want. For a family that felt real.
Vision knew all of the right words to say, all of the things she liked, remembered everything.
But Natasha knew why she liked those things… knew when she needed them. All of the words coming out of Vision, she realized she wanted to hear from Natasha.
Not programmed. Not performed.
But she wasn’t ready.
She couldn’t be.
Change was dangerous. Rejection was worse. And safety, even if it wasn’t right, was something she knew how to survive.
She stood, quietly. “I need to sleep.”
Vision rose but didn’t approach. “I’ll let you rest.”
He walked to the door, stopping just before opening. “If you need me–”
“I know.”
Then he left.
Wanda stood alone in the room, finally letting the quiet settle.
And for the first time in weeks… it didn’t feel like comfort.
It felt like grief.
“Aliah, for the last time, Napoleon wasn’t five feet tall,” Agent Foredman said, exasperated.
Aliah grinned from where she was half lounging on the arm of the couch, a notebook balanced on her knee. “Okay, but emotionally? He was five feet tall.”
The other tutor… a former analyst named Jessa with a no nonsense tone and multicolored sticky notes for every academic subject, rolled her eyes as she scribbled something onto Aliah’s lesson plan. “I’m putting that in the margins.”
“Great. History with personality.” Aliah replied, tossing a pencil into a mug and landing it.
Wanda stood in the doorway watching it unfold, the soft chaos of adolescent energy crashing against two very patient adults. The air smelled like hot cocoa and fresh highlighters. Her home hadn’t felt this lived-in in… years.
Jessa gave Aliah a break, standing to grab something from the kitchen. Agent Foreman followed with a muttered comment about caffeine being “a defense mechanism.”
Wanda stepped into the room as Aliah stretched her legs across the coffee table.
“You’re making friends.” She said softly.
Aliah blinked at her. “They’re tutors.”
Wanda tilted her head. “You like them.”
Aliah shrugged. “They don’t talk to me like I’m a test subject.”
Wanda sat in the chair across from her and nodded.
A beat passed.
And then it hit her.
That ache in her ribs. The way she’d watched Natasha guide Aliah’s training, or adjust her form with a hand on her shoulder, or laugh… not performatively, but deeply, when Aliah made one of her dry remarks.
It was longing.
She understood now.
The sound of Natasha’s voice, muffled, in another room, floated in for a second before fading again. She wanted that. Not a hollow version of it. Not a projection.
She wanted them.
She had wanted Vision for what they could be together. But now Wanda wanted what she already had with Natasha.
The soft moments again, the little jokes and jabs that she and Natasha would throw back and forth with a smile on their faces. The moments when they would train together and Natasha would give her that signature smirk before rightfully winning their sparring match.
Even the moments when they were on the run, she missed. Huddled up in motel rooms and run down trailers, eating noodles from a cup while Natasha showed her her favorite Bond movies.
She wanted all of that back, but she wanted their daughter with them this time.
Their daughter.
Aliah glanced at her. “You’re staring.”
Wanda blinked. “Sorry. Just thinking.”
Aliah narrowed her eyes. “Uh oh. About what?”
Wanda hesitated. Then she smiled, soft and small. “How lucky I am to know you.”
Aliah blinked, caught off guard. But she didn’t deflect. Not this time. Instead, she looked back at her notebook, then smiled softly. “Weird. But... thanks. I’m lucky too, you know.”
Jessa re-entered with tea and three different colored pens.
Foreman followed with the air of a man already emotionally bruised by an hour of tutoring a Hydra grown teenager with sarcasm powers.
And Wanda sat on the edge of the moment, feeling more like a ghost than a mother.
Because for the first time, she understood what she wanted.
The kitchen was dim, lit only by the under cabinet lights and the soft gold of the setting sun. Natasha stood at the counter, peeling the label off a bottle of mineral water. She wasn’t drinking it… just holding it, turning it in her hands like it might offer answers if she was patient enough.
Wanda stepped in quietly. Not sneaking. Just careful.
They hadn’t spoken much since the other night after Aliah’s first day of lessons.
Since… everything.
Natasha glanced up, her expression unreadable.
Wanda opened the fridge, grabbed nothing, and closed it again. She wasn’t hungry. She wasn’t even sure why she came in here… except that she always ended up here when she didn’t know where else to go.
Natasha let her linger. She grabbed the pot of hot water that she had used before for coffee. Pouring the hot water into a mug and placing a pack of cinnamon tea in it before sliding it towards Wanda.
An olive branch.
Wanda blinked. “Thank you.” She said, just above a whisper.
Silence settled again.
But this one was different.
She looked at Natasha… really looked, and something ached behind her ribs.
The way her eyes caught the light. The way she always stood like she was ready to walk away, even when she didn’t want to.
How many times had Wanda seen her like this?
How many times had she ignored it?
“I really am sorry.” Wanda said.
Natasha blinked. “For what?”
“For not being ready.”
Natasha nodded. Once. Slowly.
Then turned back to the counter, voice flat.
“Don’t say sorry if nothing’s going to change.”
Wanda stood still. She wanted to say something… wanted so badly to close the space between them. To say it. Whatever it was.
But fear clawed faster than clarity.
And she did nothing.
Behind them, the New York city lights shimmered behind them. A soft crackle echoed faintly down the hallway… Aliah’s records.
Natasha placed a comforting hand on top of Wanda's that was holding the mug. She didn't say anything else, she didn't need to.
No matter what was going on and Wanda's head, no matter the hurtful words that they could throw at each other, or even the physical punches that they would throw during sparring matches… The widow would always be there for her.
Perhaps a bit more guarded now, maybe even a little irritated. But she would always wait with open arms if Wanda ever needed, or asked.
Nat let her hand fall away before taking her own mug of coffee and walking back to her room. There was no slam of a door, not even the soft click of someone trying to make sure they didn't wake anyone else up.
All Wanda could do was stare at the place where their hands had touched. Wishing to whoever would listen that Natasha had stayed, or that she could have courage.
That would be a fight for another time, when she was ready.
She took her still steaming cup of tea to the couch in the living room, curling up in the corner and throwing a blanket over her legs before turning on the TV. More so just needing background noise than actually looking for anything to watch.
One day, when she could figure out everything going on in her own mind, this would truly be her life. Calm. It wouldn't feel like she was pretending to be someone she isn't.
As Wanda curled her hands around her mug of tea, she blew softly before taking a sip and staring out the window. Looking to the stars for answers.
It tasted better somehow.
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I am so sorry this chapter took so long to post, I finished moving and then immediately went on a road trip. XD
