Three Makes a Pair - CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 1, CHAPTER 2, AND CHAPTER 3
A Pietro and Wanda x Reader Multi-Fic - Soulmate AU
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Characters: Pietro Maximoff/Quicksilver, Reader/Yourself, Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch, Steve Rogers/Captain American, OC’s
Chapter Rating: SFW
Warnings: Possible Triggers
Synopsis: Incorporating the soulmate AU with personal alterations; an overworked and underpaid nurse encounters the Maximoff Twins. The predestined meeting ignites a plethora of emotions and events when discovered transcribed on your person, is the words spoken on your first meeting. Aka: I’m a greedy bitch and one Maximoff sibling just isn’t enough.
"Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors when there were only walls." - Joseph Campell
As if an invisible force encourages your quickened feet, you flee the workshop that played witness to the incident just transpired. You’re feeling ashamed and shaken, ‘And rightly so,’ you think bitterly. A confrontation hadn’t been your intention – the complete opposite in fact, yet that is where the root of the problem had flowered. Emotional compromise, from all involved. You were guilty of avoiding problems instead of confronting them. Instead, they bubbled and manifested into resentment and ignorant irritation. From what those negative feelings feed off were the altering changes of your shackled arrangement.
The ailments, being the grandeur opening act; the unsightly tattoos that now permanently marked both arms; The Maximoff's behaviour; their voices whispered in the darkened hours of night, rendering less-than favourable accumulated hours of sleep; the fluctuations of your own moods; the supposed temporary re-homing; that incessant pull that you wish you could physically yank in retaliation; the backlash of emotion (but that was only a recent addition as exampled by Pietro's display this morning).
While the Maximoff's, too, suffered with these annoyances, they weren't entirely innocent in the matter. Pietro's possessive behaviour – as it could be described after an analysis of the event – was ridiculous but confusing. Most of his behaviour was unbecoming; his frowned expressions, snarky attitude and fierce eyes. No wonder you preferred Wanda of the two. Yet despite his flaws – their flaws - your selfish intentions and provoking remarks had instigated a reaction from Pietro, fraying at his turbulent emotions, waning restraint and resulting in his own emotional compromise. To make matters worse, Rogers had unveiled the severity that was a secret history between the Maximoff’s and Tony Stark that you had unknowingly, yet naively, used to your advantage, and thus ignited the commotion down stairs. That had been it's own fuck fest of ricocheting emotions.
You needed – craved - a source of exhaust, a task to release the built tension coursing through your body. Jarvis is asked for the nearest gym, preferably deserted, if that was possible in this god-forsaken place, and with haste, you make for it's solitude. The following hours, you work yourself to exhaustion; alternating between running the treadmill, weights and other activities of a grueling workout. It has been over a week since you had attempted physical exercise, which you aimed to maintain a regular routine considering the physical requirements expected of all S.H.I.E.L.D personnel. The strain is brutal but serving as both a distraction and punishment you think you so rightly deserve. You reflect on your interactions - and lack of - with the Maximoff’s and cringe at what an asshole you’ve been. Yes, the situation - soulmates - was a shitty deal but subject to interpretation. But how did they interpret it?
Panting hard, you sit with your head bowed, clothes soaked with sweat, feeling a drop trickle as it travels to hang on the tip of your nose. You would love to say that at this point you're too tired to feel anything, but it was completely the opposite. The emotional conflict easily more severe than it was before. For all but a brief moment, you are distracted; that prominent pull that you have all but accustomed to, causing you look up quickly to behold the figure standing but a meter from you.
Your breath hitches, the sudden fright stalling your outburst. Cautiously, you gauge the silent, imposing form of Wanda Maximoff, observing for a hint of hostility. You know, just know, that Wanda is already privy to what transpired, in no doubt that Pietro shared his experience with his sister. And now you’re to be subjected to the verbal backlash from the protective sibling - and you hope it’s only verbal.
“I know of the conflict concerning, Pietro,” her voice soft and eery. Well that confirmed it. Now was your chance: accuse her of her brother's brash behaviour, demand why they had been following you this past week, vent your anger as you had with Pietro. But the anger and irritation withers away as you stare at her, leaving all but your guilt. All that you muster is pathetic in comparison of what could have been said, but it's contrasts true to your state.
“I’m sorry,” you say, a tremor hinted in your voice. “I...I didn't mean...” Unable to complete the sentence and looking away, guilt emanating from you. Wanda looks on at your ashamed manner, neither angry or hostile as she knows you expect of her.
“While the actions of all were unfavorable, had you been privy to particular information, I know you would not had conducted yourself in the manner you did.” It was a subtle slap on the wrist, but in a most genteel way; her accented voice, hypnotic.
“You can’t know that,” you mutter glumly, wallowing in self pity. Still you refuse to meet her eye, but at heart, you know Wanda speaks the truth. If only you had known.
“But I do. At heart, you are a good person, the well-being of others a treasured gift; at times, at the expense of your own.” The insightful comment drawing your attention back to her. “It is rarely found in others.” A smile graces her lips, delicate in nature. It is but one of few expressions - beside her regular neutral one - that she has displayed in the short time you have known her. You are in awe, closing your mouth when you realise your fish impersonation. There was just something about her.
“I think it long overdue that we discuss what remains unsaid.” You stiffen at the implication of her meaning, forebode due to the direction of the conversation. “However...you may ask the questions, and I will answer to the best of my ability.” You remain silent, contemplating the offer she has extended. The offer had always been there, Wanda and Pietro had been patient, hands extended in offer of an explanation and provided support through what they were experiencing...in their weird, stalker-ish way. Yet, through ignorance, fear and denial of the circumstances, you had refused their gesture.
You lick your lips, the heated breath of your vigorous exercise having parched them but also in nervousness. Considering Wanda's offer, you come to the conclusion that you had to face the future – however brief – that existed between yourselves. Instead of voicing one of many questions that had formed since the bonded moment, you intended to rectify your involvement in a certain incident, but first, you required information to know what exactly you had done.
“What is the history between yourselves and Tony Stark?” you ask with caution. Wanda makes no immediate action to answer, instead considering the question and how she will explain – or so you think she is doing.
“It is not complex yet nor is it a simple matter. It was, it is, a life altering moment that has shaped who Pietro and I have come to be. But, this explanation is for Pietro to share, should he want to. You must ask him. Only then might you mend the fissure that parts you both,” Wanda responds. No persistent questioning would sway her to reveal their personal history. You can't help but cringe at the thought of approaching Pietro and asking him, not expecting the calm or reasonable reply that Wanda had returned. You nod in understanding and make the task a priority to fulfill. So, that left your sole question to be asked and it stirs excitement and dread within you.
“Ok,” you start, prompting the next question, “Thor...Thor spoke of bonds, like our own, to be predestined, but he said nothing of the immortals to be the ones who crafted them. There has to be an origin, the cause for why it was created,” your voice is steady despite the underlining nerves. There was relief in verbalising the theory that you have formed during the past week. “Do you know how the bond was created?”
As you voiced your question, you watch as the once neutral but calculative expression of Wanda's face morphs. It is subtle but not unnoticed by yourself as you watch her intently for a sign that may prelude the answer to your question. The forming crease of her brows, widening eyes, and the bare part of her lips. Fear. She is fearful and tragically, what hope you held, clutched to for dear life, withers away. Because despite all that has happened, you trusted her, just a bare hint for the strange woman. Instinctively you know what she will say will not to be your liking.
Wanda gathers herself, no physical movement, it was of the mind, preparing herself of what she knows is to come. Your dread is emanating from your being and she feels it; wave after wave, both desperately seeking your answer and yet repelling the secret untold.
“Yes.” Her reply is firm and stare unwavering. Silence follows as you look on, heart pounding most violently. She won't elaborate, not without your insistence.
Again, you lick your lips. You open your mouth with a question prepped on the tip of your tongue, but pause. No. 'What was it?', was what you were going to ask but your gut – o' reliable – tells you otherwise. That was not the right question.
“Who was it?” your voice trembles. That brief display of fear has since been wiped from her face, now steeled and without emotion.
“It would be best if I showed you,” she says in her approach. You make to stand but she extends a hand, halting your movement. “I advise you to remain seated.” And her extended hand draws close to your face, fingers twitching in a spasmodic dance and you watch with trepidation.
“Wha-”
“Please, allow me to give you the answer you deserve.”
As it had happened before, she gauges you for an answer yet you neither refuse nor accept. Just sitting there in stunned, wary silence. But inside, whirling about your mind is the repetitive, 'Just tell me!', and Wanda hears it loud and clear. Again, her fingers dance and a red, glittering swirl is conjured, the beauty reflecting upon your face. Enraptured by the sight, Wanda weaves her spell and with the flick of a finger, all is dark.
It's hard to describe what happens next...next...it was timeless. There is a nudge, another presence occupies your mind and although frightened by the experience, you know it's Wanda. Then an image appears about you, no, no mere picture but a true visual of an environment, as if you were there seeing it yourself.
A city. Snow capped mountains. A bordering forest of pine trees.
'I recognise this place.'
Home.
It was a different sight to behold without a crater hollowing its center. The sensation is odd, floating above the capital city of Sokovia. It is a brief but tranquil moment until the instantaneous drop, the ground colliding towards you. There is no abrupt stop, no pain, only a new sight to observe; a ground level preview of the city.
You stand among the opposition of the rioters, on the front line of the armed force who oppose them, weapons at a ready. Looking about, nobody sees you, just an invisible by-stander in someones memory. Wanda's memory. The collective shouting of the rioters forms an imposing roar of a deranged animal. Snarling. Starved. Intimidating. Their banners are punched firmly towards the sky, intent unmistakable in every action. Swiftly, you flicker a seeking gaze from left to right, scanning for who you know awaits to be found in the crowd. And you see them: not much younger than they were now. Pushing and shoving, sandwiched between the other rioters.
Pietro was almost unrecognisable; earthy brown, disheveled hair, before his now signature white. Beside him is Wanda, her face twisted in furious anger, jeering at the imposing opposition. Much changed to her commonplace composed manner.
Despite the incoherent ramble and chanting, the intent of the civilians is made abundantly clear. The American flag lays burning within no-mans land; a fabric sown mannequin adorned with the world recognised Captain America outfit too, burns, a barrier between the opposing sides. Their message is unmistakable. But why would the advocate against the Avengers? The question is added to the growing mound before living memory changes like the click of a remote.
Your mind lurches, a most unsettling feeling. You are walking yet not, for it's not your body. It's dusk, the traveled street dilapidated; spray painted graffiti, crumbling walls, littered rubbish. However, Pietro walking beside you – beside Wanda – walks with ease, unfazde by the state of the area, comfortable familiarity on his home turf. They continue in silence for a length of time, reaching a desolate intersection. You – Wanda - continues forward but with only a few steps, she pauses, noticing the stalled footsteps of her brothers. She address him, observing the frowned expression as he gazes down the street.
“We will go this way,” he says, and turns away from Wanda's forward path, choosing the street to his left.
“You ignore what we discussed?” Wanda asks, pressing Pietro for his avoidance.
Pietro tsks, “You speak of closure, but there is but one way we will find peace, and it's not there.”
“But it is a reminder-”
“We are the reminder! You and I are the example of what we have lost and that is what fuels me, what fuels you, sister.” Wanda doesn't reply, only gauges him for a moment before crossing the short distance between them and reaches for his hand. Together, they walk, discarding Wanda's original direction in favour of Pietro's.
What have you lost?
The lurching sensation of your mind being displaced is short, thankfully. However, when the feeling ceases, it's dark and you can't see anything. At first you think that perhaps another memory is being stalled but it's when the shiver of cold wrack Wanda's body, you know then that the memory is in play. It's odd, that within her memory, that you too, feel the physical sensations should you possess your own body in these moments. As you well know, all sensation are calculated and translated by the brain, even without a physical body, the neuro-receptors can still be stimulated to provide the illusion. This memory is odd and displaced. Somehow you are in three places at once: the third party witnessing, the second sharing Wanda's personal experience, and the superficial but tangible reception of Pietro's. You can smell stagnant water, the damp odor of moister polluting the air.
“Wanda?” Pietro whispers, voice hoarse from the strain of screaming.
“Yes, Pietro?” Wanda answers back. They lie facing each other on the cold cement floor, hands clasping the others in desperate consolidation. Their bodies are wrought with exhaustion and pain, every micro fiber of their being having suffered from the hours of experimentation. You can feel it, that pain recreated in your own mind.
“Will this have been worth it?” he asks. There is fear in his voice, like that of a child, seeking comfort and reassurement from their parent. The room is dark and silent besides the audible dripping of water for an unknown source. Wanda can only just perceive the silhouette of Pietro's form, the minor shivering of his body vibrating through their connected hands. One might suspect that the chill were effecting his body, any other time Wanda would assume that. However, it is not the cold; Pietro is undergoing a change, they both are, but what kind, she is uncertain and it terrifies her.
With desperation, anger, and vigilante justice fueling their naive acceptance of Struckers offer; the prospect of obtaining a power to rid their country of oppression had dominated their every thought and action. Lying there, Wanda realises, gritting her teeth through her own torment, that yes, they wanted to save their country, like they hadn't been able to save their parents.
Parents?
Pietro and Wanda, at the source of all their turmoil, just wanted to save each other, to exist with only each other, never parted – happy.
As would any parental figure, Wanda lies. Her lie, honey sweet,“In time, yes it will. In time.” For time is the unknown factor dominating their world. How much longer will they suffer like this? How much longer will the experimentation continue? How much longer until they posses the power to save each other?
“Will there only ever be us?” he croaks, and Wanda frowns at the question, her confusion blinded by the darkness. “Without the love of a parent, friend, or lover. Will we only ever find this in ourselves? Will that be enough?” Wanda considers his words. If that were to be, her brothers love and her love for him, would sustain each other through life. But there would be that unfulfillment; were they not good enough for someone else?
Wanda, with what remains of her will, hope and concentration, wishes and projects into the unknown, to a force she knows does not exist - but might exist for this purpose - that someone might be out there, somewhere, waiting for them. Someone who would tell them it's ok. Someone whose love was unconditional. That would love Pietro, see beneath his shielding brash and arrogant nature, and discover a person self-sacrificing, loyal and burning with all desires that he wished to share with another. For herself, Wanda only wants her brother to be happy, through his happiness she was happy. But just a flicker of a thought, yes, the idea of another love, who would love her as they would her brother, is a tempting and desirable thought.
“Perhaps, brother. If I could will it into existence, I would. But we will be enough...for now,” she consoles, but her words true.
From the side lines, you watch the Twins in action, their powers on full display for you to observe.
They are training, practicing the use of their abilities while cliche, white garbed scientists rapidly note details, watching the progression of their biological weapons.
To one side, Pietro demonstrates with inhuman speed, gaining stamina and increased acceleration. Wanda displays her telekinetic abilities; her fingers a masterful commander of strings as they magically levitate knives in the air, twirling with dangerous fluidity. The scientists soon grow tired of mere child's play, ceasing her efforts. Someone barks an order and a nervous participant enter the room, under guard. They are shoved, roughly, causing them to stumble forward nearing her. She is prompted, a scientist asking – no – commanding her to invade their mind. The ability, this power is still new to Wanda, having only accidentally discovered it recently. They had been thrilled (HYDRA, that is )that she possessed fear manipulation and greedily they had her practice on live subjects.
They stand there quivering, fearful of her.
'They know not of fear,' she thinks briefly, no sympathy for the subject, for their continued efforts were for the greater good. Sacrifices were consequential. She raises her hands before them, the signature red lights warping around her fingers. She toys with the light show, gauging the enraptured attention of her onlookers. Strucker, who stands beside you, watches on from the side lines, observing his miracle at work. With one final moment of prolonged play, Wanda's mind plunges forward.
The individuals mind is defenseless and ready for the taking, like an intruder before an unlocked door. Before she can make first contact, her intentions are halted. Both a feeling and sound, something calls to her, a whisper incoherent. Her presence remains before the doorway to subjects mind but with another lull of the beckoning call, she turns away, her focus and attention redirected. She reaches out into the void, following the trace and leaving the only familiar plain that she knew – that being human consciousnesses.
The further she reaches out, the further into uncertainty she proceeds and before its too late, she realises she being sucked in. Wanda scrambles, frantic to ground herself again to the mind of the person she know stands but an arms length from her, but the physical and mental plain are two, completely different fields. But this, this was something else. No longer was she in the realm of the mind, of cognition. It was indescribable. Realities, other minds of human and unknown origins, flash by her, swirling past in a confusing roller-coaster. It's all to fast and astronomical for her to grasp, yet she does just that. She reaches out in desperation to grab hold of something, to prevent her continued directionless journey into the unknown. She explodes forth to behold a magnificent sight; all manner of colours, light and more.
The universe – but one of many – surrounds her in its purest form and she can't believe all that she sees and feels. Witnessed before her – but around her – resemble a grand form: it's root at the base, collide together to form a trunk that extends upward to branch up and away, forming an overshadowing umbrella. The answers to all generated questions before her. Yet, despite the magnitude of this revelation, she does nothing but bask in the sensation. Doorways, paths and possibilities surround her, more than mathematics can number, but there it is again, the whisper that she had followed. She follows, her consciousness floats to the center of the tree-like formation and it's there that the anonymous call now hums, thrives before her. It pulsates with heat and blinding light, beckoning her and she does so willingly. Wanda tentatively extends out towards it, should she have a physical body at this time, it would be her hand. She's in awe and she closes the gap and but lightly touches the source of her navigator. Wanda is thrown not a millisecond after the contact, an explosion as she is sent hurtling backwards, the universe and all realities accelerating away from her, the void of darkness encompassing, and BAM!
Wanda is one with her body, breathing heavily upon the floor. The familiar palpation of the minds within the training room confirm she is back and the confronting presence of Pietro at her side. She can discern that he asks after her well-being but his speech is rapid, still trying to master the control of his abilities. She hushes him and says she is alright. The tsks and enthused chattering of the scientist can be heard. Someone address Wanda, asking her what she experienced but why she didn't manipulate the subjects mind as was asked of her. Wanda, still reeling from her cosmic adventure wants nothing more than the solitude of her room to think of what transpired. She musters a withering look as she stares down her onlookers. Despite her vulnerable position on the floor, Wanda succeeds for some grow nervous and flinch away. Of everyone, none have the courage to ask again for Wanda's failed attempt, save for Strucker, who steps forward from his concealed side-lined position.
“What excuse have you, Wanda?” He is not frightened of her; to be frightened would lose him all form of control, and The Twins required an adamantium clasp.
“I grew distracted.” Is all she responds. Strucker observes her, knowing that the younger Twin hides something from him. No matter. In due time, he would know and The Twins would continue to grow more powerful.
“Perhaps you have overexerted yourself for today. Return to your rooms.” And swiftly he swivels on one foot and makes for the exit.
From the corner of the bedroom - prison - the scene plays.
Pietro pesters Wanda, wanting to know what happened, because of the both of them, Wanda didn't make mistakes. She remains quiet for the longest time, eyes closed, brows knotted in concentration. Pietro paces back and forth about their shared room, the act restrained for walking at 'normal speeds' is agonisingly slow for him, he has come to realise. With unsettling concern, his attention strays from Wanda for no more than a few seconds at a time, calculating her expression and disposition. Slowly though, as time passes, her expression softens to bliss contentment. When her eyes open at last, Pietro freezes, ceasing all movement as he stares at her. She meets his stare, hearing the concern projected loudly from his mind.
“There is hope for us, brother,” she says with whispered trepidation, as if the very words would undo all that await them. And Wanda proceeds to inform Pietro of her experience, of carelessly passing beyond the realm of human consciousness, following the beckoning call of a source unknown. Breaching universal barriers to behold all that existed and more, more than possible human comprehension. But there, cradled by the universe she knew, all possibilities and powers within reach for her to master and mold, the call was unrelenting, drawing her attention again. It wanted her, wanted to be found. With just a caresses of her mind, all had been revealed, the monumental and world altering impact of the information rescinding her presence, throwing her back to her mortal body. The recollection is lost to Pietro, as Wanda had thought, beyond human comprehension and her words not doing the experience justice. Despite having been the one who experienced it, even she is at a loss of how to describe it.
“Wanda, what you speak makes no sense,” Pietro says. Still he is worried her his sister, her ramblings of interdimensional travel quite unusual of her.
“I was shown something, Pietro. Something...miraculous,” she grabs his hands as she stares intently at him, wide-eyed.
“There are no such things as miracles,” he replies solemnly. Her expression turns sad at his words. This world had treated him – treated them – unfairly, like so many others. Kind intent, hope, and miracles no longer exist within their world.
“Are we not an example?” she questions, diverted from the original topic.
“We are freaks. A science experiment.” His voice and face harden. “But I would not change this. It is what we wanted, but it is no miracle, Wanda.”
“Neither would I, brother,” she replies. Wanda does not disregard Pietro feelings, for they were once her own, but now, now things had shifted, and shifted for the better – she hopes. “Neither would I,” she repeats, “but hear me,” her voice insistent.
“I heard you,” he sighs, “you received a premonition?” And Wanda freezes, for it was an precise description.
“Yes, yes it was.”
“You fail to tell me what this miraculous premonition is?”
“For you keep interrupting me, brother.” Chastising him with a look. “Would you believe me if I were to tell you that, somewhere upon this Earth, exists someone; someone who would be all that we need and yearn for. Can you not feel it?” And she presses a hand against his chest, emphasising her point. “Have you not felt it? As if the laws of the world have been rewritten to allow subtle redirection?”
Wanda gauges Pietro response, watching as his skepticism transforms into that which she has rarely seen herself. He is staring across the room, nothing but the cemented four-walled boundary for view, but Pietro's concentration is focused on the startling revelation of Wanda's news. His mind races with thought and recollections, minuscule pieces forming to complete the puzzle. He returns his attention to his sister, face furrowed with shock but Wanda reads his belief.
“But how?” he utters. Wanda shakes her head, still in her own state of disbelief.
“I...” And she remembers. A second yet lasting longer than time itself, she had felt Pietro's pain, her sorrow, his silent cry, her unrelenting desire to guarantee their happiness. A wish, a single thought, made a reality. She fixates Pietro with her wide eyes, expression apologetic. “I did not..I had no control-” she chokes, and Pietro cups her face, the gesture comforting. He hushes and leans his forehead against hers, a shaky sigh escaping her parted lips.
“Why apologies...for a miracle,” he consoles.
The following months, HYDRA aims to perfect the abilities of The Twins, as they have now been dubbed, and they too, focus on honing their skills. Pietro pushes his limits, becoming increasingly faster and improving his endurance, for such accelerated speeds is naturally taxing on his body. They title him: Quicksilver. The signature silvery wisps which are all that his enemies will see as they fall.
Wanda, since her experience into the beyond, has unveiled more abilities besides telekinesis and fear manipulation. No premonition has visited her since but discovered her talent for telepathy and energy projection...and her powers continue to grow in strength. She is coded: Scarlet Witch. Like her brother, named for the otherworldly talents she possesses and the red light when she casts.
They haven't forgotten Wanda's discovery, now an additional motive and priority; to better the world so that they may coexist with their special other and find them when they had succeeded in doing such. When they find themselves alone, cuddled upon the shared bed, they whisper to each other fantastical thoughts of whom they have yet to meet. Who Wanda had bound to, for they can feel it, a hollowed section of themselves that remained blank and gaping, and how they craved to fill it and secure who was theirs.
Soon comes the birth of Ultron and his promise to the Maximoff's; to aid them in ridding the world of the Avengers and fulfilling their revenge against Tony Stark and all that America represents. The Avengers are defeated in battle but the war not won; the Hulk aided in that. Thereafter, Ultron priorities the goal of constructing an artificial body with the forced assistance of a scientist who had been specifically chosen for the task. It is not long before Ultron's conscience is uploaded into his new body, The Vision of himself.
Wanda knows fear, her own and that of her enemies, but she does not understand why, before the creation of Ultron, that fear plagues her, radiating from the body within the casket. She lays a hand upon the confined body and the experience is all too familiar. Her mind is torn from her body, suspended and whirling about her is their future; Earth's future and it's inhabitants. Ultron's ulterior motive: the annihilation of the human race, and Sokovia, their home, would be the detonation button. Wanda is one again and she throws herself backwards, repelled by the cocooned being and it's not so secrete, secrets. It's not what they wanted, what Wanda and Pietro wanted.
They sought justice, for the injustice they had endured.
They sought peace, for all they knew was war.
They sought love, for they had been deprived so young.
They sought revenge, for revenge was only fitting.
But they didn't want this. The death of their country men, the death of all life. And so they fled but with the intention of stopping Ultron, even if it meant siding with those they had originally opposed. For a world where no life breathed, was a love lost. Their unidentified other, who waited them. Pietro and Wanda, would fight, with everything they had, to retain, desperately so, for a chance of happiness.
The war was fought and worn were it's Avengers. Pietro, believed to be a casualty of Ultron's warped ideology, had fallen, and so did Wanda; crashing to her knees in a soul splitting scream as her powers obliterated all about her in agonising sorrow. As her fury rained down on her enemies, Wanda disregarded her position besides the drop button, and took the battle to Ultron, who had personalised this far beyond what she could have imagined.
And so Ultron fell, like she believed her brother to have done, and so did the air-born land mass of Novi Grad. She had resolved she too would follow her brother but The Vision, opposite of all that Ultron had envisioned, swooped her from her plummeting demise.
Witness to the scene and aboard the civilian transporter, Wanda was ushered to the body of her brother, where he lay on the ground beside the wounded, Clint Barton. Taking to her brothers side, she pressed her face against his chest in sorrow, her silent grieving only decipherable by the shaking of her body and white knuckled hands. She hears Clint mention how Pietro sacrificed his life for himself and a boy. Said her brother was brave and selfless in that moment. Despite Clint's effort to detail the heroics of her brothers actions, it didn't change the undeniable fact. Her brother was dead.
Or so they thought.
Wanda's sobbing ceases, her face tear stained. She presses her ear to Pietro's chest, yet nothing she hears. It's what she felt. With waning energy, she concentrates, focusing all attention on the body of her fallen half. Her mind reaches out, scanning his perceived, lifeless form. And there it is. A flicker, oh so small. She releases a choked gasp. There is life, her brother lives! But barely. His abilities are kick-starting a frantic healing process, his body having shut down in order to commence the formidable task. A laugh interlaced with a sob escapes her mouth and she caresses Pietro's face, brushing the tangled fringe from his forehead.
Pietro, now conscience and healing, is seen once aboard the herculaneum aircraft, hovering above what remains of Novi Grad. But despite the property damage, casualties were minimal. The Avengers had succeeded. Medical staff see to his injuries which miraculously – to them that is – are near healed. But scabbing and tenderised skin a reminder of the near fatal bullet wounds that had decorated his body. Wanda too, is seen, though her injuries minor, but scraps and bruising.
Wanda and Pietro sit beside one another, the brief tragedy of believed loss of one another still as fresh and tenderised as Pietro's injuries. The emotional distraught would take time to heal. However, something has captured their attention. They had felt it, Wanda had as they had drawn near to the S.H.I.E.L.D aircraft known as the Helicarrier. The pull, gravity redefined. On his waking, Pietro too, was quick to notice the change. They sat, hands clashed, staring in the direction of the pull. They were aboard the aircraft. The one whom Wanda envisioned, the one whom would complete their lives.
Hours later, the Twins are on the verge of becoming hysterical. Pietro paces with heated steps, intermittently dashing about the waiting room in unrestrained frustration. Wanda, who is more aware than Pietro or the unidentified other, and the prolonged event is straining her mental capacity. She grows lethargic with each passing hour, becoming almost sickly. When finally they are ushered into an examination room under the escort of Steve Rogers and armed guard. Wanda is too tired to protest and as such, Pietro makes up for her lack of response, scowling at the masked guard and demanding why security is required. The stress of the situation has taken it's toll on Pietro as well. Becoming more brash and rude than he normally would be. Despite his manner, Steve Rogers calmly but with commanding authority, explains the necessity considering that they had, until very recently, been vigilantes on the opposing side whom had wanted human extinction. On S.H.I.E.L.D's part, it was a precaution that couldn't be wavered.
With a huff and another scowl, Pietro has relented, choosing his sisters side whose strength evaporated. With passing minutes as they awaited the doctor who could conduct an examination of them both, Wanda turns frantic. She clutches at her head, the building pain that pierces her mental capacity.
“They are here, Pietro!” her whisper hushed and agonised. Pietro fixates her with undivided attention and encompasses her hands in his. “So close, so close. How long we have waited,” Wanda chants through gritted teeth. Her breath comes in shaky gasps, eye clenched. Pietro maneuvers her to the bed in the room, aware that the stress of the situation is taxing on her body.
“Hush, sister,” Pietro consoles, “Soon now. I feel them too.” Steve watches the exchange with frowning worry. While they have quietene, no longer bestowing himself and the guard with withering looks, Steve does not like the progression of this new development. He hears the door open and into the room steps Dr. Bamu whom he nods a greeting. She approaches him, stern as usual and eyes the individuals who occupy the bed.
“Rogers,” she greets, “what is the situation?” And she nods to the hushed Sokovian conversation between the Maximoff's whom she identified via having seen their photos in the intelligence file.
“You''ll have your hands full with that one,” nodding to Pietro. Rogers and Bamu eye the pair critically while Pietro continues to calm Wanda.
“Is this something I should be concerned about?” Bamu's questions in relation to the exhibited distressing behaviour of the Sokovian twins.
“From my experience...caution would be the most tactful approach.” His attention focused on them. “Rest assure, that's why I'm here,” he claims, but his voice lacking reassurement, tired from battle.
Bamu huffs, “That does little for comfort.” She eyes the guard stationed at the door disapprovingly. “You and 'Shoot First', are but catalysts in this concoction.” Rogers doesn't respond to the comment, fixated. Oh how little they knew of the incoming catalyst.
The door sounds and the rattling of a trolley drowns out the murmured conversation of Wanda and Peitro. The trolley pauses and all is silent. They can feel it, so clear and powerful now, the thrumming and undeniable pull. It pulses in their veins, unmistakable of who has set foot into the room.
“Um, Dr.Bamu, is everything alright?”
Their breathing hitches. That sweet but commanding sound. They stare at each other, processing what is happening, then Wanda hears it; the need of her brother. She hastens to to grab him, stall his brash thought. True to his codename, he is too quick. Pietro is before them, but allowing her first glimpse of the preson, of the woman. She can hear their internal dialog, feel their palpable fear due Pietro's intimidating behaviour. Truly, his actions were innocent but fueled with emotion and need.
She hears the hitch of breath, “Ours, you are ours.”
Oh, brother. It wasn't the meeting they had intended. Wanda remains upon the bed, the sickness fading. The bond was near complete.
“Excuse me?!”
The separation is painful, a gasp escaping your mouth. It takes a few seconds to ground yourself back to reality – your reality. All awareness of time is distorted; had it been minutes, hours or seconds? Pressing a hand to your head to where a dull throb lulls, you're thankful to be sitting, Wanda's suggestion having not been unfounded.
Wanda.
That singular word sparks an incalculable process of puzzling together all that had been revealed to you, to narrow down to a singular but monumental fact.
“It was you!” you accuse through gritted teeth. Once the ache has subsided, you divert all focus on Wanda, pinning her in-place with a glare. “Why didn't you tell me from the beginning?” Wanda is the embodiment of 'calm and collected' despite your fierce accusation. She has since stepped back, allowing space between you.
“This transition has been hard enough for you. I knew that acceptance would not come easy so my intention was to minimise the stress of the experience. It was unnecessary to burden you with that knowledge until you were ready and still now I think it premature,” Wanda explains.
“Burden?!” you hiss in retaliation. “The burden of knowing that all this, has been your doing all along?” You rise to your feet, steady and grounded in preparation for a verbal confrontation.
“Your well-being was our sole concern-” Wanda tries to mediate but is interrupted.
“Don't try to sugar coat your actions!” Your heart rate has once again accelerated, breathing quicken with angry puffs warming your lips. Wanda delays a reply, calculating the best response to resolve her actions.
“Please, (Y/N), allow me to explain.” Your name strikes an invisible cord, the sound and manner in which Wanda says it is unnerving, and it only serves to rile you more.
“Why?” you exclaim, “why should I trust you when you haven't trusted me with the truth from the beginning?” How could you trust her or believe her? She had successfully shattered what regard you had held.
“I have withheld the truth from you, that I admit, but what I have shown you, that is no lie. Those chosen memories have been orchestrated to create a mere glimpse of the foreshadowing events that have consequently resulted in our union.” You scoff at her continued effort to minimise the damage done.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“But you do.” Anger prickles in response to the audacity of the comment and she gauges your response critically. Before you can retaliate, Wanda continues. “My memories are the foundations from what you accuse me - and rightly so - yet does that not confirm that you see truth in them?”
Game set and match.
The concluding comment to the trivial argument is a slap to the face, earning a wide-eye expression. You bite down on a lashing retort, knowing it to be a pointless and childish to further your argument when you knew her to be right, and how you hated that. She always seemed to know. As the adult that you are, Wanda's undeniable truth is acknowledged by adverting your attention from her to stare begrudgingly at a random inanimate object.
We will help you too. Together.
What bullshit.
No matter the truth of your feelings that Wanda had acutely stated, it didn't absolve her poor decision for it hadn't been her's to make. The authenticity of her shared memories wasn't what concerned you, merely used as a conduit for what truly mattered. She had been dishonest. Yes, you believed what she had shown – despite your trivial argument – but at the root of it all, Wanda had lost your trust, and that's was mattered most.
“Your distrust is not unfounded, that I acknowledge. In time, I would hope I can earn it again.” A huff of suppressed, bitter laughter sounds in the silenced room. Yea, that would be a long time coming...or never.
So where did this now leave things? Quickly, you seek another argumentative topic that might sway something in your favour, might make Wanda see reason and logic. You reflect on the memories so willingly shared, sorting through the turmoil, angst and devastation. It seems rude, to be privy to such private and personal possessions and you would gladly have them erased, if it didn't required Wanda's intervention. Yet buried beneath all those chaotic events and desperation, was the moment that ignited your intertwining futures.
At the root of your turmoils was this bond, and Wanda it's creator. Wanda has only been guilty of withholding information but it's creation beyond her control – as she so claimed. Despite how much you want to, you couldn't hold that against her. That, however, eludes to the question of how much power the Sokovian woman possessed? That reality could be so easily and unconsciously woven to her will and desires. It's a terrifying thought that you dare not voice...not now at least.
The foreboding thought is cast side to be reconsidered later. You muster an illusion of self control, betraying nothing of the daunting thought, for at this stage, you know, deep down that the control you scramble to grasp will remain beyond reach.
“If your offer still stands,” you say, enunciating each word with sarcasm, “I'll ask this: why did you not try to undo what you did?” Yet your mind whispers in reply that you knew the answer to that question, you has seen it after all.
“Because it is what we wanted.” There is no hesitation in Wanda's reply. Firm and unyielding, just like her manner and her need. “You saw...did you not, what we want?” You shudder at the implication. The conversation has taken a turn onto dangerous territory. “While it's no conventional method, it was an unconscious act of my doing but at it's core; our desire, our hope, our future. We want this. We need this.”
Mind, body and soul.
“You...you can't impose that kind of responsibility! For the sole happiness of yourself and Pietro to rest with me!” Whatever control you had hoped to gain is now lost as Wanda confirms the fate that awaits you.
“Of the billions of human souls on this Earth, the universe, by some divine proclamation through the power of my abilities has singled you.”
“But you don't know me?! How can you not fight this? All three of us have had no say, yet the two of you have just blindly accepted it. Is that not opposite of the control you seek?” You had hoped to have made a point. Wanda and Pietro sought the power to wield control of their lives and thereby ensuring their happiness, but this situation opposed those ideals. “I'm not the right person for you. I won't make you happy or give you what you want. I wont be your failure.”
They deserved happiness, from all you had witnessed, they of all people. But why couldn't they understand that your happiness, your rights, too mattered.
“While Pietro and I would never force you against your will – as hypocritical as that is - but as it stands, this is our situation. I knew not what I created in that moment. There was no malicious intent, nor desire to hurt another. Please believe this. I know not how to undo what is done, my powers still beyond my understanding.” It is the ultimatum you knew was coming. There was no escape or negotiating. Your shoulders, tight and stiff from the ping-pong like interaction, slumped in defeat with emotional exhaustion. “All I ask is this: don't fight it. For whatever evolves, it would benefit us all. Please, take the chance to know my brother and I,” Wanda's words are weighted and again, you feel that instinctual pull, mind and body drawn to her. Your emotions are disordered, a mixture of your own and theirs: longing, curiosity, jealousy, fear. They are far beyond blended that you can't ascertain which are yours and which are theirs.
I am deserving. Never parted. Why me/why them? I want to know you. What happens now? This doesn't make sense/This is pointless.
You shake your head, forced concentration in aim to reclaim clarity; the intruding thoughts fading. You're confused, at odds with yourself, with Wanda, with the world! Now what will you do? You could scream and curse, continue to accuse Wanda and continue a frivolous argument, but what would that achieve? You sigh, as if releasing the remaining pent-up anger, distress, and disbelief. You haven't forgotten Rogers stern and not-so-subtle command to improve upon your interactions with the Maximoff's. You want to laugh; If only he could have witnessed this.
“It's amazing,” your voice quiet, “despite all this, I believe you.” Looking pointedly at Wanda. While maintaining her neutral composure, there is a slip of emotion; you see the spark of hope - feel it. Ironically, there is some remorse, knowing that you will dissolve what hope she had. “But this doesn't change anything. We will go on our lives, preferably with mutual understanding that I can't give you and Pietro what you want.” And that's all you will elaborate on their unspoken details of desire. “I'll rely on you to convey my wishes.” And Wanda nods in understanding. “But...” And the sentence trails, leaving it open to interpretation of what will be said next. “I'm sure the three of us can come to some arrangement as we will still be living together. There's no reason why we can't...coexist with some civility.” Recalling the behaviours of all parties from the past week.
There is silence as Wanda digests your proposal and you gauge her, albeit, unable to deduce her thoughts and feelings in this moment. Typical.
“It is only right to respect your wishes. I can speak for Pietro and say we would both be glad to..."
While it remained a priority to apologise to Pietro, you have formulated that it might be best that interactions between yourselves is limited and that they would respect your boundaries. You would be courteous in hope that they too would be; in no doubt of Wanda but holding little hope for Pietro's conduct. You got an inkling that he was like that with all but her. At this point, the bond seemed unbreakable, but by Gods, you were persistent. There had to be a way, and you would endeavour to find it.
All the while as you're thinking, Wanda, indulges in your intentions. She will not press herself, nor allow Pietro to do such. It would take time for all partied to heal from today's events. However, despite you incessant nature to rebuff the connection that now binds the three of you, she knows that that too, will only take time. You just required some prompts along the way.
To be continued.