The last few weeks have been among the most exhausting and strenuous of Wanda’s life since leaving Sokovia. The boys were miserable and afraid, because they thought Mister Stark wanted to kill them, just like he killed their grandparents (Pietro never should have told them that story, they were far too young, damn him, and may he rest in peace), so along with her own fears of imprisonment she has the worries and anxieties of two little boys to consume her time. She barely eats for watching to make sure they eat, rarely sleeps with her attention on every sound in case they need her, and by the time they reach San Lorenzo all she can do with her brief, sleeting moments alone is sit slumped in a chair and cry from exhaustion, before hiding the tears and putting on a sunny smile for her sons.
The boys never had many friends, so involved were they in the nucleus of a small and broken family, and with the cultural differences they are still struggling to adapt to Remy’s constant presence. Perhaps if they’d gone about friendship in the usual way, play dates and the occasional sleepover, it would have been smoother. Instead they went from strangers to bumping elbows in the blink of an eye, and like with all little boys, it is rarely a peaceful clash.
Everything Wanda deos, every breath she takes, have to be for her children. It used to be her children and Pietro, but with her own twin gone, now…there is nothing more important than seeing her children safe.
Safe, and far, far away from Tony Stark.
Not that she doesn’t sympathize with Remy, the poor child. From what Steve and Bucky told her in fits and starts over the weeks, the boy has been through much and worse in his short life, but she has to think about her children’s wellbeing.
Her children who are now fast asleep—she can’t bear to wake them at a decent hour after all the sleep they’ve lost recently—and she has nothing else to do, so she takes to the kitchen. Bare feet barely whisper on the smooth hardwood floors. This is a beautiful safe house; she always imagined safe houses to be more rustic than this luxury. She would make something for everyone to eat and they would all feel a little better. Surely there has to be a cookbook in this house. Perhaps a run to the market while everyone is still asleep…
Only she isn’t the only person awake. “Remy!” She skirts the kitchen wall to give him a wide berth as she crosses the room. He has been through too much, and probably won’t want her near him. No mother, the poor thing. Probably doesn’t know what to do around a woman and she won’t pressure him.
“Good morning, gelibter,” she says softly without looking at him, opening cabinets to see what they have in. Direct eye contact will only make him uncomfortable, make him feel like she’s staring at him. Except—something catches her eye as she opens the fridge, and she straightens to get a better look at him. “Oh, you’re still hurting? Here, let me, it looks red, it could be infected.” Wanda doesn’t even think, only makes a concerned beeline toward him.
Wanda says his name, exclaims it, when she notices him. At first Remy thinks she’s angry (He’s not allowed in the kitchen, maybe? She thought he’d have the good sense to stay in his and Buky’s room or at least out of sight? Who knows; all adults have different rules.) but then clearly Wanda is just surprised, and that’s fine. He nods at her, and doesn’t speak, although he starts thinking about moving to the living room to get her her space.
She stays as far away from him as possible.
That’s better than ignoring him — Remy likes that Wanda doesn’t ignore him, he’d rather knows she wants nothing to do with him than feel like a ghost, like nothing, like she wouldn’t hear him even if he did speak. He watches her in his peripherals, knows better than to stare right at an adult that wants nothing to do with him but also can’t help but track other people in the room with him. He actually doesn’t think she’d hurt him (no one wants to fight with Bucky, it turns out, and Bucky cares if Remy’s hurt) but thinking that and knowing it are different, and there’s always the chance he’ll do something wrong to earn it.
Remy doesn’t know what gelibter means. It seems like it’s not bad, from the tone of voice she uses when she says it, but it’s hard to imagine what good things she’d be calling him. It’s not like he’s going to just ask, though. Asking things is risky. Maybe Bucky will know.
When she heads for him, he huddles back into the corner, although he doesn’t make any motion to flee. “Ain’t infect, jus’ healing,” he says. “The jus’ needed to be changed ‘cause I took a shower — a quick shower! — an’ Bucky doesn’t like looking at it, I t’ink.” It does hurt, still, but he can’t see why she’d want to hear about that. Of course it hurts. It’s a gunshot wound. The scab is an ugly mess. The scar will be terrible, although not his first.
