Do you know how it felt?

She was getting upset, that much was clear, and Erik could not for the life of him figure out how anything he’d said could have stoked her into more irritation than she’d had toward him when he’d first knocked on the door.  

Irritation didn’t begin to cover it now, evidently, as Erik turned to look at the quivering knife next to his head before turning slowly back to Wanda, noticeably wary, although her words only made his brow crease moer in confusion until he took a moment to let them settle, square with what information he did have.  

And oh.  Oh, no.  

Erik raised his hands placatingly, lingering in place despite the impulse to step closer and help brace her for the information about to come her way.  “Wanda,” he started, voice slow and even.  “I didn’t…. I’m not the one who left her, my dear.”  

Erik swallowed, throat growing tight at the memory.  “Our house was attacked, in Vinnitsa, by humans who had found out that I was not one of them.  I came home to find it on fire with my daughter–your sister–inside.  I lost control, and I killed the humans who had killed my little girl.”  His voice cracked.  “Your mother didn’t know what I was.  I’d never intended to tell her–to tell anyone.  But she found out that day.  And she left.  I don’t think she knew she was with child, yet–if she did, she certainly hadn’t told me.  But I spent months looking for her, Wanda.  Even without knowing there might be children, because I loved your mother.”

She just hadn’t loved him, when it came down to it. 

“I would never, never, have left you and your brother alone if I knew of you.  I swear it.”

/ -.-. / …. / .- / — / … /

Chaos was a funny thing. It wasn’t always a storm, sometimes it was calm. Still, like a frozen over lake. But even when it was still, it was fraught with tension, pulled tight like a rubber band, still only because it could snap at any moment. 

It felt like she was being frozen. Like his words were sending ice through her veins, seizing every muscle, make her grow still and tense. On the verge of snapping, but encased in ice before she could. She even held her breath. Because if she moved, if she cracked, she would lose everything and she didn’t know what that would look like, but she didn’t want to find out. 

“No,” she said. “No that can’t...” But her mind was already pulsing into his, racing through the memories he offered up freely. She wanted to find some trace of a lie in them. But the flames were real, and the pain was real, and all of it ached with truth. It was heavy with it. And this was only one small part of his suffering, she could tell, she couldn’t sense it all, but there was something else, something massive and dark and —

One sob left her lips. She clasped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late. She broke and her shoulders heaved and she turned away from him quickly. “I didn’t know,” she gasped. “I– I never thought...”

One of the finer points of communication was emphasis.  Placing the emphasis on one word in a sentence could completely change the meaning from what it would be if placed elsewhere.  ‘You want me to live there?’ would imply a problem with Genosha.   ‘You want me to live there?’ suggested a very different perceived problem, and Erik’s brow creased in confusion as he regarded her, noting a similar expression on her face.  Had his distancing from her after Pietro made her think he wasn’t interested in being there for her at all?

“I’m not asking you to turn your back on them.  Genosha is not a prison–you’re free to go back and forth between New York and the island as you wish.  But of course I’d want you there, my dear.  The island is meant to be a safe haven for my people and my family.  You’re family, Wanda, regardless of your mother’s thoughts on the matter, so of course I want you there.”

/ -.-. / …. / .- / — / … /

He was so calm that it was maddening. She felt herself growing irritated as he played at confusion, pretending not to understand what she meant. It frustrated her. Enraged her. 

Made her feel just like him. “That’s what Emma would expect,” she said, jutting out her chin. “And I doubt she’s the only one. I switched sides in Sokovia and I fought in a Civil War in Berlin. But I’ve never been torn in two like this siege did to me.” Her eyes bore into his, and she fought to keep the flash of scarlet out of her iris, but she couldn’t guarantee success. 

And then he mentioned her mother. Wanda threw her hand out, a single knife whizzing out of the sink and slamming in the wall just past Erik’s head. “You don’t get to talk about my family,” she said, eyes narrowing. “My mother. She — she didn’t abandon me. She died, but she lived long enough to make sure we were taken care of. You don’t get to talk about her.” Her voice was slow and calm, but trembling with emotion. Just like she had spoken to Ultron. To Thanos. Now to her own father. 

Day 3: The Queen of Wands

Day 2: The Ten of Cups

(✉ → operation wanda): one look from Lar and he would have you convinced to teleport him out of the hospital. and it’s a pleasure to meet you too, wanda! do you usually teleport hamburgers into hospitals for people?

Cassie could tell there was something else Wanda wasn’t explaining. She’d been around enough secrets, enough chaos, to get a pretty good idea when someone wasn’t telling the whole truth. Something more than just wondering how Cassie was here. Or, maybe, more than curiosity motivating it. But Cassie didn’t call Wanda on that, not yet. Not when Cassie was keeping her own secrets.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “If I knew…” She shrugged. “It doesn’t make sense,” she agreed. Not that Cassie was ungrateful. She was alive. She had a second chance. It was just strange that it was here and not in her own world. She wished she knew why. “So am I. I get a second chance.” In a life that wasn’t really hers, but a second chance anyway.

/ -.-. / .... / .- / --- / ... /

Wanda nodded slowly. “Well, it doesn’t have to,” she declared, even while a bitter tinge spread through her. Cassie was real, here, solid, and her brother, her twin — he was still just a ghost in her mind. And sometimes a blurry figure when she concentrated late at night. 

But she didn’t let herself think about those late night experiments. The ones she conducted alone, when she couldn’t accidentally infect anyone else’s mind. Searching for an answer that seemed more and more elusive, and now Cassie was here like a taunt. Wanda tried not to let the poisonous thoughts spread in her mind. She gathered them up and tucked them away. “What would you need a second chance for?” she asked softly. “You were always... a bright spot in the universe I knew you from.” 

Some people deserved to die. It was something Robbie had known long before the Rider showed up to give him hints as to who, something he’d understood from an early age growing up in East Los Angeles. Some people deserved to die, and you could dress it up however you wanted to but you couldn’t change the truth. So Robbie didn’t try to. He did what he had to do, and he made sure people got what they deserved. And if he had to do it with an audience… Well, he’d stopped feeling bothered by that a long time ago.

He didn’t see her until it was over. In the moment, with the Rider at the wheel and a target in sight, Robbie was single-minded. He wanted to do what he had to do and he wanted to do it quickly. He stepped forward, he grabbed the man by the wrist as he fumbled with his gun, and he let the fire race through his palm. The man screamed and Robbie tightened his grip and it was over in an instant. It was finished in a heartbeat, and he was standing alone in an alley with a pile of dust, a discarded gun, and —

And a woman. He didn’t realize she was staring at him until the flames died down, until there was no sound of crackling fire to cover up the sound of her breathing, until it was just the two of them. And his voice broke the silence, and she didn’t look afraid of him. 

“You saw?” He repeated, brows furrowed. He remembered Daisy shoving him against that van with her powers, remembered the way he’d felt the vibrations coursing through him as they exited her hand. You’ve got the devil inside you, too. He wasn’t the only one with a little something extra. He’d known that for a while now. Glancing down at the ash on the concrete, he shrugged. “He’ll get plenty of suffering where he’s headed next,” he replied. “More than anyone could give him here.”

/ -.-. / .... / .- / --- / ... /

There were many parts of Wanda that she kept secret. A bonus, she supposed, to be the only telepath on the team for so long. She could keep her darkness away from eyes that might not be ready to accept it. They saw her as a child, young, sweet, and maybe she was in a lot of ways. But she carried a shadow within her heart, a shadow that knew pain too well. 

“I saw,” she said, nodding. She turned her mind towards him, but the thought of fire — it reminded her of seeing Scott. Touching his mind, and getting pushed away. She didn’t try it with this man’s mind. If he was even a man at all. He looked like one now, yes, but only moments ago he had been nothing but bone and flame and vengeance. 

There were some secrets you could only show to someone else who already knew what it felt like. Revenge was like that. The Avengers knew that she had dispatched Ultron’s main unit, they had obviously seen her tear apart his army — but they weren’t there when she ripped his metal heart out of his chest. They weren’t there when she stood in front of Thanos, and let chaos consume her fully. That was her secret. How far she would go for vengeance. 

“Really,” she murmured. It wasn’t a question, wasn’t really an answer to what he’d said at all. She was distracted, by the memories of the dead still flashing in her mind. “You can’t say that for sure,” she said, turning to look at him again, tearing her eyes away from the ash on the ground. “You haven’t met everyone in the world.”

Day 1: The Eight of Wands

Wanda is motivated by pain. When she’s comfortable, when she’s content, she doesn’t feel the need to change anything at all, sometimes to her own detriment. But pain, loss, suffering — that calls her to action. The death of her adopted parents. Pietro. Vision. She doesn’t handle grief very well. 

She staggered back at the foreign sensation prickling in her mind. “Get out of my head,” she snapped, hand reaching into her purse where she kept her taser and letting her hand hover over it as a kind of panic gripped her. Not her mind. The migraines had gotten worse since her encounter with Magneto and she didn’t know if it was the stress or something more wrong. Lena had little she could depend on in life, but her mind? Her near perfect memory and her ability to create connections that no one else could see. It’s what she valued more than anything, and here was someone with the power to take all of that away.

/ -.-. / …. / .- / — / … /

Wanda saw her thinking of the taser, saw it in her bag, and she took a step back. She was only on the surface, not sinking deep, but she didn’t need to in order to know that Lena was terrified. Terrified of her, what she could do. Wanda wondered if her reputation preceded her — or if Lena had some personal experience. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, pulling out of Lena’s mind. “I’m sorry, I was just– I just wanted to help.” She turned on her heel and hurried down the sidewalk. 

Kara nearly hit the roof. It took every bit of the control she’d learned over the years to keep her reaction human, only jumping a couple inches off her chair, her move from sitting to standing actually visible, instead of a rushed blur. She’d been contemplating what Wanda could possibly mean by hold on when she just appeared by the doorway. Kara was no stranger to the unusual, but there was only so much she could learn to expect.

She didn’t get surprised.

Heartbeats always clued her in. The wing Lar was kept in was notably quiet. Max had closed it off all for him, a filtered sanctuary where no one could bother him. On top of the solitude, the security was top notch. An insistent ping sounded from the tablet on Lar’s bedside table, and Kara was quick to acknowledge it, granting permission before it could wake Lar up.

With one hand on her chest and the other slowly dropping from the defensive position she’d taken, Kara finally allowed herself a small breath. “Sorry, I, wow. I wasn’t expecting that.” She blew out a breath, the tension finally easing from her shoulders. “You’re…Wanda, then? That’s the coolest entrance I’ve ever seen. Might, um…take a second for my heart to catch up, but that was amazing.”

/ -.-. / …. / .- / — / … /

“I didn’t really give you a lot of warning,” Wanda whispered, nodding her head. “But yes. That’s me, I’m Wanda,” she said, laughing under her breath. She set the bag down on a nearby table. “I figured if your first operation ran into so much trouble, drastic measures were needed.” She stepped back, then, with a tiny smirk, lifted her fingers and pointed at the bag.

The burgers flew up and out, unwrapping themselves and laying out on the table with just a flick of her wrist. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said quickly. “I figured – I mean, this... isn’t exactly a normal hospital, is it?” she asked, glancing around the two quiet space. She couldn’t hear a mind around besides these two for so far. 

Wanda looked back to them, her mind inching around the edge of Kara’s and Lar’s. Just surface level. “I won’t read your mind or anything,” she promised. “I can, but I can control it. I won’t listen.”

Danny huffed out a quiet sound that was almost a laugh, looking up to really focus on her for the first time. “Did you really?” He was a little breathless, a little uncertain. “You tore apart a city of robots?” He wondered what that felt like, wondered if it was similar to the way he lit up his Fist and destroyed things just to give all the emotions whirling in him a place to go. (And it was hard to think of that now without thinking of the Reaper, without remembering how easily his Fist crushed bone and tore apart skin and tore a person from the world. Not a good person, but a person all the same.)

Swallowing, Danny looked down at the glowing light dancing between her fingers and squeezed his eyes shut. After a moment, he gave his consent with a jerky nod. “Please,” He said quietly. “Please, I don’t — I need something.”

/ -.-. / …. / .- / — / … /

“Yeah,” Wanda said, nodding slowly. “Yeah I did.” She could show him, but she didn’t think that particular memory would be soothing. All he would feel was more grief, more pain, more suffering. And he had suffered long enough, Wanda decided. More than.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. She lifted her fingers to his temple, her fingertips warm and glowing red. She closed her eyes, and focused on the current of chaos flowing through him. His energy was scattered, his thoughts jagged and sharp. She didn’t try to force the thoughts to follow her, instead she just smoothed their edges, until they wanted to turn with her, until they led her down softer paths. Tapping into memories that were better. Sushi with a very pretty friend. A group of people at a Chinese restaurant, reminding her of an image of Schwarma she’d seen in all the Avengers at one point or another. She let the joy of that memory, even secondhand, weave into the chaos of his mind. Giving it a direction, a current, towards calmer seas. Chaos couldn’t be tamed forever. But it could be soothed. 

There had always been a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach when it came to Erik’s children. Even Lorna, who he knew well and adored as if she were his own sister, incited a certain level of jealousy within him. And Scott knew what it was. He understood that watching so many of the people he loved look at Erik as a father, even when Magneto was their enemy, reminded him of all the things he didn’t have, all the things he’d lost. He’d tried to find that so many times over the years. He’d tried it with his biological father who was halfway out the door until his plane went down and he was swallowed up by the same sky he’d always loved more than the family he claimed to explore it for. He’d tried it with Sinister, who’d terrified him but whose approval he’d craved all the same. He’d tried it with Winters, who beaten him brutally and hummed about what a colossal disappointment he was no matter what he did. Scott had loved all of those men, in one way or another, and none of them had ever even attempted to understand him.

But Erik had. Erik had understood him without trying, even when they were on opposite sides of the battlefield. The words Erik was saying had always tempted him, always made him sway in his beliefs even if he wouldn’t admit it to anyone but himself. The things Charles said were inspiring. They were motivating, they were energizing. But the things Erik said were true. And Scott had always wanted a part of that, even when he wouldn’t cop to it. He’d always felt as if he had to earn his place in Erik’s eyes, but Wanda… Her spot came automatically. She didn’t have to ask, didn’t need to inquire. It just was. And Scott found it hard not to be just a little jealous of that.

“Emma’s never been one to pull punches,” Scott agreed, “and she takes a while to warm up to people. But she’ll get there eventually, with you. I’m sure of it.” In the end, Emma would likely come to appreciate Wanda for Erik’s sake if nothing else. It was another thing Scott had fought to earn that Wanda might not have to, another bright spot that came with the title of Magneto’s daughter. 

He smiled faintly when she spoke, nodding his head. “Family can be complicated,” he agreed quietly. “I know a thing or two about it.” It felt like a lie, if only because Scott had never known much about family in the biological sense at all. The only person left with any blood relation to him was Alex, after all. 

There was more to say, but Wanda didn’t seem interested in conversation. Instead, she was looking at him with a familiar expression. She was touching his arm, she was peering into his mind. And Scott had been here before. He’d had people inside his head for as long as he could remember. There had been the unwelcome presence of Sinister, the looming shadow of Winters, the warm comfort of Jean, the complex snooping of Charles. Scott knew how to lock her out, knew how to shut things down so tightly that she’d never be able to catch more than a glimpse of what was inside. But he didn’t. For whatever reason, he let her look around. He didn’t let her see everything, of course — he kept it to the things she would know anyway. Recent events, publicized events. All tinged in red. And then she pushed just a little deeper, just a little farther…

…And the Phoenix pushed back. 

He felt it all at once, the way the bird slammed his walls up where he’d let them down. The Phoenix, he realized all at once, didn’t want her to know it was there. And there was a question there, but Scott was afraid to ask it. He was afraid to consider the consequences. “If there’s something you want to know, Wanda,” he said, “you could just ask.”

/ -.-. / …. / .- / — / … /

The first time she read Pietro’s mind was an accident. The latest experiment had left her ragged and wracked with pain, but Hydra didn’t care. They were still kept apart, a wall of glass between her and her twin. They didn’t want to contaminate their specimens. That’s all Wanda and Pietro had been to them. Rats in a maze. If they died, oh well. If they lived... well, then they could start working for their cheese.

They knew, of course. Everyone in the village had told stories about Strucker and his experiments, in hushed, fervent whispers. It wasn’t like the old fairytales about monsters and werewolves and evil queens. It was the reason parents warned their children never to walk home at night. Her own parents would’ve told her to be in bed long before the sun went down, and Pietro probably would’ve laughed at them, but they would’ve listened. If they had still been alive, Wanda and Pietro would never have... But they were gone. And so Wanda and Pietro had marched right into the lion’s den.

It was the fairytale she heard first. In Pietro’s voice, a little too quick for most people to understand. Jumping through the story, skipping to the best parts, the most dangerous battles and the triumphant victories after certain death. He told them one right after the other, like he was just running through them in his mind. Wanda rolled over after the third, to thank him for telling her the stories, for whispering them into her cell as she lay there, risking the anger of the guards. But when she looked at him, his mouth wasn’t moving. And the story was still drifting into her mind, because he was thinking about them. And that’s when she felt the wish in all of them, that yearning that came only with thoughts, that speech could never really achieve, not this raw. He was thinking about fairytales and wishing he could tell them to her, and the wishing gave every story a life and energy that Wanda had never felt before. 

She hadn’t noticed. All those weeks with her phantom Pietro, with her fairytale — there was no wishing in it. There was no heartbeat, no pulse, no breath. Just a picture of Pietro, like an illustration. Paint and ink, but no life. 

Scott’s mind didn’t feel that way. Scott’s mind felt very alive, it pulsed and breathed and burned. Burned bright, white-hot, until Wanda was squeezing her eyes shut and severing the connection between them. She pulled her hand back, pressed it to her temples, rubbed her eyes, trying to shake away the burning sensation she still felt. Like an afterglow, fading slowly. 

As much as Remy was glad to have a place like Genosha to go to, he had always been great at looking after himself. He was much more glad that there was now a place for all mutants to call home, where they could go and not have to fight to keep themselves safe, as he had had to do. Remy had helped out with the building where and when he could, but construction had never been his strong suit. So he definitely gave a proverbial tip of the hat to the people who really were pitching in, like the lady right beside him.

“Only once? You definitely doin’ great, den! I’d have prob'ly done in both thumbs an’ all my toes by now.” He smiled back at her. She shared his opinion about how many mutants would be able to live there safely, and Remy nodded. “Yeah, dat’s what I’m glad t’ see too. I wouldn’t want no one else t’ have t’ live day t’ day wonderin’ what trouble dey gon’ encounter de way I always did. I mean, trouble always seems t’ find me anyway, but dat’s good trouble. I don’t wan’ nobody dealin’ wit’ de kind o’ trouble we all know too well.” Hopefully all of their luck really would change for the better now.

/ -.-. / …. / .- / — / … /

Wanda laughed lightly. “It helps that I have some telepathy,” she said, smirking lightly. “I’d never used it for carpentry before, but it’s surprisingly fun.” She regathered her hair into a pony tail, catching the hairs that had slipped out around her face. 

This island, it wouldn’t be her home. Wanda could feel a connection to it, some strings and threads she wanted to pull on here, but this wasn’t her home. She just felt it. “It’s a beautiful thing,” she said, clapping her hands together. “It really is. And I hope it stays that way, for as long as it possibly can.”

Emma chuckled under her breath, her blue cobalt eyes glancing to her hands for a moment. “It has kept me alive so far. I’ve come to learn to trust those your gut tells you not to would simply get you killed.” She told her simply. Emma had trusted people and it always resulted in her being betrayed and hurt by the very people who were supposed to trust unconditionally. Each friend used her or turned against her and they really wondered why she would even put her heart on her sleeve ever again. “I don’t know who you think you are dealing with, Ms Maximoff, do not think just because of your relation or your status that you would be safe from me putting you down if I deem it nessecary.” Emma told her flatly.

As Wanda explained, Emma didn’t seem to react for a moment before her stoic face turned into a smirk. “Oh darling, you are really going to compare? Let me put it this way. You were hurt and then you joined the ever loved Avengers with hardly any scrutiny and blah blah blah.” Emma didn’t really care for her story. Everyone had a story. It was what happened now that mattered but again, she couldn’t help but feel the Avengers were catalyst of all their problems. Their actions caused the war. They meddled in affairs that didn’t concern them and, in her eyes, ignored those who needed it most. “Tell me, have you ever been hunted for DNA?” Emma asked. “Or, have you been called every slur imaginable because, say, you have a gift?” She stepped closer. “Don’t stand there and try and compare your team’s consequences for their childish actions to the very suffering mutants face. You are a guest but, per usual, Avengers manners are dreadfully awful.” As Wanda told them they took their home Emma shrugged. “It finally got you all to listen or did you miss the part about the Sentinels program starting again due to an event that didn’t involve mutants?” Emma tilted her head a little. “I would apologise but, to be quite frank, it wouldn’t be genuine. If me and Erik really had things my way, I would have put Tony and Clint down like a mangy mutt but, here I am, trying to be a better person and all that.”

Emma raised her eyebrows before laughing at her statement. “Darling, you don’t know what I have had to do to survive this world. You simply presume that the way I present myself is what I have always been? I just don’t plead my case with my experiences as you are because I am more than that. I deserve more than that and perhaps you should adopt a similar mind set.” Emma never spoke about her suffering because it did no one know good. Mutants did not need to see a leader so weak. She had to be strong enough to carry their suffering also. “The only reason I haven’t is because Erik would have a childish tantrum I’d have to handle. He would have it in time and once he does, well…” Emma trailed off and looked her up and down. “Enjoy your time, Ms Maximoff, while it lasts and please, if you are going to help, do it without traumatising any of the children and with minimum disruption. God knows that they don’t need any further traumtising from any of your so called ‘friends’.” 

There was something about a child’s natural curiosity that always brought the telepath to his knees. Even when those children were no longer such, he still found himself unable to resist feeding them knowledge. In this case, it was a more… personal matter, and one that had details not even Jean knew about. But she had every right to know some things — at least just as much as Jean — and so after looking past her, where the horizons teased an ocean front, he looked back at her speaking quietly in her head.

// When I first lost my legs, I was… I guess you could say depressed? Hank worked tirelessly trying to find ways to ease my suffering and one day he came into my room bearing a gift. It was a cure — meant mostly for himself. He had tweaked it a bit and only after I had thrown a bottle at him did he give me drug for science. It was only supposed to quiet the voices in my head. I wasn’t sleeping at all and he thought… if the voices went away, I’d sleep and feel much better — maybe even open the school back but… that’s not exactly what happened. I woke up one morning and swung my legs over the bed. My chair wasn’t within reach so without thinking, I stood up to get it. The drugs suppressed my telepathy but they also gave me the ability to walk. //

There’s a break as he ponders where to go from here. It was such a lovely day and the last thing she needed was in depth information about his relationship with Erik. Because in truth, nothing had been resolved. It was one of those things where it all had been brushed under the rug for now, but he could never forget how awful he felt during that time a few years ago. He was in a dark place and Jean pulled him out of it.

// Something happened a few months ago that made me feel like being in that chair is a liability. I don’t… like being at the mercy of others. It was never a problem before, but maybe that’s the whole issue: I got too complacent being reliant on the team to look after me. I need to be able to help myself and telepathy alone isn’t enough. So I… take the suppressors so I can walk and… so that people don’t feel like I am always intruding on their thoughts. I’ve been told to stay out of people’s heads so much that… //

He looked down.

// What we can do is both a gift and a curse. Be mindful of this when you stretch your wings, mon aimant angélique. What we can do… isn’t popular by any means. //

He took her hand, covering it within his own. He’d never met Nat, but he was glad Wanda had someone to train with now that… well, he didn’t want to think about it lest she see and be reminded. So for now, he cleared his head acting as merely another vessel and anchor in case things got dicey.

With his own eyes closed, he waited, never pushing as her telepathy slowly threaded within his own. She took her time — meticulous — but to be expected of one who wasn’t used to doing this often. In truth, she was going about it the right way. Haste makes waste and the whole idea was to do this without being detected.

Moments pass before some of the things she was ciphering through filters into his mind. It was always like watching a movie where sometimes the words didn’t quite match the images on the screen. It came from the combination of voices in every direction and the images being pulled. But suddenly everything stills. It’s quiet — dark even — but then her eyes show him what she can see and he cannot help but grin, beaming like an idiot. The shore… and by god it was as lovely as he thought it might be today.

// Beautiful! I can see everything… //

/ -.-. / …. / .- / — / … /

Wanda knew what it was, to suffer. To grieve for a part of yourself, a defining characteristic. What did you call a twin who lost a twin? A yin missing the yang? She could understand the pain in Charles’ thoughts, the grief, the desperation. She recognized it all a little too well. Those same emotions, heavy and ferocious in her chest, had taken over her completely. Tricked herself and everyone around her with a shadow of Pietro. If she had a chance to really see him, she would pay whatever price it took. Even her powers. 

‘It sounds like a very difficult decision to make’, she thought kindly. She knew he was being truthful, she had no reason to distrust him — but Wanda knew that now, more than ever, she needed to keep a tight grip on every thought in her head. Every emotion. Every plan. She couldn’t let it leak out, not to Charles, or Jean, or anyone. Not until she was ready. 

‘Oh, I know that feeling,’ she replied to him, a small smile on her face. She sent the image of Rictor, that face he’d made when she touched his mind, towards Charles. It was meant to add a little levity to their conversation, even though she hadn’t felt much like laughing at the time. She colored the memory as if she had, a twinkling sort of sparkle to it. 

She let it fade, and then she nodded to him. ‘I can understand wanting to stand on your own, she said. Literally, and figuratively. It always feels more certain when you can count on yourself.’ Adjusting to a team mentality had been difficult. Hydra, Ultron, they were merely means to an end, and only Pietro had really had her undying loyalty before. She let herself depend on him and only him. But now she was learning to depend on herself. 

‘I know,’ she thought again, a bright scarlet flash to the words. ‘But it’s me. And I won’t apologize for it.’ Maybe she had some of her father’s pride after all. Some of his ambition. 

Their conversation stilled as Wanda threaded through the minds of Genosha. Weaving webs like a spider, glistening strands of thoughts and images and feeling, until they reached the shoreline. Everything. She let his voice echo around her head, again and again, growing with the waves and dancing through the salt air and crashing against the rocks only to grow again. 

But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t real.

(✉ → operation wanda): not everyone can teleport hamburgers into a hospital! I’m Donna. the other roommate of the world’s nicest hospital patient.

“Sometimes I just need a quiet place to think.”

Wanda had come wandering back to the tower and knowing what had happened to Wanda the last time she had been here, Sharon wondered if it was because she felt drawn here — or if she felt obligated to be here? Or was it a need to belong to something? (Or was Sharon simply reading too much into it.) Propping up her head on her fist, Sharon leaned into her desk in her new office. “It’s quiet for now,” Sharon offered, “But in a few weeks, I’m sure this place will be…” The home it had been before? Filled with people and life and — it would be full again. And with Tony holding the place up and Sharon readily there, it wouldn’t end up a quiet shell again. “But something tells me that it wasn’t the quiet you were seeking,” she commented thoughtfully. “What’s on your mind, Wanda? Are you okay?”

/ -.-. / .... / .- / --- / ... /

Wanda could’ve finished the sentence for her, without even reading her mind. The hope Sharon had was one that was buzzing around the Tower, practically contagious. But there was a fear there too. An uncertainty. Wanda could do so much, but reading the future was still beyond her. For now. She smiled gently at Sharon, and shrugged a shoulder. “Of course I am,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”