i'm still me, i think

Jean smiled at Wanda, immediately setting to work making tea – a task that was made infinitely easier when she could telekinetically open the cupboard to grab mugs and set the kettle on the hob at the same time. She preferred the old techniques that Ororo had shown her, enjoyed the blends that she brought home from marketplaces in Ghana, and she made a mental note to ask her friend to replenish her stock. Jean hummed along as she poured the tea, and then Wanda asked a question that meant she almost spilled it over the worktop.

Luckily, her powers kicked in, automatically making the liquid hover in air before dropping it into the sink. “Why do you ask?” She looked up at Wanda, determinedly avoiding the younger woman’s eyes, going over her shoulder or anywhere else instead. “Over twenty years,” she said. “He taught me, when my powers first developed.”

***

There was something comforting about watching Jean use her powers so casually to make the tea. Wanda’s powers had been, for most of the time she’d really been using them, used as weaponry. Associated with chaos and destruction, even when she was trying to protect people. It had been hard not to expect that every time she used them for a while. To see not only herself in the mirror again, but to see herself even when she used the powers. Jean had helped, as had people like Zatanna.

When she brought up Magneto, Wanda had not been expecting that reaction from Jean, and she looked up, startled. Jean wasn’t looking at her though, in fact she seemed to be determined to look anywhere but. Oh, this was far more than Wanda had anticipated stumbling into. “Because I thought you might be the best person to ask about him,” she replied, watching Jean’s reactions now. “I feel like he’s infamous, but also not easy to learn about.” Wanda had so many questions, but she didn’t want to ask them all at once. She trusted Jean, but this felt incredibly vulnerable whether or not she was right.

The way she was looking at him was gentler than most, he realized. There wasn’t fear in her eyes. If anything, she was looking on with nostalgia, and Simon relaxed with a sigh. It was rarer than it ought to be for strangers to look at him as more of a person than a threat, but it wasn’t impossible. It wasn’t something that never happened. He needed a reminder of that sometimes, needed someone to make him remember that the world wasn’t all hate and fear. There were good things, too. Good people.

“Where are you from?” It seemed the most obvious thing to ask, and he offered her a small smile. “The song, it’s one my mother used to sing. She’s from Egypt. Moved to the States before my sister or I were born, but she brought the songs with her.”

***

“Sokovia,” Wanda replied. “Moved here only five years ago. Feels like forever and only yesterday.” It had been a lot longer since she’d heard her mother’s songs though. And she hadn’t sung much since Sokovia and Ultron. It felt too painful. Her mother’s songs were so closely tied to her mother and her brother, and the songs only felt like a reminder of that they weren’t here. 

“It’s beautiful,” she added, referring to his song. “It’s good she could pass that piece of home to you.” Perhaps one day she would have someone to pass her songs to. Perhaps one day it would not feel so lonely if she sang them. 

Wanda raised her eyebrow. “Hard to believe? A lack of power or motivation?” she replied. If it were power, that was a major oversight on Alex’s part. Wanda had, provably, more than enough power to cause harm. Even to Alex. But as for motivation? “You’re my friend, I can’t imagine why I would want to hurt you.”

The characters on screen clicked to a halt, and that was how Steve knew it was serious. He couldn’t count on both hands the number of conversations they’d had interspersed with various episodes of sitcoms, ranging from how she felt about Pietro’s death to the tactical advantages they’d need to implement on their next training mission. She was older now, he supposed – and the past five years had changed all of them, gave them more time to face things head on.

“I always think it’s better to know the truth, even if it’s confusing,” Steve offered, nudging his shoulder against hers gently. Nat might have a different idea, a kinder one, but Steve had never known how to leave well enough alone. “What would be the worst thing?” he asked. “Seems to me like you’ve lived through those already, and you didn’t have the choice to turn away from that.” Wanda turned the question back, and Steve leaned against the sofa, letting out a small breath. “Not really,” he admitted. “Just felt like five years of passing time. I’m glad to be home, though. I’m glad we all are.”

***

Wanda considered his advice for a moment as he nudged her shoulder. She knew in herself that she wouldn’t be able to set it down entirely until she knew for certain, one way or another. That it would be like a siren call in the back of her head. That the questions of what if would only embolden themselves. Because that was all that they had done for five years. “I don’t know what the worst thing would be. I think that is why it scares me.” She pressed her lips together, nodding slightly. So much had happened, been taken from her, without her choice. But she had the choice here. 

Maybe that would be worse, she thought, if nothing came from it. If she held her breath and then nothing. “It’s good to be home,” she agreed. No matter what happened, she reminded herself, she had this home here.

“Maybe.”

Kitty pursed her lips before trying for a smile. There wasn’t room to be unsure in front of Wanda, not over something for which she’d fought so long and so hard. Whether or not it was truly what she’d fought for was up for debate, but that was another can of worms she was unwilling to open in that moment. In that moment, Genosha was perfect. It was everything she could’ve asked for and more, a place to be herself openly and without judgement. More importantly, a place where others could be themselves, openly and without judgement.

Kitty had always been afforded the luxury of hiding, should she so please. Others weren’t so lucky. Genosha was more than what Kitty wanted, and she could spend every night gazing across the bay and hoping for more, but it wouldn’t change that.

“I mean, of course. Ric literally made us an island. Everyone else wishes they were that cool. I’ll raise a glass to that any day.” Her smile was a little less forced, a little crooked, “The Avengers certainly do.”

***

There was a hesitation there that Wanda wasn’t expecting. A vulnerability of sorts, like Kitty was second guessing herself. Wanda could peek, to find out exactly what that was about, but she wouldn’t. As curious as she was, this conversation seemed tentative. Especially when Kitty assured Wanda of her confidence.

She laughed, but nodded. “Yeah yeah, okay. We don’t have an island.” Well, the Avengers didn’t. Wanda wasn’t sure if she could say she belonged here. As a mutant, she did. As an Avenger, not so much. Could she take that second layer off though? It was one thing to have Jean train her, to befriend people here. Perhaps another to belong. “I will raise a glass to your ‘cool island’. Is this why people from Manhattan are like that about Manhattan? Because it’s an island?”

Wanda wasn’t like the others. She didn’t have the gratitude of the American people like Rogers enjoyed, didn’t have the arrogance of Stark or Banner to believe that they could manipulate the world around them without consequence (though when it came to the latter, Jean supposed she had indulged him with the use of the ARK, another complicated contradiction she would have to examine later). She was compassionate, and introspective, and terrified. It was painfully easy to compare the two of them and see the similarities, and if Jean waited until she had complete control of her powers in order to help other people with theirs, she would be waiting another thousand years. Their potential was unlimited; it was up to them what they did with it.

“You’re never unwelcome here,” Jean promised, gesturing for Wanda to come further into the apartment than hovering uncertainly in the doorway. “I can grab some tea – or coffee, if you prefer? We’ve got a couple biscuits in here somewhere, but Remy almost cleared me out last night, so I need to grab groceries before I can offer anything substantial.”

***

Wanda relaxed, stepping into Jean’s apartment. If she was going to be turned away, she’d rather it happen now, before she tried to ask for help. Before she laid anything bare. “I’d love a tea.” She laughed as Jean mentioned that Remy had cleared her out. “Just tea would be amazing.” Taking a seat at Jean’s table, she was quiet for a moment, wondering how much to say. 

“How long have you known Erik Lehnsherr?” she asked finally. It was no secret that she knew him after all, Genosha alone showed it. But Wanda couldn’t just start with questions at the deep end. For her own sake, she’d work her way there.

“You think you’re a trouble magnet,” Rictor huffed, hesitating only momentarily before taking her hand and using it to hoist himself up. He was a proud guy, ordinarily, far too proud to accept assistance, but… There was nobody around, and his back was sure to be bruised where he’d fallen on it, and sometimes accepting help wasn’t the worst thing in the world. “This is, like, the third time this week somebody’s knocked me on my ass.”

***

“History seems to prove that I am, unfortunately.” She helped him up, looking him over. He seemed bruised, but if he was seriously injured he hid it well. She’d offer to relieve the pain, but people could turn aggressive at the sign of powers. She wasn’t being recognised, so she wasn’t about to invite it. “Why do people keep knocking you on your ass?” she asked, frowning. Once, he could be faultless. Two, a coincidence. Three? He was likely either targeted or provoking it. Or both. Wanda couldn’t be sure. 

☆════ ⋆★⋆ ════☆

Carol laughed, then sighed. No, Wanda wasn’t the reason for her problems. She hoped. Probably. Who knew, honestly. The girl had truly ridiculous powers–god forbid she ever think she and her whole Captain Marvel beat-em-up routine was pretty fucking cool, she just needed to look at Wanda Maximoff. Great kid, killer power set. (Not a kid, she was sure Wanda would say, and Carol would have to remind herself that this being thirty-but-also-sixty thing wasn’t her favorite part of the job, and people kept growing up without her.)

She shrugged and shook her head. “I tried to take Chewie for some air–she doesn’t like being trapped in the apartment, you know?–but she had to go and terrorize this whole clique of big-ass dogs, and, well.” Carol gestured to the scruffy orange cat hissing in her carrier beside her. “This happened. You in any mood to talk an all-powerful alien down from a little mid-afternoon temper tantrum?”

***

Wanda looked at the hissing pet carrier. “Aw.” She crouched down, fingers close to the carrier door, but not close enough that Chewie could bite. “You would’ve won that fight, wouldn’t you?” she cooed. Glancing at Carol, she asked, “Did she win that fight? With the dogs?” Wanda could always use magic to calm Chewie down, but she wasn’t sure if Carol--or Chewie--would want that. She wiggled her fingers, raising an eyebrow at Carol, the question clear.

Natasha knew that there were monsters In every corner of the world. It was a simple fact of life. But with the Red Room removed from the equation, she thought it might be a bit brighter. Better, even. But she couldn’t say for sure, only that changes had been made… and beyond that? Natasha couldn’t claim better or worse until she saw the rippling impact in the aftermath. “Might be a suggestion to stay on your toes.” Encouraging the same sentiment she had shown Wanda years ago. Looking over her shoulder needed to be second nature.

***

Wanda narrowed her eyes slightly, tilting her head questioningly. “A general suggestion or specific?” she asked. Natasha had been encouraging Wanda to look over her shoulder since she had arrived in America after Ultron. Encouraging her to be aware of her surroundings, of threats that might arrive. Teaching her how to survive, with or without her magic. “Should I be concerned?” Was there a threat she didn’t know about? Or did Nat know about the digging Wanda had been doing? Was this a warning there?

“It can be… difficult, at times, to see things you’d rather not notice.” Scott knew that better than most. He’d spent so much of his life willfully blind, closing his eyes to things like Jean’s shifting personality when the Phoenix burrowed into her chest or his own increased instability when the bird took him for a round. “I’ve been telling myself we’re safe now, on Genosha. I don’t want to admit that I know it isn’t entirely true.”

***

Wanda made a small noise of agreement. “I think... We see what we want. Or what we expect.” Neither were guaranteed to be truthful. But for Wanda, that willingness to overlook what one didn’t want to see had kept her out of harms way at times. People saw two children in need of protecting, not mutants to be feared, as long as they acted as expected. “Nowhere is entirely safe,” she replied. “No matter how much we wish it is.” Wanda no longer believed that anywhere was free of danger; it was safer that way. “But you protect the island, no?”

He’d never been known for making sense. It was the kind of non-linear logic that made him “a pleasure to have in class!” and a disaster with his classmates, the kind of rocketed him to the top of his university’s bio department, but hadn’t carried too much clout outside of it. It had gotten him this far in the suit, though. That had to count for something.

Peter laughed. “You sound like one of those sitcom characters, y’know. Someone says something sciencey and they’re all ‘speak English!’ and the laugh track goes wild.” 

Still, maybe she had a point. “Oh, they don’t,” he said. “You know mind palaces, right? I’ve got more of a mind rabbit warren. Hobbit-hole on a good day.” He shrugged. “The kids seem to like worksheets.”

Wanda scrunched her nose up, half cringing and half laughing. “Hey! I’m just saying I got lost about halfway there. Not being mean. Although... maybe I should see if I can get a laugh track like that, mm?”

It was just a stupid show – one of the sitcoms she used to watch back to back when they were living at the compound that Steve always enjoyed watching purely because she did – but in one of the episodes, they returned to their college days. They made different choices, loved different people, became different people. It seemed like a good bridge into talking about who they had become, in the time since Berlin. All Wanda ever seemed to want was some form of stability, and Steve had tried so hard to give it to her (tried and failed). “Have you found anything, so far?” he asked, looking over at her from the other end of the sofa. “Nat went searching, too.” Not that he had any more insight on that front, either. Natasha had always been secretive; Steve long since accepted it.

***

Wanda had watched this show all the way through already. It reminded her of the old shows she watched with Pietro, saving the tapes that survived each move. Survived the explosion. Watching them on repeat because they were comforting. Even when she found new ones, they often felt familiar. Sitcoms had a certain formula with a new coat of paint for each premise. This one had been one of the first she’d watched in America, after training sessions in the compound. This episode though, where they made different choices and ended up as different people. Wanda hated and loved it in equal amounts. Going back and changing things? It didn’t help with moving forward. She hit pause, looking at Steve.

“Maybe. I... It doesn’t all make sense yet. But maybe. The more I look... What if what I find is worse than not knowing?” She raised an eyebrow. She couldn’t imagine that Nat would give up what she found, but Wanda was curious. “What about you? Anything useful for you looking back?”