#heartbuilt

Was it wrong to have come? It may have been. The fact of the matter was that even if it was wrong, she likely still would have. Yelena Belova had been — for a very long time — a victim of the Red Room's subjugation. Free now from their shackles, the Black Widow had learned how much she loved freedom. Craved it, really. Free will was one thing she could never live without now that she had a taste of it.

Free will, of course, came with the choice to make good and bad decisions. Weren't good and bad subjective, though? Who had the authority to say what was best for her? At this point, no one Yelena would believe but herself. That was how she ended up on the doorstep of the Steve Rogers who called Earth-Prime his home. She had never even met the Captain America of her reality, but here she was darkening his variants doorstep nonetheless.

"I could have broken in, but I didn't." The admission was an attempt to seem less hostile, less threatening. Yelena was trying to do this the right way, even if it felt wrong. The Natasha Romanoff of Earth-Prime was not her sister. They had never even met before the Avenger had vanished. That didn't stop Yelena from wanting to find out everything she could about this variant of the woman she loved. "I want to talk, Steve Rogers. And," she held up the bag she held. "I brought beer."

Unusual circumstances had a way of bringing people together. Although Wanda currently served on the Avengers of Earth-616 alongside a Captain America, it was Sam Wilson and not Steve Rogers. Time had familiarized Wanda and Sam; years of running the same circles had turned the two from coworkers into something more akin to friends. Despite that, however, Steve remained the Captain America she knew better.

It had been a long time since a young Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver had joined the Avengers for the first time. It had been the beginning of a new era, a new life for the two. The original roster had been on their way out with only Steve Rogers remaining. He had accepted the twins despite their past histories, and for that second chance Wanda remained eternally grateful.

Of course, the man who sat across from her was not that man. He was not the Steve Rogers she had grown fond of over the years, but a variant instead. Wanda was choosing to believe that his heart remained steadfast and true. He cared — deeply. Empathy was an emotion needed now more than ever to combat the chaos and uncertainty.

"People hear witch and become full of idealized notions and misconceptions," Wanda explained. "Although, I do seem to be closer to the fairytales than my variant from your reality was." The Wanda Maximoff of Earth-Prime had vanished along with the Avengers of her reality six years before. "It's because of this misconceptions that people think I can peer into a crystal ball and magically have all the answers. It's not that simple. It never is."

Ripped from her own reality, Wanda yearned for the recent comforts she had found. She missed the living spaces that were beginning to feel like home and the privacy that they brought. The Avengers Compound was always loud and moving. Newcomers arrived each day, disoriented from their unwilling arrivals. Still, they persevered. They looked for answers continually when it felt every door was slammed in their face.

This was life in the After. After Westview. After Vision. After the boys. Wanda had lost everything but gotten her brother back. He had been real, tangible. She needed that. Grief was no longer something that threatened to overcome her. Wanda felt it but now she knew how to channel it into raw potential. It drove her forward instead of holding her in the past. She had gotten Pietro back but left him all the same. They would have time to catch up now that her life thrummed alongside his own. For the first time in her life Wanda was going to own up to her actions but there was a flicker of her old insecurities.

She was scared.

That’s how Wanda ended up in Brooklyn on a balcony, her clothing flickering back to unassuming civilian garb. The second her boots hit the concrete the hood that covered her auburn locks was made of plain cotton once more. She wasn’t alone. The redhead who leaned against the railing regarded her in a cool indifference that Wanda knew hid anger. Natasha had been a friend. Now, the two women stood in a tense silence. Without saying anything, Natasha sighed and pushed herself into an upright position. She opened the slider and vanished inside, the door remaining open. Crossing the threshold, Wanda didn’t let her gaze sweep over the personal touches that made the apartment a home. That was a kind of personal information she had no longer deserved.

but does he not see the trepidation that tumbles behind her eyes like a riptide? can he not feel the contrition that wages through the steel and metal ; that besiege the humanity in which the facility had tried so desperately to beat out of her? the breath that escapes from mouth slack with resignation is all - consuming. carefully, she leans back against the chair in which she is held captive, movements cautious ------ as to not impose any indication of a threat. before he inevitably decides to turn her in, she hopes that he at least allows for an explanation in lieu of the confession he surely demands.