Chapter 1: The Raft
"Take the deal, Clint," Wanda begged, leaning her head back against the wall of her cell on the floating prison known as the Raft.
"Not without you."
"They're never going to offer the deal to me. Not with my powers. Please, Clint. Your wife needs you. Your kids need you. I can take care of myself."
She wasn't sure how true that last claim was, but she said it with as much confidence as she could put in her voice.
It had been only a few minutes since General Ross had left the room after telling them the Department of Justice and the U.N. had agreed to sentence the prisoners to house arrest if they pled guilty. When they learned the offer was only open to the three of the four prisoners with US citizenship, Clint had vehemently refused, and Scott had used some rather crude language to describe what he thought of the deal without Wanda's inclusion. Ross only nodded at their responses, said he'd give then twenty-four hours to think it over, and left.
The minute he was gone, Wanda had quietly but firmly told them she appreciated their gesture, but they should agree to the plea bargain. She'd been arguing with them ever since.
"It isn't fair," Scott said. "It isn't fair to offer this deal to everyone but you."
"Nothing in my life has ever been fair, but there's no reason for you to suffer because of that," she countered. "Scott, you have a little girl. Clint, you have your wife and kids. If you don't take this deal, you may never see them again. I don't have any loved ones on the outside. I'm fine in here."
"Listen to me, Wanda: I'm not leaving you here alone. I won't do that to you. I can't. Not when I'm the one who dragged you into this," Clint said. Though he didn't say it, she knew he was also thinking of Pietro, and the debt he felt he owed.
"What do you think would be worse for me," Wanda countered, "being in jail alone, or seeing my friends in jail because of me?"
"We're not the ones they put in a straitjacket and shock collar," Scott pointed out.
It took her a moment to think of something to say to that. "Which they may take off for good behavior."
"Fat chance," he said.
"Look, not that I don't like your company, but if you stay when you could have gone free, it will be torture for me. Clint, go back to your family. Give little Nate a hug from me. Let me think about you being free and happy. Give me that, please."
"I told you, I won't leave you here alone."
"She won't be alone," Sam said quietly. "I'm not taking the deal. But she's right. Clint, Scott, your families need you."
"Sam..."
"Don't even try to talk me out of it, Wanda. I'm not staying for you; I'm staying for Cap. Don't even worry about me."
"Steve would want you to take the deal, too," she argued. "There's no reason for you to stay."
"No reason not to. Without the Avengers, I don't really have a home to be under house arrest in."
The only reason he would stay was for her. She knew it. They all knew it. But if he stayed, Clint and Scott would feel better about leaving. She sighed. "Thank you, Sam."
Clint and Scott didn't have any more objections.
...
She hated the straitjacket more than the collar. Not being able to move her arms meant not being able to stretch, scratch her nose, or even brush her own teeth—which, like all other matters of personal hygiene, was handled by robotic extensions that emerged from the walls of her cell at appointed times. But the loneliness was the worst part. In the silence of her cell, she sometimes stewed in anger over the unfairness of being locked up, but more often she sank into despondency. During those times, she'd think back over her miserable life, and wonder if she really did deserve being locked up.
If she didn't have Sam to talk to, she might have gone crazy.
They sometimes went hours without talking, but sometimes they talked for hours. They conversed about the most insignificant things. They told each other the plot of every movie they could remember seeing. They once spent over an hour talking about good names for pets for every kind of animal they could think of. Sam told her stories from his childhood and military career. She started teaching him Sokovian.
"Sam, I have a confession to make," she said out of the blue one day.
"What?"
"I'm the one who put the coffee grounds in Tony's garbage disposal."
He laughed. "You did that?"
"I though that was where they're supposed to go!"
"Man. You deserve to be locked up for that," he joked.
"Hey, I feel bad. I hope I didn't break his sink."
"Well, that's what Tony gets for not just getting a normal coffee maker with normal coffee filters."
"I still feel bad. Do you think I should tell him?"
"Nah. Let him have some mystery in his life."
They fell silent for a few moments.
"Sam," she asked.
"Yeah?"
"Have you ever been in love?"
"Yeah, a few times. Why?"
"What's it like?"
"You never been in love before?"
"I don't know. I've had boyfriends, and crushes, but I don't know if I was really in love with any of them."
Sam thought for a moment before answering. "I guess it's a little different with everyone. You ever crave some food, and nothing else quite hits the spot? And then you finally get to eat that food, and you're like, 'yeah, that's what I needed.' That's kind of what it's like. You crave just being in the same room as them. If you're not feeling great, you just look at a picture of them and you feel better."
"Is it like...you keep thinking about everything they ever said to you, every time they ever touched you, even if it was just a brush on accident?"
"That could be being in love, or just infatuation. Who are you thinking about?"
"No one, really. I'm just wondering if I'll ever get the chance to know what it feels like," she lied. They both knew everything they said was being monitored.
"Hey, we're gonna get out of here. Here me, Red? You're not gonna be here forever."
"Thanks, Sam. When you say it I almost..." She didn't finish her thought.
"Believe it," Sam told her.
...
It was at lights out, when coversation stopped and she lay down to sleep, when a sense of empty hopelessness threatened to overcome her. She would close her eyes, wiggle as far back in her cot as she could get, and imagine she had arms around her, arms that were a seemingly impossible fusion of strength and gentleness. The arms she'd felt around her during the fight at the airport, during the battle in Sokovia. She'd remember his hand lightly, almost apologetically, resting on her arm when he told her she couldn't leave the compound, the many times they had touched during trainings. She remembered the times she'd touched his mind. He was so clear, level, calm. His mind was soothing. The memory of him was soothing.
She tried not to think about turning her power against him, the horrified look on his face when Clint pointed out she could overpower him, the hole in the floor she'd forced him through.
She tried not to think about the strong possibility that she would never see him again.
