-Wanda… Wanda... - she hears soft whisper and turns head, she knows he's here somewhere, but cannot find. - Wanda. - The voice crumbles into dozens of timid echoes stratified each other, and ends with a loud roar in her head. -Wanda.
Wanda shudders and opens her eyes. Sun-bleached blond eyelashes are gold in midday light and sweaty sheets stick to the back. She bites her lip and turns face to the empty place in bed, no one is there, of course, no one will be there.
-Wanda. - She is repeating after the voice in her head, it sounds wrong, hoarse from sleep, is not right. She touches the pillow, cold, not crumpled, as if it can draw her back to sleep, or fix something or .. Or what?
Ultron said that people are fragile like glass. Clench a bit – they crumble immediately. Dreams are exactly the same.
Sleep retreats, hiding in the darkest corners of the unconscious, leaving sticky with fear and trembling echo of a voice calling her again and again. It dies and returns back again, like a toothache, throbbing, radiating to the head.
Wanda gets out of bed, diving naked body in the cold air of June, dropping covers to the floor, and it is covered with dark red fabric under her feet like a puddle of blood. How tragic it is, she snorts, how sad, and throws covers in the corner with a kick, out of sight, and promises to take it back as soon as she calms down. For sure.
Wanda strolls in the apartment, slams doors; it gives the impression that she is not alone. As if it can brig Pietro back. Her fingers touch tattered red leather jacket, then walk to a brand new Avengers form, and return to the old clothes.
They even smell different, they smell of it. Warm powdery scent of iris, she wants to inhale it until gets dizzy. She remembers the moment.
They stand at the counter hand in hand, Pietro tries to not laugh, pretending to be her boyfriend, and she is looking for a new perfume, because she is a girl, because she likes scents, they carry memories, and she wants to find that one to be always connected with Pietro.
"You can`t. That's weird. "- Laughs Pietro, wrinkling his nose. "It's really kinda crazy."
She doesn`t pay any attention, all of it is absorbed by dozens of colored bottles at the shelves: "We are twins, after all that we've done - it is the last thing you can call weird." - Fingers run quickly from one scent to another. - "Besides, it's just the smell. I'm not going to paint your nails black, even if you ask, because it is really strange. But one scent for two - it's just one scent, nothing more. It's just ... I want it. Here. I like this. "
They leave the store, without buying anything, laughing and holding hands so tight, as if tomorrow will never come, and Pietro disappears in a second, then appears with a pale light green transparent vial, with slight smell of irises.
Since then, when he disappears in one second, faint trail of vetiver and iris follows him.
Wanda shudders and takes a step back from the closet, shuts the door and stands still for a while, forehead resting on the door, staring ahead blankly.
-Wanda ... Wanda… Wanda ... – something is throbbing in her head, crying, - you promised.
They say when somebody close to you dies, the bitterness of the loss kills the senses, and you are left alone with yourself. But when the twin dies, the feelings don`t disappear. And you cannot stay alone, it`s more like a part of you is cut with a blunt knife, and you're doomed to exist in this flawed form like an invalid without hands or feet, not knowing where is it gone, because you lose some part of yourself. Half of it.
Sometimes the pain recedes, and Wanda tries to live, piece by piece, hiding the suffering behind distractions and coldness. But not today.
She draws the bath full of cold water, and sits there, shivering and chattering teeth, listening to the water drops falling monotonically, drip- drip - drip. They shatter still surface of the water, rippling, like transparent tears. Then she sinks with her head to the bottom.
"Take it off. Now!- They tumble into the bathroom. Pietro holds her by the shoulders firmly, she is shaking, not because of the cold, but of the pain, big bloody stain is growing on the torn dress, big, wet, black on red.
"Get out." - She moves parched, rather pale lips, grimaces and sits on the edge of the tub awkwardly. "I can handle it on my own."
"Hell yeah, Wanda. You got a hole in the stomach, you bleed, and a maximum that you are able to handle is to deal with your own sarcasm. "- Pietro is flashing in the air like lightning, he peels her jacket off so quickly that she doesn`t even has time to blink, reappears with scissors and bandages, then once again with a needle and towels, bottles and fresh towels are growing on the washstand, and Pietro is still on the move, emitting a smell of concern and the cold concentration that can easily be mistaken with indifference.
"Do not even think about it!" - She presses hands to her chest firmly, holding the bloodied clothes by the sleeve, knowing it won`t stop him. A moment later she has no more dress on her.
"I hate you." - She clings to the edge of the tub with last remains of strength, not knowing whether to fall back, with a risk to split head on the tile, or forward into Pietro`s hands. Who knows what is worse.
"Join the league. Whatever. "- Pietro freezes besides her, holding with one hand while the other is gently stroking her cheek. He looks at her firmly, as if trying to transmit at least a drop of strength through the eyes. "It is going to hurt. Pretty much. "- He takes a bottle of alcohol and splashes on an open wound lavishly.
Wanda shouts, trying to restrain, but cannot, the pain is much stronger than anything that can be suppressed, until she finally finds something to keep her from insanity, she clings her teeth in Pietro`s shoulder fiercely and squeezes, more and more, until fiery circles start dancing in front of her eyes and the mouth is full of blood, pain rages in the head, and all the only thing that keeps her from driving crazy and losing control - is the Pietro`s scent, blood mixed with iris. She watches him sewing her wound, chaotic and flickering movements - needle, thread, bandages, patch.
They lie in an empty bathtub. Together. Embracing. They hardly fit in it. Half of her body is on fire, numb from the amount of painkillers he has stuck in the ribs.
Wanda is watching a bite on Pietro`s shoulder she has left, swollen, distinct, and bruised. She almost died today. But all she can do for Pietro, who has pulled her out of the battle - it hurt him.
"I told you - I hate you." - She even doesn`t know whom she hates. Him or herself? How can you hate something that is a part of you?
"Yes." - whispers Pietro, running his good hand through her hair absently, kisses the top of her head, then the forehead. "Nobody knows it better than me." - He looks at his shoulder, knowing she is looking too. A strange feeling of union, a terrible secret for two. "You have to promise that you'll keep it that way. And when or if I will not be here ... "
"Moron." - She whispers to herself, raising her face for kisses. The forehead, temples, eyelids.
"Then you find me and tell it once more. In order not to forget. "
"Why would I ... You wait." - His kisses go down, to her cheeks, and she thinks she could try to reach him to the shoulder, to kiss the bite. That's all she can. No, she could, if not the pain. Dull and aching pain in her side doesn`t let her even move, not that reach, all she has now is to close eyes and get lost in the ocean of unsteady and dreamy calmness. She won`t, will not try to read his mind, no way, she cannot help but touch it, reading the hidden fear. Anxiety. Pain. Acute affection. Love.
"Wanda." - He stops her from her secret study. "Promise."
Wanda comes up out of the water, breathing in sharply and opening her eyes. She looks in front of her, staring at the gold pattern tile, but in the corner of the eyes, just a little bit sideways, sees the flickering air, blurred movement and smells the scent. The same scent surrounds her. Irises.
She's afraid to turn her head so as not to disturb the harmony of this vision. Pietro kneels at the bath, reaching out his hand.
Still afraid to move, slowly she stretches out her hand over the rim of the bath, black nails and with all wet palm touching her brother`s hand.
She does not believe in anything. She believes in promises.