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"After what I did, how can I expect anyone to trust me?"
"Give them time. But for now, maybe it's enough - that I trust you, Wanda"
- Uncanny Avengers #5, by Rick Remender
Steve gave her a supporting smile, released her from his arms, and excused himself as he went to the showers after his workout. She missed his warmth at once. Still affected by the moment they shared, it was all she could do to touch her chin where his fingers had been. He trusts me. How can he trust me after everything I'I've done, to him most of all? Yet, she didn't doubt for a second of the truth of his words. And, as much as she hated to entertain such thoughts when she knew she never stood a chance (Or do I? After all, I do manipulate probabilities, a little voice reminded her and was promptly silenced), Wanda allowed herself to believe that, maybe, this was about something else as well. Her feelings had never died down, returning with all their strength when they met again months before, but she had never even considered the possibility that he could feel the same way. A few months before she left the Avengers, she thought there might be something, but before either of them could do anything about it she regained her memory of her sons, and everything went downhill from there. It didn'didn't matter what his feelings for her were; she had killed any possibility of that kind of relationship developing between them. Steve was a good man, her greatest supporter after her return, besides her brother, always doing his best to make sure she felt included in the Avengers activities and decisions, to reassure her she was still part of the team, and she loved him for it. Having him by her side, it was like all those years had been a nightmare, like redemption was within her reach.
Wanda Maximoff felt hopeful for the first time in far too many years.
"Wanda, we love and support you, but…"
Of course her hopes would be short-lived. She was used to accusations thrown her way, insinuations that she would destroy the Avengers once again, but to hear it from Steve's lips? To have him ask her to hide like the criminal she was, like they were ashamed of having her on the team, him, who had just shown her more friendship and trust than she ever thought she'd be on the receiving end of ever again, him? It brought her back to the reality of the situation; it showed her how, no matter what she did, she would always be the woman who destroyed the Avengers, the mad sorceress who brought mutants to the edge of extinction. She would never again be "just Wanda", not even to her closest friends, not even to her family, now that she thought about it. Reason told her he was right – the Unity Squad was a PR initiative, and her presence could only harm it –, but all she could feel as she saw the look of regretful resolve on Steve's face as he said those words, as she looked around the table and realized that everyone, even Simon and Janet, seemed to agree with this, was betrayal, rage, and a despair she had thought buried, resurface. Wanda felt herself breaking, even as she put on a face of cold defiance which most resembled her father's. She barely paid any attention to the matters discussed in the next hour of meeting, or to the worried stares her friends threw her way, or to the noise of the crowd in front of Avengers Mansion as they stepped outside for their first press conference. Hardly registering when the Grim Reaper appeared, she didn't make any attempt to protect herself as he attacked. Let's get this over with, she thought, and closed her eyes as she heard Simon's scream.
Wanda woke up hours later alone in the dark infirmary. Someone had bandaged the wrist she had sprained as she fell. Slowly, she processed the events of that day, Simon screaming and throwing himself in front of her, falling on top of her as he was hit by Eric's power, losing consciousness, waking up. She hated herself for her weakness, for wanting the easy way out. No; she had to earn the right to die. No matter how much she suffered, it would never compare to the suffering of those she had harmed when she lost control. No matter how much she did, it would never be enough. Still, she had to try; she owed it to her victims to do her best, even if she was never forgiven, even if no one ever thanked her for it – even if she had to do it alone.