I AM SO SORRY-
I was away on a month-long trip to Europe in which I proved that yeah I'm such a responsible adult that I spent like... a lot... on Dragon Age, Pokemon and LotR merchandising. Because I have absolutely no self-control at all. On the other hand I do have 5 DA vinyl figurines so...
ANYWAYS. CLASS ALSO STARTED AND IM ALREADY STRESSING OUT.
AWKWARD HANNAH:
Thank you so much! I'm happy you're enjoying this so far, and yeah, you go ahead and make an account so I can talk to you directly- just ask any reviewer, I love to talk. I do. Also, you go ahead and write something, I totally encourage that!
Oh, and platonic cuddling is something I do all the time with a lot of friends, actually, idk, I have a picture on my nightstand of my 2 oldest friends and I sleeping together, cuddling and stuff. Is it from when we were little girls? Nope, it's from like, two months ago. Platonic cuddling it's not only real, it's also healthy and cute.
Whatever guys, moving on-
CHAPTER X
Forces of Nature
(Or: a Study on the Relationship Between Ash and Aidan.)
It goes on, this strange game that they're playing. She's not sure what any of them is trying to accomplish with it, but neither of them seem to be backing down any time soon.
She touches, he lets her.
It's easy enough, innocent enough. Mostly, it's silent, if only at first. They both pretend to ignore what the other one it's doing while actually being acutely aware of what's going on, and she doesn't know if she's amused by it or frustrated; perhaps an odd mix of both notions. Sometimes, while she memorises the topography of his hands by touch only, she entertains the notion of just grabbing a knife and stabbing his palm; seeing if that makes him talk, makes him lash at her, makes him run away.
Ash smothers the embers of her-figurative- demons before they can grow into much of a fire.
There's a violence inside of her, there's always been.
Hands are good, hands are fine, it's as good as a routine gets, she supposes. And then Pietro just has to go ahead and push back, raise the stakes a little higher because he gets impatient, he hates being still for long, and she has to suppress an urge to slap him- or herself, if she's being honest at all.
The first time it happens, she's walking towards the kitchen, already lamenting the meeting she has later that day with a client who keeps insisting that he needs a lucky talisman- even if she keeps telling him there's no such thing.
Maybe she'll just make a shiny little thing and charge him a ridiculous amount for a useless object, because hey, she can.
It happens right on the corner of the hallway, he's not exactly running but he's still in a rush, and she's much too distracted, and well, it's not the first time she literally bumps into someone, really.
He steadies her, mindful of her cast, hands on her shoulders long enough that she can feel his warmth starting to seep in, but still short enough that he can hide under the pretence that it was just a natural reaction- even if everyone knows not to really touch her unless it's absolutely necessary.
"Sorry" he mutters, and she can tell he's anything but.
The slight curve at the corner of his lip and the small gleam in his eye tells her all she needs to know.
He's challenging her.
She frowns. She'd been fine with just hands.
She's not fine with people daring her, saying she can't do something, anything.
She frowns harder when she realises he's learning just what buttons to push.
Next time she sees him, she pretends she needs something from the exact cupboard he's blocking, and instead of asking him to move, she ducks under his arm and reaches on the tip of her toes to grab some thyme she doesn't really need. She turns around then, close enough that she's invading his personal space, but not touching him.
"What?" She asks when he looks at her strangely.
"Nothing," he shrugs with one shoulder, but grins anyways, and she's sure he knows what she's doing, exactly.
She ducks around him again, and walks briskly to her room, wondering what she could do with thyme, when she realises that by taking the bait he'd laid, she's just enabled this game that they've been playing to become a Game.
Somewhere, Aidan is grinning, she knows it, somehow. And she hates it.
"The passive-aggressiveness of this is killing me," Tony mutters around his mug.
Clint answers with a noncommittal grunt and a slight inclination of his head to show agreement.
"Are they fighting?" Steve asks, at the other side of the millionaire.
"I'm... not sure, old man. She looks pissed, I think."
"Yeah, well," the archer mutters, "she sorts of looks like that half the time, anyways."
The other two men agree with the statement, but still they eye the pair in question. The best way to describe it is that they've been... hovering, around each other, for the past days. Not doing anything really, and it'd probably wouldn't be a big deal if it was anyone else- but it's the witch, so it's not nothing.
Currently, Pietro's looking at the screen of his phone, but he's looking at the screen of his phone right next to Ash, while she's fiddling with the coffee maker's buttons and switches- who buys a coffeemaker so complicated anyways?
She's reaches blindly besides her for the empty mug she knows it's there, when the cold ceramic is pressed into her hand, warm fingers briefly brushing hers.
She stills and looks at him over her shoulder, at his barely-there smile, and she smiles in return, much too-wide, much too feral for it to be properly nice.
"Thanks," the word comes out gnawed on sharp teeth and filled with sweet poison and yeah, she can see the three men staring blatantly at the scene and she can perfectly hear what they're saying but ignores them.
"Shit," Tony mutters, "I wouldn't want to be at the end of that smile."
It shouldn't bother her that much, they're ridiculous things, honestly; a brush of a hand or a pat on the shoulder, things that are open and friendly and don't have much of an ulterior motive.
It's the fact that he pretends he's not doing on purpose what she can't stand- or, the fact that he pretends he doesn't know why she reacts the way she does.
She's a prideful little thing; she's not good at loosing.
On her way out, she pretends she accidentally bumps his elbow and lets a very polite 'so sorry' slither past her lips.
"Okay, this is getting creepy," Pietro can hear Tony say.
"What," Clint points the way Ash left with his head, "was all that?"
"Are we sure we want to know?" Steve frowns.
And yeah, maybe Pietro just opens wide his eyes and puts a hand over his heart, swearing that he has no idea what they're talking about, and nobody really believes it, but that's all they get anyways.
"Pietro!"
"Wanda?"
His sister corners her, holding onto his sleeve before he can run. She's frowning and for a minute he's afraid something happened, something bad, and then-
"She won't tell me a thing!" She almost yells in Sokovian.
"What?"
"Ash!" She points her finger at him, "What are you playing at?"
And he laughs, actually laughs then, because yeah, they're playing alright, but-
"I've no idea" he admits, and then smiles, the slight warmth of it it's not lost on Wanda, "but I got her to play too."
His sister rolls her eyes, but there's no real anger behind the gesture.
"Fine," she ends up saying, "but if she ends up hexing you, I'm not stopping it."
She can't believe it.
She flexes her fingers, trying them, marvelled at the lack of a cast in her arm. She's never been happier in a while, honestly- well, maybe 'happy' is not the exact word. Content. Relieved. More like those, actually. Even if her magic hasn't come back yet, she can feel it there; it's not going to be long until she can use it like always once again.
So when Steve invites her to eat with the rest and watch a movie, as he usually does every time they do it, this time she says that sure, whatever, it couldn't hurt, right?
"Wait, seriously?" The soldier blinks at her.
She huffs, "well, if you don't want me to-"
"No, no! I just didn't thought you'd want to."
"Then why are you always inviting me?"
"It's polite to do it."
And she snorts at that, because, seriously? That's such a Steve thing to do that she can't be really angry at him, not really.
So she pretends she can't hear Tony making remarks at her and sits on the far end of the couch, arms folded, and waits for the rest to decide what movie to watch. In the end, Sinister gets picked, and Ash snorts at the way Clint looks just a little pale, and how Tony keeps jumping a little every once in a while.
She's not really bothered by the movie, not with her line of work being what it is, but nevertheless she finds herself restless. She should have seen it coming, really, when she sat in the couch instead of one of the individual seats, because as it is, she's pretty much crushed against the armrest, Pietro's thigh against hers. The couch is for three people ideally, but no, Tony wanted to be there too and nobody was willing to move.
She should have moved.
She looks at the man next to her, but he's too engrossed in the movie- and hogging the popcorn, she realises amusedly- to pay her much attention.
And he's warm. So very ridiculously warm- maybe it's a side effect from his powers? She's not sure, really, and she doesn't particularly care. The worst thing about the whole ordeal, honestly, is that she isn't as bothered as she should've been by it, and she swallows a curse when she realises that this? This whole sharing time with the others and watching a movie and just being generally friendly?
She likes it.
Her phone buzzes then, she sees the screen light up from its place on the coffee table, and she briefly glances at the name on the screen before rolling her eyes.
Shortly, it buzzes again.
And again.
By the sixth text she receives in a span of five minutes, Natasha actually pauses the movie and glances at her gravely. She doesn't really have to say anything.
"Aidan texts me stupid shit when he gets drunk," Ash mutters.
"Thought you weren't friends?" Steve asks from his spot on the floor, his back against Natasha's knees.
"No," the witch replies, "we aren't. Just ignore the buzzing."
They do, even if the texts keep coming, but eventually the sound fades into the background and it's easy to forget.
Ash relaxes eventually, resigning to herself to spend at least one more hour firmly stuck between the armrest and Pietro's- incredibly warm- side. She needs to win this weird standoff that's been going on between them, it's a fight, but they're not really fighting, and she's not really angry, but she hides under anger's pretence.
That's much more familiar and easy than admitting she's having fun or- God forbid it- enjoying the little touches.
(She is, she actually is, a voice screams at her, and she quiets it with promises of violence.)
She sighs, and realises that at some point or another, he's put his hand on his thigh, palm facing upwards, and he's not looking at her, in that obvious way that they have been doing as of lately. Biting her lip, she makes sure nobody else is looking and ever-so-slowly accepts the truce- a short one, she can guess- he offers, sliding her fingers over his, over his palm, in practiced ease, pressing softly against his pulse point in his wrist and steadying herself with the constant beat, beat, beat of his heart.
It's a little too fast, maybe, but that's just like him.
Ash then goes back to his palm, the movie completely forgotten to her by now, and she notices him twitching at a particularly ticklish spot. She does it again and he shots her a warning glance out of the corner of his eye so of course she does it once, and then he's slotted his fingers in hers, effectively restricting the use of her hand, caging it.
It's almost too warm for her to handle properly.
A third of her wants to run away, another third wants to twist his hand in a painful way, the other third...
The remaining third is so silent it almost deafens, and that's never a good sign.
He squeezes once, and she realises he's looking sideways at her, without turning his head. He's measuring her, she realises, observing her reaction, trying to guess how far he can push her limits without her shutting him off completely.
She doesn't squeeze back.
She doesn't take her hand away either.
The credits start rolling before she notices the movie is over and Pietro lets her hand go before someone turns on the lights.
"Well that was awful," Clint shudders, "I still don't know how you stand to watch this kind of stuff."
"It wasn't that bad," Natasha chides him.
"You're kidding, right? I mean, I get it that she," he points at Ash, "doesn't really care, she's probably seen worse stuff, right?"
She opens her mouth to reply, but then her phone rings, actually rings, not the buzzing of a text message, and she frowns deeply.
"He does talk to you a lot," Wanda comments with an easy smile, but Ash doesn't return it.
"No," her frown gets deeper, "he doesn't call unless something's happened."
Wanda watches her hurry to take the phone to her ear and then answer with a simple, 'what's wrong?'
The witch scrunches up her face and rubs her nose. "I can't believe you," she grinds out, "you're an idiot," afterwards. When she hangs up there's a pregnant pause in the room, and she schools her expression to a careful neutrality, "I'll be right back," she simply says, and hurries out of the room.
Distantly, they hear the elevator working, and five minutes later the witch walks again inside the room with Aidan in tow.
"I cannot believe you," she's muttering, and he's walking maybe a little askew, with a busted lip and a bruised cheekbone.
"I didn't saw the tattoos until it was too late!" He whined.
"I'm amazed you're still alive so far in your life, honestly," she then points at the nearest empty chair, "sit."
"Yes ma'am."
Ash then looks at the others on the room, and curls her lips into a practiced smile, "please watch over the idiot who tried to cheat a member of the Yakuza in poker. I'll be right back."
She turns on her heel and storms off, smoke practically coming off her nose.
"Well..." the redhead starts, holding his left side with a hand, "fancy meeting all of you here."
"Japanese organized crime?" Natasha smirks at him, "seriously?"
"Yes, yes, I'm an idiot, I know. Try not to be too happy about it."
"Too late," she mutters, but otherwise says nothing else.
Ash comes back with a small medical kit in her hands and ignores everyone except for the redhead once again.
"Shirt off."
Aidan smirks then, and Pietro feels a wave of dislike rolling over him, "if you wanted to get into my pants you only had to- BITCH!" he screams when the witch presses two fingers to his ribs.
"Shirt. Off."
They stare at each other, coiled, tense, and she digs her fingers a little deeper, making him wince and finally tug at the end of his shirt.
His torso is covered in black and blue.
Ash snorts something that sounds remarkably like 'obviously' and starts to prod and poke at his mottled skin, perhaps a bit too roughly if his constant hisses are any indication.
"Bruised ribs, but not broken," she finishes, "pity."
"So sweet."
"You deserve this and worse."
"As if you're any better, miss lets-swallow-up-a-demon-and-see-what-happens."
She bristles at that.
The witch brings her face close to him and hisses: "don't make me break your nose again."
"You do that, I burn your hair."
Pietro tenses at that but Wanda puts a hand over his arm, stopping him. She can take care of herself, she's telling him with her eyes, let her.
Ash turns around sharply then, as if suddenly remembering they're not alone in the room, eyes wide open. "Sorry," she sighs, "we'll get out of your hair," and then grabs the supplies in her arms again and kicks Aidan's shin until he grabs his discarded shirt and follows her.
"Did you have to come here?" She practically screams in his face after she closes the door to her room.
"I was in New York already, and you're the only one who doesn't owe me money in the area."
"The least likely to murder you in your weakened state, you mean."
She harshly dabs his lip with antiseptic, the frown still in her delicate face.
"So what's the deal with you and the superhero bonding time, anyways?"
"Not wanting to antagonise the people you live with is such an odd concept for you, Aidan?"
He snorts, "there's 'not antagonising', and there's sitting with popcorn in front of a huge tv."
She doesn't say anything, instead she finishes her task and throws the cotton ball into trash, leaving the rest of the supplies back in her bathroom cabinet.
"Guess you staying here tonight," she tries, more civilly this time.
"Yes, that's a good idea," Aidan concedes, running a hand through his messy locks, "I mean, you have a pretty huge bed and all."
"Yes, yes, there are some perks of living with Tony Stark I suppose," she zips off the skirt she'd been wearing and then takes off her shirt, throwing both things at a corner.
She vaguely registers a wispy shadowy tendril grabbing the sparkling shirt and dragging it under her bed.
Aidan kicks off his shoes while Ash unhooks her bra and shrugs it off too.
"I'm serious though," she can hear him continue behind her, "you are being terribly friendly to them."
"Well you can just fuck of-" She doesn't finish her sentence, as he grabs her wrist and forcefully turns her around and really, it's a bit ridiculous, some small part of herself notes, how she's naked except for a pair of white cotton panties and he's got his jeans unzipped and hanging low on his narrow hips, and it's still the further thing away from anything remotely sexual or romantic.
Somehow, it also makes sense; after all they're probably the only people- Malcolm notwithstanding- that can perfectly see all of the ugly truths in each other.
"You're hurting me," she states, emotionless.
"You're getting soft" he spits the word as if it's a curse, as if it's tainted, wrong somehow.
They're at a standstill, neither of them wanting to back off. His grip on her is painful, it'll probably leave bruises, but she refuses to roll over and let him win. They're both forces of nature, a volcano and a perfect storm, constantly clashing, hurting, mocking, pushing each other way past boundaries until the only thing left it's the raw and bloodied, the bubbling violence they harbour; hot rage against cold anger.
It's the only way they know how to be.
Malcolm never encouraged it, never really approved it, but didn't dissuade it either.
They'll stretch and stretch it but don't let it snap, until they're both exhausted and there's no more ire simmering, until they're broken, empty.
And then they return for more, because they need each other to do this.
They're the only ones who'd be able to take it, anyways.
There's a violence inside her, but there's a violence inside him too, and the outlets they have are scarce.
"Why do you care?"
"You sleeping with any of them?"
"I'm not you."
His nostrils flare and he squeezes her wrist even harder until she hisses in pain. He lets her go, then, and finishes taking off his pants while she rubs her abused wrist absently.
After they're both under the covers and staring at the ceiling, it's the witch that says distractedly: "you think it's bad we're so comfortable being cruel to each other?"
"Well, duh," he snorts, "I mean, it's obviously pretty toxic, by regular health standards."
"But we're not regular."
She holds her wrist in front of her eyes and sighs.
"Did I break anything?"
"No," she answers, "just bruised, that's all," and then, "should we try harder at keeping thing civil between us?"
Aidan grimaces at that, "we could try but... I think we'd end up doing this at some point anyways. I mean, we're better, right?"
"The lack of teenage angst helps, I guess. Even if you still have the emotional maturity of a fifteen year old."
He snorts. Her insult lacks the bite from before, so he just curls his lips upwards and whispers, "so mean..."
After a couple of minutes in silence, he starts again:
"So what's the thing under the bed anyways?"
"Ugh. A shadow entity of some sort, not sure, really. It probably gained sentience from my negative thoughts or something."
"You going to keep it?"
"Maybe," she shrugs, "it's some quiet company. Maybe I can train it."
A hiss comes from under the bed.
"Fine, not training then," she chuckles, "whatever, you should at least pay rent or something."
Another hiss.
"You should name it."
"Whatever for?"
"It's easier to call it something else than 'the thing under the bed'."
She purses her lips, considering, "maybe I will."
Heartbeats of silence pass, and the witch sighs, suddenly drained of all her energy. She's going to need to cover the Aidan-shaped-fingerprints on her wrist by the next day before anyone notices.
"Aidan?" She practically mutters, and hates herself for it, because yeah, she might be getting soft after all, if not, she wouldn't ask, "do you think we could've been friends?"
He doesn't look at her, but she's so familiar with his breathing pattern that she knows he's surprised by the question. He doesn't say anything, instead turns around, his back to her, and tries to fall asleep.
Ash sighs again and closes her eyes. Perhaps, she thinks, she can conjure a Nightmare that puts her restless mind at ease, some place that isn't so dark and with infinite labyrinths.
Someplace blue, that third of her that had been quiet before whispers.
The second before she falls asleep, she hears in a mutter filled with something like agony and contempt mixed together in a beautiful cocktail made for disaster, "Don't ask me cruel questions," and then.
The witch's hazy mind conjures half-baked images of her, both too young and too old, and Aidan, tall and gangly as ever, and a myriad of sneers, a ton of blood, hair being pulled and the crack of bones, all endless like a snake biting its own tail and she's always thought, would the thing die first of its own venom or of its gluttonous, devouring nature?
She doesn't say she's sorry. Instead, she says, "Newton's third law," and promptly closes her eyes, pretending, for one night, that her conscience is clean enough to let her rest with dreams of blue.
It's not yet seven in the morning when Wanda wakes up, following the scent of food being made. What she finds in the kitchen it's not what she expects.
"What about this?"
"Too much salt."
"Again? Shit."
Ash is sitting by the counter, eyes scanning the newspaper in an almost bored way, and Aidan is by the stove, doing what it looks like scrambled eggs, occasionally moving from his spot to offer the witch a taste of the food.
"Okay, okay, what about now?"
Ash makes a face, "okay, I know you didn't add more salt, but somehow, it's saltier."
"How," he taps his nose, deep in thought, "does this keep happening?"
"Aidan."
"What?"
"The eggs are burning."
"Shit."
At some point Ash notices Wanda and waves her in with a faint smile.
"Good morning," the witch offers.
"Morning," she replies, taking a seat next to her. She steals a glance at whatever article she's reading- the obituaries. Right. Somehow, she's not surprised.
Aidan finishes throwing the last of the burnt eggs and sighs. Then he turns around and offers Wanda a smile that can only be defined as predatory, and he opens his mouth-
"No," Ash interrupts whatever he's going to say.
"But I-"
"No."
"I was just-"
"No."
"Fine," he folds his arms and eyes Wanda again, an eyebrow raised in curiosity, "you're so fucking territorial you know?" He throws at the witch without looking at her, "learn to share."
"Don't even think about it, because I will tear your heart out of your chest and make you eat it before you can die. I know how to."
Aidan hums in a way that's entirely unsettling and places a hand on the countertop, staring straight at Wanda, licks his lips in a way that's almost sinful and-
There's a dagger deep into the wooden surface, right between his index and ring fingers. And yeah, maybe Ash shouldn't have vandalised the countertop because it is mahogany and Tony will probably freak out if he finds out, but still.
"Fine." Aidan finally concedes, taking his hand away from the blade, "fine, God, you're so fucking territorial." He looks back at Wanda, his expression much more neutral now, and says, almost dejectedly, "Good morning, I guess."
"Good morning?" She offers back, unsure of how to feel about him still, or about the exchange that she hasn't been fully able to grasp yet.
"Yes, morning. That," he turns around then, filling a ceramic mug with freshly made coffee from the pot and placing it in front of her.
"Oh, I-" Wanda eyes the mug warily, but since Ash says nothing of it, she assumes it's nothing dangerous. She trusts her friend, after all, "thank you," she takes a sip of the coffee and- "it is... salty?"
"How?" Aidan rubs his nose- a gesture that has a striking resemblance to Ash, Wanda can't help but notice- and lets a sigh escape his lips. "That's it, I give up. Ash."
"Yes, Aidan?"
"Take over breakfast?"
"Take over breakfast what?"
"Take over breakfast," he grimaces, "please?"
The witch smiles- and it looks entirely feline- before getting up and shooing Aidan away from the spot before the stove. The redhead puts his hands up in mock surrender, but other than that he keeps fluttering around her, trying to see what she's doing.
"Isn't that too much batter?"
"No."
"We're three people."
"Trust me, Aidan."
And maybe Wanda thinks that they're going to clash in the reduced space they're in, moreover taking into account the blatant hostility they were harbouring for each other the night before, but the thing is... they don't. Instead, they move with ease around each other, like it's a well-arranged dance, even if the witch slaps his hands away from the batter a few times.
Not long after, the other residents of the Tower start to tickle in, the first being Tony, his hair sticking in odd angles, dark circles under his eyes. Another sleepless night of sciencing for him, then.
"What smells heavenly?" He wonders out loud, occupying the stool Ash was sitting on before. He takes a glance at the newspaper and puts it aside with a grimace and a comment of 'not liking death so early in the morning'.
After him, enter Clint and Natasha, the archer smiling and pointing at the witch, "told you she was cooking," he cheerfully tells his companion.
Natasha narrows her eyes, but still she procures a ten dollar bill from her pocket and hands it to him.
Not five minutes later, Steve enters the room and greets everyone- except, maybe, Aidan, who he just narrows his eyes at- before taking a seat opposite to Tony.
"So," Tony says after the first few strings of small talk, "didn't know our resident witch cooked."
"Really?" Steve stops making a new pot of coffee to answer the millionaire, "you never tried anything Ash made?"
"What, you all knew?" Tony snorts, and then realises the silence that follows his question, "wait, you're telling me you all knew? Really? And- oh my God," he looks back at Ash, only to find her looking back at him over her shoulder, "you're the reason why sometimes I come in here and it smells like heaven and cinnamon?" She only shrugs in response, as if to say well, yeah, obviously, "I knew I wasn't crazy!" And then, "why haven't I tried anything until now?"
"Uh," Steve starts.
"Well-" Wanda twirls a strand of dark her in her fingers.
"It's not that hard to guess-" Natasha informs.
"Him," Clint jerks his thumb towards a very obviously just-woken-up Pietro in the threshold, his eyes blinking slowly, hair in complete disarray, his focus solely the pan where Ash is flipping over the first pancake, "if you want her cookies, you have to fight him for them- and I just heard how that came out," he grimaces.
Tony snorts, but resumes his I'm-so-offended face an instant later, "I mean, I know you pretty much inhale food around here, Speedy, but really? I pay for everything, give you a loving home, and I don't deserve a single cookie?"
Pietro drags himself across the floor to an empty stool and not for the first time Tony finds himself grateful for buying such a huge counter island, despite Pepper protests that it was disproportionally big to be actually functional.
Hah.
"Not my fault you are slow, Stark," Pietro mutters, voice sleep-ridden.
The conversation lulls to a gentle silence, enough so that the team can hear Aidan say casually, "so, something good on the paper?"
"Yes, I wanted to talk to you about that," Ash replies, while flipping another pancake, "that one guy, the creepy one without eyebrows?"
"Anton?" Aidan's eyes widen, "what, he's dead?"
"Oh. So it wasn't you?" the witch hums, "I mean, he died in a fire and all..."
"Why would I murder someone who owes me money?"
"Right, well, someone did it, probably. Or it was a very poorly timed accident, who knows."
"Ah," Aidan sighs, "That's five grand I'm never seeing again. Don't say 'I told you so'."
"I won't."
"Thanks-"
"But," she interrupts, "if I was going to, I'd say that I did tell you not to lend money to a guy with no eyebrows because chances are-"
"Yes, yes," He pitches his voice higher, "'chances are he's going to end up dead and you won't have your money back, Aidan, don't trust people with no eyebrows, Aidan', yeah, I know."
"Am I," Tony whispers, eyeing the pair, "Am I the only one creeped out by how domestic this scene is?"
"We can hear you, Mr. Stark," Ash replies in an airy voice, while Aidan snorts.
Wanda distracts herself by studying them again; and yes, the sheer domesticness of it all it's more than just a bit odd. Aidan has his hair in a bun and is just wearing a pair of boxers, casually discussing death with Ash, while she's put her hair in a low, messy ponytail, and instead of the dresses and skirts Wanda's used to see her in, she's thrown a shirt that's obviously way too big on her- it keeps falling off her right shoulder, almost reaches her knees- and, judging by the hot pink colour, belongs to the guy next to her.
If before she thought they were oddly comfortable around each other, now she notices they're actually completely in synch; there's another, much meaningful language in the way he puts a plate right where she's flipping a pancake off the pan, in the way she starts to reach for the honey and he's already put it in her hand, in the way he barely takes a step and she's already ducking out of his way.
There's no warmth between them, no affection, but it's not completely cold either. The best she could explain it, it's that it's a lukewarm familiarity, a testament of hours- years, perhaps- spent in each other presence, learning how the other moves, learning to predict what the other will do before they do it.
She's already speaking before she can think it through, "you've... known each other for long, yes?"
Aidan snorts, "that's one way to put it," and when Ash says nothing, his expression sobers, "you didn't tell them?"
"Tell us what?" Clint asks.
"Oh. You really didn't tell them! Thought you were into the whole share and care thing now, but, ah... I take back what I said about you getting soft, since you obviously don't share with them even the headlines of your life-"
"Aidan," she warns.
"-it's not as if it is a big deal or anything, I mean, I've only known you for... ten years?"
"Eleven," she corrects, "and who I tell or not tell about my life is none of your business, Aidan."
"You wound me."
"I hope it's deep."
He smirks then, and turns his back on the witch, looking straight at Wanda and answering her earlier question in a more direct way, "she's my sister."
"I'm not," she hurries before anyone says anything else, and it's obvious to everyone the tense line of her shoulders.
"Well, we're not blood related, thank God," Aidan puts a hand over his heart, "but legally we're-"
"Not since you turned eighteen, and it's virtually impossible to find any proof of that, anyways-"
"Does us growing up together means nothing to you, you cruel excuse for a woman?"
"It means I got to be the first one to break your nose," she mutters, eyes still intent on her task.
"Bitch," he throws back at her.
Her hand itches, then, and she entertains the idle notion of breaking his nose again, maybe putting one of his hands right on top of the flame, and then remembers that they're not alone, that after last night she's not bursting at the seams anymore, and she can feel blue eyes digging in the back of her head, making her want to break something so she doesn't break instead.
"Woah, okay, these?" Tony says around a mouthful he steals from Steve's plate "are incredible. Seriously, this is amazing."
There are perks to living with Tony Stark, she things, now completely defused, and considers smuggling one extra pancake into his plate.
Aidan leaves later that evening. She walks him out of the building, more because she promised she would personally oversee he didn't do anything fishy while the team was gone than because she actually wanted to. He runs a hand throw his hair, and for the first time in a long while, he seems almost vulnerable, Ash notices. Almost.
"Thanks for last night," he says, and for a moment she's not sure if he refers to her treating his wound or... " and..." he flounders, heaving a sigh that leaves her as tired as he looks.
"And... fuck," he cusses, "fuck Ash, I tried, I actually tried, back then, for two whole days," if he can sense her confusion, he ignores it, "and you-" he stops, takes a deep breath, and straightens; "no," he starts once again, "no, I'm so not doing this."
There's something nagging her, some imaginary exclamation point near the back of her brain, but she can't- won't- consider it, not right now, so instead she says, "try not to get yourself killed."
"Try not to get lost in this whole 'being one of the good guys' charade."
She smiles, tiredly, without any fight left, "talk to you later?"
"Sooner than you may want to," he smiles right back, "heard of a job that might interest you."
She nods, "text me the details later," and then, she licks her lips, "Aidan-" but she stops. It's the same impasse again, and when they push...
She thinks of the bruises she's covered with magic. Looks at the odd angles of his nose.
He starts to walk away, but calls over his shoulder, loud enough so that she can hear him above the noise of New York, "Newton's third law!"
It's later, much later, when her eyes feel like falling out of its sockets after reading for an eternity, sitting at her desk, that Aidan's behaviour, his confession of trying, comes back to her.
And it hits her like a ton of bricks, like what that train all those months ago would have done.
"Do you think we could've been friends?"
"Don't ask me cruel questions."
She presses her palms to her eyes then, and swears there's a snake coiling around her heart, trying to bite its own tail, and perhaps kill the witch too in the while.
And yet, 'sorry' still doesn't come to her.
OKAY SO this was supposed to be longer, but then Aidan invaded and it's been so long since I've updated that I managed to finish the chapter at- well it's currently 1.30 am because you guys deserve something at least, sooo...