A/N: the last time this had been updated was September 1, 2017
wow...
ok. so. it's going to be 2018, and this fic has gone on for long enough. i'm tired, you're likely tired, and to be honest i've moved on from this. i don't want to carry this unfinished fic over into the new year. but i do not want to leave this unfinished and i at least want the ending to be known. all those who have reviewed and have bene following deserve that. Lyra deserves to know as well.
So, the "chapter" below is what had been written as the next update, but i never finished it, so please excuse it's abruptness.
Following, the next "chapter" will be a bullet point list about what had bene planned to be the next few chapters of Touch, it's sequel "Broken" that was to take place between Touch and Age Of Ultron, and it's untitled final installment.
Meisha is told that she has an uncle who is "more like her, in more ways than she thinks." He's a tall, lanky man with hair that' mousy brown and reaching down to his shoulders, pinned back by bobby pins. There's a thin silver chain hanging around his neck. His shoes shiny penny loafers, suits cotton, and gives a boyish smile as he outreaches his hand in introduction. He tells that he still remembers her when she was tiny, a baby. Meisha accepts his hand, and he quickly pulls her in a bear hug. She gets a silent, violent impulse to push away and slash her nails. Meisha keeps still instead.
Her uncle, Spencer, apologizes that he's been away because of work, but that her mother has kept him updated on Meisha's growth.
The teen asks why she hasn't heard from him. Her mother reminds that Spencer is the one who send cards and little trinkets every Christmas and birthday, who got her mother's favorite pearl necklace that she never takes off.
Spencer stands back, awkward and modest, hands behind his back.
Her mother leaves them to get acquainted with one another, gone to tend to the rotisserie chicken cooking.
The teen stares at the man before her. He tells that her mother—his sister—told him over the phone that Meisha has been having particular troubles. And of course, she's skeptical, responding with her eyes squinting, a wrinkle in her nose. In her head, she's convinced herself that she shouldn't trust this man.
Her uncle—Spencer, looks her over; he smiles, and there's something in his eyes that makes her shift in her seat, that makes her slightly more defensive, which makes her uneasy.
His smile is calm and small as he asks, "you have it too?" It's more of a statement than a proper question.
Of course she doesn't know what he means, picking at the cuticles around her fingernails as she asks such.
And in a calming voice, he reveals that for his vacation from work, her mother called him to help her gain control over her powers. Meisha doesn't know why she's very surprised.
She refuses. It isn't her who snaps, loudly and violently.
Her uncle stays calm.
"When you want to talk—talk to me—I'll be here," he entices just as her mother returns to the living room. And he shrugs her off, telling that the trouble was only teenage mood swings. He grins.
The next time the Maximoff twins meet each other, it's quiet. Pietro knows where she's been out to, and turns away an eye at the band around her wrist, a faded X over the back of her hand, and the residue of paint on her cheek. Wanda doesn't give a smart-ass remark about his shenanigans, his misadventures with That Bitch Juliet.
The twins turn a blind eye, neither jibbing or denouncing each other.
In fact, they don't speak of it at all.
That night, Wanda goes to bed happier, her fingertips glowing a faint purple-red and tossing under her covers.
Two weeks later, one of Pietro's friends, Ronny, actual catches some kind of sickness, as he's told - which is surprising that it isn't faked this time. Meisha has gone M.I.A. avoiding both her old and newer friends. Pietro doesn't questions it.
His friends are flakes—but it's not like he's much better.
His sister doesn't want anything to do with him. That much he already knows.
In school, no one wants to deal with him—which he's quite used to. The only person who seems to spend time with him is a girl whom he once swore to never speak to, who was akin to a splinter in his big toe, an irrigation underneath his fingernails, whom he never wanted to interact with. Whom he never thought he would ever interact with. Who he has joked about more times than he can count, making quips that compare her to all things dark and bitter.
And still—
On that Monday afternoon after school, ten minutes late for their study session, Pietro arrives at Rainy Capulet's front door. Scuffed sneaker tapping against the porch concrete, book bag slung over his shoulder, and making sure his face holds a look of boredom and altruism.
Unexpected, her mother answers the door—a tall, light skinned woman with her frizzy hair tied upon a messy bun. Her face splits into a smile thats all too practiced. She invites the teen inside; she tells that her husband is at work, that her daughter informed her that there is to be a guest over. Pietro gives a forced, closed-mouth grin in return.
Mrs. Capulet gives directions to Rainy's room. He holds his tongue before revealing that he's already familiar. The woman leaves to return to the backyard where she tends to a small garden, and Pietro mistaking her directions as an invitation to leave.
As Pietro stands in the middle of the bedroom, he can't help but feel a little awkward. Bag strap digging into his shoulder, he remembers when he was hear last—helping her clean—and the time before, on the night of Rainy getting her curse lifted, and there's a noticeable difference. He can't pinpoint it, but there's something about the rearrangement, the more polaroid pictures hanging on her walls, the lack of noticeable tie-dye clothing in her closet, the growing collection of earrings piling on her dresser—that, and that the occupant is not here—
He picks up on the sound of running water right before it cuts off. Pietro's frozen in place, doing nothing but panic as he looks around frantically, hears Mrs. Capulet return in the house, and he panics.
The bathroom door opens.
"I've finished taking a shower," is her greeting, stepping in the doorway of her bedroom, holding the beige towel around herself.
Pietro freezes. He's panicking.
Her curly hair is wet and olive oil applied after, dripping.
A/N: the ending to this was planned to be Rainy and Pietro have a sort of heart-to-heart, and she offer to help tutoring him in other ways - about helping teach him tactics and tricks to concentrate better and to hopefully, do better in school, and notices how he's always hyperactive and always on the go; she offers to help him "gain control" in whatever best way she can. He takes the offer, trying not to account it too quickly or enthusiastically.