Chapter 12 – Walking Through the Storm

After a day that felt as lengthy as five, Natasha took a long bubble bath and prepared for bed. By the time she was ready to crawl under the covers, Steve was there, already in his pajamas and reading a book. She climbed in on her side and turned out her light – she did not have the energy to read. She curled onto her side facing him and Steve looked down at her, smiling softly. "Tired?"

"So tired," she responded. "Are you sure this day was only 18 hours? It felt so much longer."

"That's because all you did was run around," Steve told her. "You can say no when someone asks you to do something." She had gone on a run and sparred with Sam, colored with Lila, gone on a walk to the treehouse with Cooper, Laura, Nate, and Peter. That was in addition to the time she'd spent speaking with Wanda and Sharon.

She sighed. "This isn't going to last for long," she reminded him. "When we leave here – I don't know when I'll see Clint, Laura, the kids. We don't know."

"No," he said, reaching a hand down to grasp one of hers. "I guess we don't."

"That didn't used to matter," she said, almost in a whisper. "Feelings make things messier."

"And better," Steve added, raising her hand to his lips to kiss it.

"And better," she agreed with a smile. He gave her hand back and she placed it on his thigh. "How much longer are you going to read?"

"Would you like my attention elsewhere?" He asked.

She batted her eyelashes at him playfully but then shook her head. "Only for snuggling. I'm too tired for anything else."

He smiled as he set his book aside and turned out the light. He scooted further under the covers and settled on his right side, pulling her against him and settling into an embrace. "If you tell anyone I asked to snuggle, I will have to kill you."

He laughed. "Your secret is safe with me. Go to sleep, Natasha."

Peter loved to talk, so Sharon was surprised when he was suddenly silent in her presence when she met with him a day later. He had talked to her plenty before – but now that she was officially seeing him as a client, he was mum. Steve had delivered the teen to Sharon's office – a room in her suite that had been converted into a library-type area. She considered walking around the grounds with him as she did with Wanda – but while Wanda was fully capable of a more rambling pace, Peter couldn't seem to accomplish anything slower than a brisk jog. Even if Sharon could keep up the entire time, she didn't think conversation would be concurrently possible.

She finally broke the long silence with a question she hoped was innocuous enough. "How do you like it in Wakanda?"

"Oh, it's great," Peter said. "Really cool. T'Challa is awesome – and he really made us feel welcome. And his science and technology is top-notch. I'm not allowed in the labs by myself, but every week we've been here, he's let me spend at least part of a day with one of his scientists."

Sharon nodded. "You like science?" She asked with a smile, despite knowing this detail already. Peter nodded enthusiastically. "What are you studying right now?"

"Physics," he answered. "But I've also been reading research that's being done here on flexible electronics – the possibilities for real world implications are really awesome." Sharon nodded and waited for more information – but it didn't come. Peter, like most people, was uncomfortable with silence and he did try to fill it – but mostly with banal discussions of scientific theories.

"Peter?" He stopped talking about what he'd read recently about string theory and instead looked at her. "Why do you think Steve and Natasha wanted you to come speak with me?"

He shrugged. "I'm fine," he assured her. "I mean – no offense at all – but I don't think this is worth your time. I'm good. Wanda probably needs your attention way more – and I'm fine."

Sharon bit back a smile and looked at him with empathy. "Peter – you're not a waste of my time – therapy or not. I promise, I am not neglecting Wanda to spent time with you. And usually when someone assures me they're fine three times in less than thirty seconds, it indicates they're not."

His face flushed up to his ears. "What came up there?" She asked softly.

Peter shook his head. "I don't really want to talk about it."

She nodded empathetically. "I know. But can we try?"

He shrugged. "I spend a lot of energy trying not to think about it." She nodded, waiting for him to continue. "And then I feel guilty for not thinking about her."

When several minutes passed and he didn't continue, Sharon commented. "You have nothing to feel guilty about. Everyone copes in different ways. Trying not to think about your aunt doesn't mean you don't love her. She's just attached to emotions that are difficult to handle right now."

"I still feel guilty."

"Why?"

Peter looked pained. "May – she died. And I'm still here – and every time I laugh or smile, or have a good time, I think about the fact that she isn't here – and how can I be happy when she isn't here?"

"She wouldn't have wanted you to be sad all the time, would she?"

"No," Peter admitted. "But I don't know how not to be."

After the session with Sharon, Peter felt raw and lost. He didn't want to talk about these things – and this was why. Pretending to be fine worked quite well for him – until it didn't. He went back to the suite, knowing that the others were still out. It gave him time to get to his bedroom and close the door to the rest of the world. He curled up under the covers and stared at the far wall, his brain too unfocused to think about anything specific. But that didn't stop him from feeling the heavy sadness that had settled into his heart and the pit of his stomach. Somehow, he fell asleep.

Natasha was the first to return to the suite. She was surprised to find Peter in bed in the middle of the day – enough so that she called Sharon.

"Hey, Natasha," she said, picking up the phone on the second ring.

"Hey," the woman answered. She paced her bedroom – door closed – while she spoke. "Can you tell me why Peter is in bed?"

Sharon sighed. "It was a tough session," she answered. "You know that he's in a lot more pain than he lets on. He jokes and smiles and pretends to be fine – until he convinces everyone that he is. It's a good short-term defense mechanism – but a bad way to recover from trauma."

Natasha sighed. She knew Sharon was right. She may not have had a degree in it, but she manipulated, observed, and played with people enough over her lifetime to know quite a bit about psychology. "Anything else you can tell me?"

"You know there's not," Sharon said apologetically. "I wouldn't force him to talk anymore today - he was spent by the time I walked him back." Natasha hung up the phone and went back into the little kitchenette to make herself a cup of tea while she waited for him to wake.

When Peter finally woke, it was dark. His blinds had been pulled – but he could tell that the sun had gone down too. He sat up in bed and flipped on the lamp beside him. He rubbed his eyes and then looked at his watch – he had been sleeping for several hours. It was too much to hope for that he hadn't been discovered. The drawn curtains and the quilt that had been laid over him suggested he'd been found.

If he hid for too long, they would come to find him – and he knew he needed to do things on his terms. He washed his face and tried to straighten his hair. Content that the tears he'd cried that afternoon weren't evident now, he opened his bedroom door and braved the common room. Natasha and Steve sat on opposite ends of one of the sofas, she reading a book written in some Cyrillic alphabet, and he paging through a file that looked particularly official.

Peter walked over to the main table in the room and poured himself a glass of water from the decanter. It was still cold, so he knew he hadn't missed dinner by too much time. He took a long drink and refilled the glass before going back to the living room area and sitting on another sofa.

"You missed dinner," Natasha informed him. "Do you want me to order something for you from the kitchens?" She told him what they'd had – and asked if he wanted that or something else. The kitchen staff was incredibly flexible – and were good natured about having two teenagers and several children who were occasionally picky about food.

Peter shook his head. "I'm not really hungry."

Steve set his file aside and exchanged looks with Natasha. "That's not like you," he observed.

"It happens," Peter responded. "I don't really want to talk about it."

"You don't have to," Natasha assured him. "But you should eat something – you already slept through lunch. What about peanut butter toast?"

Peter nodded. When he'd told T'Challa about the trouble they'd had finding it in Europe, the king had flown in a crate of it from the US – and had thereby purchased the adoration of at least Cooper and Peter. While waiting for the food, Peter sprawled on one of the empty sofas and stared at the ceiling. "Where's Wanda?"

"At the gym with Sam," Steve told him. "She should be back soon. Her interest in training has lessened since the Avengers went defunct."

"You've noticed, have you?" Natasha asked, amused smile as she handed him a mug of tea and sat down with her own. Wanda had never complained about training – even though she started training so quickly after Pietro had died – and while she was still medically considered malnourished. But since the Raft, she had shown absolutely no interest in anything regarding training. She would go for a run when someone asked, but she refused to spar and used her powers intermittently – at best.

Steve was certain she would rebound and start training again – Natasha wasn't so sure. Going into hiding hadn't been a walk in the park, but it given them each a part to play in a life that was almost normal. Wanda had, despite her objections, enjoyed school. She had made friends and latched on to music and literature. Natasha was almost positive that if Wanda could hang up her avenging and have whatever amounted to a normal life, she would.

A server brought Peter's dinner and the teen obediently ate the peanut butter toast, picking also at the fruit Natasha had ordered. When he finished, he placed his empty plate on the table and sat back down on the sofa. Steve and Natasha both eventually looked up to see he was staring.

Natasha set her book aside again. "Peter?" She asked. She leaned forward to catch his gaze and he shook his head, moving from staring to looking confused. Steve focused his attention on the boy as well.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck as he thought about his words. His eyes were red around the edges; he was fighting tears. Finally, she spoke. "I don't want to talk to Sharon again. I mean," he said, his expression immediately contrite, "it's nothing against her – she's really nice. But I don't want to do it again. I can't talk about that stuff and be okay at the same time."

Both Steve and Natasha understood his words – both knew the pain of trying to go on when your heart – or your soul – was left in shredded pieces. But they also knew how much harder waiting made everything.

"Peter," Natasha said softly. "That's the point. If you can't talk about what happened without falling apart – you're not okay. No matter how much you pretend to be."

"Pretending works," he said, begging them to agree with him and let it go.

"Not forever," Steve answered. "Eventually, it makes things worse. When I came out of the ice, I didn't talk to anyone very much. I worked for SHIELD, ruined several punching bags every night, and went to bed to get up and do the same thing the next morning. I didn't feel like me again until I started expressing the grief I was feeling – I had lost all of my friends – I'd lost my chance at growing old with the woman I loved. It was a lot to keep bottled up inside. And it wasn't doing me any good in there."

"I can't do it," Peter said, looking so small and afraid. "I—" his voice broke. "I can't think about May. It was my fault she died – if I just went with them – if she didn't try to protect me – "

"She did exactly what she wanted to do," Natasha told him. "She loved you – and she protected you so that you could go on to have a good life. Do you think she would want you beating yourself up over something that is not your fault?"

Peter shook his head, but his eyes were downcast, his head in his hands. Tears streamed as he attempted to roughly rub them away with trembling fingers. "This is stupid," he said angrily. "I'm not talking about it anymore." He ran into his bedroom and slammed the door closed before angrily throwing himself on the bed.

Natasha looked at Steve, who shared her expression of concern. She picked up her phone and called Sharon, explaining what had happened. The blonde was in their suite within minutes. She left the bag she carried on the table and walked to his door, knocking. "Peter, it's Sharon. Can I come in?"

There was a mumbled response that she was certain was not a positive, but she took it as one anyway. She walked into the room and shut the door behind her. She dragged the desk chair over and perched on it, leaning toward Peter, who had his face hidden in the pillows on his bed.

"Hey," she said calmly. "I thought you were okay when we finished talking. Otherwise I wouldn't have left."

By the time Sharon left two hours later, Peter was calmer – but he still insisted that he was done talking about himself and Aunt May. They all avoided speaking about it for the rest of the week – and although he was quieter than usual, he slowly returned to his normal nature. At least, that was what he projected to the world. Inside, he was kind of sure he was dying.

The chest pains started the day after his meeting with Sharon – and at first, he thought he had just overdone it; he had done more training than usual, trying to keep his mind busy. But within the next few days, he realized that it wasn't going away. Day, night, alone or with others – none of it mattered. Out of nowhere, he felt like his chest was restricting and his ability to breathe was in real danger.

He was able to keep it quiet for several days. It happened in one of the science labs and he was able to calm himself down and begin his trek to their suite. When the pain hit his chest again, Peter stumbled toward the suite. He wanted to get to his room and lay down – he didn't need anyone seeing that he was in distress. Luck was not on his side – he ran into Natasha and Laura just before he reached his destination. Both women looked worried. Laura reached over and put the back of her hand to his forehead. "You don't look good," she told him.

"I'm fine," Peter croaked.

Natasha narrowed her eyes at him. "What's going on?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"I'm going to find the kids – let me know if you need anything," Laura said, patting Natasha on the arm before leaving them alone. The redhead took Peter's arm and walked him back to the suite.

"You're sweating and you're not a normal color," Natasha told him. "So I know you're not fine. What hurts?"

"My chest," Peter admitted finally, the heel of his hand pressing against his heart as he sank down on the sofa in a supine position. He pulled a throw pillow over his face. Natasha observed that his breathing was heavy and decided not to chance anything. She called T'Challa, who appeared within minutes with his personal doctor in tow.

"Thank you for coming," Natasha said in Wakandan – it was one of quite a few phrases she'd picked up in her weeks there.

Peter lifted the pillow and looked up before groaning. "I'm fine," he said irritably.

"I'd appreciate that assessment a lot more coming from a doctor," Natasha informed him.

"I promise, I don't bite," the doctor said in perfect English. Peter groaned, but he obediently followed the doctor into his room and answered the questions that were asked. When he finished with a cursory exam, he walked with Peter back into the living area – where Steve was now waiting with Natasha.

Steve shook the man's hand and introduced himself. The doctor invited them to sit and took one of the chairs himself. Peter sat on the sofa between his guardians, slumped miserably with his arms crossed. "The symptoms Peter is exhibiting point to anxiety or panic attacks," the doctor explained. "It sounds as though several have been severe enough to cause trouble breathing – that is a situation where I would suggest medication – at least until they are under control."

Peter remained stoic and did not respond. "What do you recommend?" Natasha asked.

"Alprazolam is usually what I try first with patients who suffer from panic attacks," the doctor responded.

"What are the side effects?" Steve asked, his expression grim. He had tried drugs for PTSD when he'd first come out of the ice – he was not fond of those memories.

The doctor nodded. "It depends on the person. Some have no side effects. Others suffer from digestive issues – loss of appetite – others from an increase in appetite or fatigue. Shakiness and forgetfulness are also common."

"Can I think about it?" Peter asked. "Maybe it will go away on its own?"

"Of course," the doctor answered. "There are also natural remedies you can try – chamomile tea, meditation, valerian. Think about it – if you want to try the medication, call my office – I will have them sent up. If you have any other problems, call me."

Peter nodded.

"Ice," the doctor said as he stood to go. They all looked at him in oddly.

"Ice helps the panic attacks to end sooner," he told them. "Or very cold water – if ice is unavailable."

"Thank you," Steve said, standing to walk the doctor to the door. He shook his hand and let him out, closing the door behind him. When he turned back, his eyes met Peter's – and the younger man bent over at the waist, hiding his tears in his arms. Natasha closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She reached out carefully and rubbed his heaving back, saying nothing. Steve sat back down next to Peter – and they were all quiet, save for Peter's almost silent sobs.

After two more days of suffering from panic attacks, Peter sought out his guardians. It was late – and they were in bed – reading. Natasha looked up first, her eyes clearly concerned as she took in his chalky complexion. She set her book aside and Steve did the same.

"Everything okay?" Natasha finally asked, after it was clear that Peter wasn't going to be the first to speak. The young boy shook his head, his expression crumpling. Steve stood and hugged him, letting him cry. Within a few minutes, Peter was sitting between the two of them, his tears drying.

"I think I have to try something," he said finally. "I don't want to – but I don't know what else to do."

"You can try what the doctor suggested – and if the side effects are too much, we try something else," Natasha assured him. They spent a good bit of the rest of the night assuring him that he was going to be fine – and that asking for help was the best thing he could possibly do.

Peter was sick to his stomach when he took the first anti-anxiety drug the next morning, but he swallowed it quickly and moved on with his day – trying his best to put a brave, cheerful face forward.

Wanda sat in the garden, using her powers to bring lilies to the surface. It wasn't quite time for them, but she needed to see something beautiful – and she had felt them approaching the surface as she'd been roaming the garden that morning. She heard a small gasp behind her and whirled around to find Cassie and Lila watching, enamored. Wanda snatched her bracelets up from the cold earth and slipped them back onto her wrists, the usual feeling of stifling heaviness settling over her.

Lila plopped down next to her, ignoring all pretexts at personal space, and reached for one of the flowers. "So pretty," she told Wanda. "Can you do another one?"

"No," Wanda responded. "No, I should not have done that one. Nature would have brought her up in time."

"Please?" Cassie asked, sitting next to Lila and staring at the flower. "Just one more?" Wanda knew she shouldn't – she was afraid to use her magic on her own – let alone with two small children nearby. But it wasn't difficult magic. She pressed her lips together and nodded after both girls turned large, pleading eyes on her. She raised three more flowers from the ground, creating a small gathering.

"What do we have here?" A familiar voice asked, teasing. Wanda jumped, eyes wide in alarm as she saw Laura and Natasha walking up the path. She slid her bracelets back on. Standing, she brushed the earth from her skirt.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I shouldn't have – I was only – "

"Mommy, look how pretty," Lila said, not realizing that Wanda was horrified at having been caught practicing magic near the children. Laura bent down and brushed her finger tips along one of the petals.

"They're perfect," she agreed. "Thank you for sharing them, Wanda," she said, standing to look the young woman directly in the eye. Her expression was soft, her voice empathetic. The Bartons were not afraid of Wanda – and they understood that she needed to know that there were people who weren't. She cupped Wanda's jaw gently, lifting her eyes. "The flowers are beautiful. You made the girls' day – thank you."

She took Lila's hand and then Cassie's. "Come on, girls. Let's go see what we're having for supper." As they moved away, Natasha stepped off the path to stand next to Wanda, taking one hand in both of her own.

Natasha had seen the joy in her, watching the girls' pleasure over the flowers. And she'd seen it dashed when fear had overtaken her. She carefully began slipping a bracelet from Wanda's hand. The younger woman clenched her fist, stopping her.

"It is not safe."

"It is," Natasha argued. But she left the bracelets alone. She paused and sat on the ground, drawing Wanda down with her. "When you decided to leave the complex with Clint, why did you do it?" Wanda looked off toward the jungle, saying nothing. "Wanda, what did you tell Vision?"

Wanda blinked back tears. "I can only control my own fear."

"How's that going?" Natasha asked softly.

Wanda shook her head, tears breaking to the surface and spilling onto her cheeks. Natasha carefully removed the young woman's bracelets and let them fall to the ground. Wanda didn't argue – she was too busy falling into the spy's lap, sobbing. Natasha held her and didn't move as large vines began winding up from the ground, encasing them in a little shelter of sorts.

The crying only stopped when she fell asleep, exhausted from the emotions and the magic. Natasha studied the vines – beautiful, thick vines with wide, vibrant red flowers. They arched above them and met, climbing back down to the ground on the opposite side. It created a little cave. Natasha sat back and tried to relax. She could get out of it if she really wanted to – but disturbing Wanda wasn't worth it.

A little while later, the young woman woke startled, tears starting immediately and a panicked expression taking over her face. "It's okay," Natasha assured her. "Relax. It's okay. I'm fine – you're fine."

"What did I do?"

"Nothing that can't be fixed," Natasha told her. "Calm down, milachka." Wanda trembled but followed directions from Natasha, breathing deeply. She tried several times to reach for her bracelets but Natasha kept them away, wanting her to see that she was not a threat without them. They were a tool to make things easier, not a way to control her. After she was calm, Wanda was able to make the vines recede into the ground. She collapsed again in exhaustion.

Natasha pulled her cellphone out of her pocket and sent a text. Within minutes, Steve lifted a completely drained Wanda into his arms and carried her through the back hallways and up the stairs to her bedroom. "We're both covered in dirt," Natasha reminded him, so he lay her on a padded bench in her bathroom instead of placing her on the pristine bed. The maid who had been assigned to their suite beat Natasha to it and brought a set of clean pajamas for both women. Natasha thanked her and told Steve to wait in the bedroom before she closed the door. The maid offered to help but Natasha politely refused and closed herself in the bathroom with Wanda.

Wanda didn't help much in the process of showering, but she also didn't fight, so they were both clean, dry, and redressed within half an hour. Steve was still on hand and carried Wanda to her bed and the maid brought in a tray of fragrant tea.

"Is Wanda okay?" Peter asked later that day, trying to look beyond Natasha and into the room.

"She will be," Natasha responded, reaching over to smooth back a piece of his hair that continually wanted to stand up straight. "She isn't up for visitors right now – but soon. Go play until then."

"I don't play," Peter said, red rising to his ears. Natasha smirked.

"Okay, go solve differential equations then – just do it elsewhere until dinner time. Maybe see if Cooper's free." Peter didn't want to be seen as someone young enough to play, but Natasha saw a marked difference in him since he'd been around other kids – he was a kid – and he needed to be free of the worries and anxieties that plagued the rest of them. Especially now that he was suffering from anxiety attacks.

"I don't play," Peter repeated. Natasha smiled again.

"I know, Pete. Just go have a little bit of fun for the rest of us, okay?" He smiled, nodded, and dashed off.

The next week was quiet – most of their friends gave them space. Wanda and Peter both settled down a bit, but were quieter than usual. Wanda had been avoiding alone time with the little girls, so Natasha was filling in for her one day. She spent the morning with the two girls – and after Cassie was left with her dad, Lila tugged on her Aunts pant leg. Natasha looked down at her and saw that she had something on her young mind.

"What's up, kiddo?"

"Daddy said the world is more dangerous for girls. Why?"

Natasha studied Lila. "Why don't you ask your dad?"

"I did. He told me I'd understand when I was older. But if it's more dangerous for me, shouldn't I understand now?" Natasha raised an eyebrow; the kid was too smart for her own good.

The trained assassin and spy sighed. She knew that somehow, she was going to get herself into trouble with this conversation. She sat down on the stairs and Lila sat next to her, looking up at her with big, blue eyes that she'd gotten from Clint. "Some people in the world think that men are better and stronger than women, so they don't treat them nicely. And that makes it more dangerous. In America, you and your mom, me, Wanda, we can all go out and do what we want as long as we don't break any laws. We can go to school, we can work, we can play and learn. In other parts of the world, girls aren't allowed to leave their houses without men. Imagine, if your mom couldn't go out to the grocery store without your dad."

Lila crinkled her nose. "That's silly."

Natasha nodded. "It is. And a large part of the world has figured that out – and has started to do better."

"So someday it will be safe to be a woman anywhere?"

"I hope so," Natasha said.

"Me too." She leaned her head on Natasha and was silent for several seconds. Then she sat up and looked her in the eye again. "What does raped mean?" She squeaked in surprise when the older woman's eyes went wide and she was scooped forcefully into her lap. Natasha's eyes met Lila's and were as serious as the child had ever seen them.

"Where did you hear that word?" She asked.

"Daddy told Mommy it happened to Wanda and they both cried. I was supposed to be sleeping," she admitted in a whisper. Natasha said nothing and hugged her, keeping her close for several minutes.

"It's a very bad thing," she finally said, her voice rough and thick. "Used to hurt someone."

"Is Wanda hurt?"

"She was," Natasha admitted with a sad expression. "But she's getting better."

"Is that why she's so sad?"

"One of the reasons."

"Is that why Uncle Tony is so mad at her?"

"No," she responded quickly. "No – what happened to her was not Wanda's fault. Not at all. Tony is just angry because he's confused. We'll fix it soon." She kissed Lila's forehead and then pulled away to look her in the eye again. "Do me a favor, sweet pea. This is something very private, okay? We don't talk about it unless Wanda starts the conversation. We don't talk to other people about it at all – okay?" Lila nodded. "If you have questions, you can ask me, or your mom or dad – but no one else. Do you understand?" The little girl was solemn and she agreed. Natasha spoke to her quietly for another minute or two and then sent her to find her parents. Once she was gone, Natasha walked up the stairs to the next floor, where another child – older but still vulnerable – sat silently on the staircase.

"What did you hear?" Natasha asked.

"She knows," Wanda said softly, her blue-green eyes staring at nothing.

"She doesn't understand."

"I hope she never does. But she will. Too soon."

"That's usually the case," Natasha agreed sadly. She sat next to Wanda and they were silent for a long time.

Eventually, Wanda removed her bracelets and placed them in her lap. Scarlet swirls of magic surrounded them in a gentle bubble. From the change in her senses, Natasha realized it was sound proof. It gave the younger woman the courage to speak. "At first, I didn't think anything like that would happen," she said slowly. "The soldiers were so excited to have Avengers. They taunted everyone – Clint the most – calling him an old man and saying that he should have stayed in retirement." She licked her lips and then swallowed before letting out a deep breath. "They threw those prison uniforms to the others, but three of them came into my cell. I tried to fight but they had already drugged me – it took too much energy. I let them take my clothing. I should have fought harder. They put the straight jacket and electric collar on me – and shocked me twice, just to see what would happen. I didn't scream – but I lost control of – "

She gestured to the area below her skirt and Natasha nodded slightly, her lips pinched into an angry line. "They were disgusted and started calling me names. Sam, Scott, and Clint – they could hear them. They yelled at them – told them to leave me alone. But it wasn't enough. They used a hose to clean me – and then the one in charge started fondling what was not covered. I tried not to move – I didn't want them to enjoy it. It lasted for so long – I thought it would never stop. Sam and Clint and even Scott – yelled the whole time – Clint broke his hand pounding on his cell wall. But still they didn't stop. All three of them raped me – in every way I ever feared." She stared off into the distance, her hands shaking dangerously along with her voice.

"I never chose – " She took a deep breath and swallowed. "Von Strucker did it too. Not as violent, but just as unwanted. Before that – I was a child." Her eyes filled with tears and she looked so distraught, it sent pangs of pain through Natasha. "I have had far too much sex for someone who has never chosen to do so."

"There is a big difference between having sex – and what happened to you," Natasha told her softly, reaching over to gently but firmly clutch her hand.

Wanda shook her head. "The last soldier who took me – he said I was so disgusting – and I knew he was right. I can't stop feeling that he was right. When I think about it too much – " Her voice broke and she stopped, her breathing heavy as she hunched over her knees.

Natasha shifted and squatted down in front of her, forcing their eyes to meet. "You are not disgusting. You are beautiful, intelligent, and so strong. What happened – in the raft and in the lab – that is the fault of the men who attacked you." she told Wanda. "You didn't deserve any of it. You didn't ask for it." She took the woman's hands, trying to gain her wandering gaze. When she did, she spoke again. "No matter what they did, you are stronger than they are."

"It didn't feel that way," Wanda said shakily. "They did what they wanted – and I could do nothing. I can still see them when I close my eyes."

"And where are they now?" Natasha asked.

"Dead," Wanda said stonily.

"And you are very much alive. And so strong. And eventually, those men's legacy will be nothing but dust. And you – you will have made a difference in this world, just by being you. They tried, but they did not break you, milachka." Natasha sat back down next to Wanda and drew the younger woman into her arms.

I apologize for the major delay. I am still working on this story - I have just hit a few road blocks. If you are still reading, please do drop a line and let me know what you think. Thanks so much!