It was dark. The deep indigo of the sky still burns behind Wanda's eyes when she blinks now. Her stolen quinjet landed with a rumbling growl against the stone, and she flung the door open with far more power than she needed. Eyes blood red, she leaps forward, flying to the edge of the endless cliff.
"Wanda Maximoff, daughter of Viktor Maximoff. I know what you seek."
She spun, erupting the rocks around her into the air, hovering in her control. Red Skull floated before her, ghostly presence rippling at the bottom.
"You cannot stop me," her voice steady.
"The price is the same for everyone, a soul for the stone. Then I will be free again. If you so wish to pay the true price. For what you wish is not possible."
"Is that right?" She rose, and the rocks followed suit, rising higher behind her. She grinned, wicked and collected, and flexed her fingers. Red Skull was ripped forward, until his form was on his knees before her. "I know you keep their bodies Take me to them. Now. I will not ask again."
She relinquished her magic over him, let the rocks go, too, thundering around them, dust flying everywhere.
"Right this way, Daughter of Viktor," Red Skull rumbled when the dust cleared, and lead the way, her flying behind, eyes still crimson.
The stairs were carved into the side of the great cliff, winding their way down, down, down. Behind her eyes, she still pictures the rush of air, curls blazing out behind her. Neither of them walked; Red Skull ghosted over the pathway, Wanda neglected it entirely, flying next to him, over the air. She blinked. Indigo stung.
It was a long way down.
"I make graves for all of those who have been traded," Red Skull told her at the bottom, and gestured over the short row of headstones. They rattled in her presence, red building in size in her palms as she landed in front of the newest two.
"She was not traded," she spat, "She sacrificed herself. Her life for the lives of billions on her home and beyond. And Gamora? Slaughtered by her own father. No chance to aid in the war."
"It is not my place to be judge or juror."
The ground shook. Sweat begun to bead on her forehead. She pushed more. The ground roared.
"You said what I seek is impossible, no? You cannot stop me. I am not like those who have come before me. Thanos wielded the stones, yes, but I do not need the them to harness their power." With one hand, she waved Red Skull aside and sent him slamming into the rock. "I was reborn from them."
With a yell, she ripped the ground she sought from Vormir, and shot through the air with it behind her, in the quintet within moments, allowing to rest on the floor.
"Hold on, my love," she whispered, setting the coordinates for Earth and gripping the wheel, "We're going home."
The sky is bleeding indigo as the sun sinks behind the horizon. Her knuckles are white as she clutches her tea cup, staring out the window.
Hands cover her eyes and she shrieks.
The tea cup shatters on the ground.
"Hey, hey, darlin, it's just me," Natasha coos softly, letting her go and spinning her around.
"Oh, my," she manages, heart hammering against her ribs, "You startled me."
"You looked ten thousand miles away, Wanda, what on Earth were you thinking about?" Natasha cups her hands in her own, kisses her fingertips chastely. Her heart rate slows at the gesture.
"Nothing, my love, just, you know, watching the sunset..."
"It's almost as beautiful as you." An artificial 'awwww'. Then Natasha takes a step back and the China tea cup pieces crunch. "Look at this mess!"
"Like I said, dear, you startled me!" It's almost too easy to slip into banter.
"Well someone's going to have to clean it up, and I don't think it's going to be the one wearing the pants."
"Natasha, didn't you take those from my closet?"
Natasha laughs. "Who knows at this point! I'll get the broom if you clean up the tea."
"No worries, dear." She snaps her fingers and the China tea cup rattled back into one piece. She puts it in the sink. "I think you can get the paper towels. I'll check on the twins."
Natasha beams at her, eyes soft and far too trusting, and agrees.
Wanda wanders over to the other window the cribs rest under. Natasha's red hair reflects back in the glare. Their sons are asleep, and she places a hand on each crib, moves them gently, old Sokovian song whispering out. She stares beyond the window, where indigo has turned to black.
She still sees the color behind her eyes.
