And here we are, my friends. The end.
you came back as the underdog
part xii
If she doesn't open her eyes, the day won't start. She knows it's possible for her to stop the day from rolling forward. All she has to do is will it. Keep the day locked in place. Perhaps rewind it like a cassette tape back to the wonderful moments of yesterday.
She considers it; mulls it over. It'd take a little twitch of her nose and a simple wish to make today not come.
Bucky's metal arm is a warm weight around her. She knows he's awake; he's been awake for a couple of hours, even if he hasn't been woken by a nightmare. They come less and less in her presence, as if afraid of the big, bad Scarlet Witch. She wonders if they'll think to sneak up on him without her nearby to huff and puff and intimidate them away.
Very slowly, she stretches her leg back to brush her foot against his calf. He chuckles against the back of her head and stretches his fingers for a moment. His Vibranium fingertips tickle her.
"You know," he begins quietly, stretching against her, "I could always call it off. Tell him I'm too busy."
It's still so tempting. All she has to do is take that as her permission to hit the rewind button. Twitch her nose, narrows her eyes…
Wanda chuckles and wraps her hands around his forearm, stretching back into him. He curves around her protectively, metal and flesh. "You can't do that."
"Oh, but I can."
She shakes her head. "He needs you."
"And I need to finish the greenhouse," he says, shrugging against her as if that's enough of a reason to cancel his pending trip. Sam's coming later in the morning to come to collect Bucky. It's a date that she hadn't wished to put on her calendar, so she had hidden all of the calendars in her house with a flick of her wrist. A heart on the number 23 won't be haunting her this time.
"You need to finish a lot of things," she says, nodding. "Like mowing my lawn."
"In my defence, there's a lot of lawn."
"And cleaning my gutters."
"Which you only put more shit in," he chuckles.
"And sweeping my porch. You don't do a good job."
"Ouch." He presses his palm against her belly and wriggles behind her. Resting his chin against the top of her head, he sighs in contentment. "So hurtful."
She smiles and brushes her fingers against the back of his knuckles. Remaining quiet and still for a long moment, she brushes her toes against the back of his ankle clumsily. Despite not wanting to move an inch in fear of the clock ticking forward too quickly, she turns her head and peers over her shoulder at him. "You need to go," she says quietly.
His blue eyes are so bright. He regards her quietly before he sighs softly. He doesn't roll away; Wanda never expects him to. Instead, he remains tucked against her, his arm wrapped around her lightly as if it's the gentlest part of him—and it is to her. His Vibranium arm is the best part of him, the most real and James-like that he's ever been. She thinks it's a piece of him that he shouldn't shield. It makes her sad to think of how he'll cloak it inside of a long, thick sleeve when he leaves with Sam.
"I don't want to," he says quietly. "I like it here."
She smiles kindly. "I know. You tell me a lot." Crinkling her brows, she feigns thoughtfulness and teases, "Like in the shower. At dinner. Washing the dishes…"
"Okay, okay," he chuckles. "I just wanted to remind you. Sometimes you don't listen."
"Huh?"
"Exactly." Tangling his feet with hers, she thinks that he's trying to tie himself into a knot. If he can't untangle himself, then he can't leave. It's simple logic. Perfect, really… if he wasn't so strong and she wasn't capable of everything and anything, it'd work.
Bucky stills behind her. She feels a swirl of anxiety and anticipation curl in his gut. "You could always come," he says quietly.
She smiles sadly, grateful he can't see her face with her back to him. "You know I can't." She's not ready. Though those words haven't slipped past the prison of her teeth and lips, he knows the true reason why. Wanda Maximoff is too afraid of the world beyond her pocket of Sokovia. She's frightened of its people, its heart, the way its muscles move and contract. She can't face it—she can't face seeing the grief-stricken and fearful faces of Westview in every person she passes.
Rolling onto her back, she peers up at him and smiles. "But you will enjoy it for me," she says. "I want many selfies."
He rolls his eyes and makes a disgusted sound. "I hate selfies."
"But I would like pictures of you," she pouts. "Ones with clothes and maybe ones without clothes."
He laughs lightly, his cheeks flushing a nice pink. She feels his skin heat and hers mirrors it. It's better when he feels happy and embarrassed; despite his smiles and the light way he's glided around her house, he's been too melancholic for her tastes.
He needs to go. And Wanda can't forbid him from leaving.
Despite how tempting it is to rewind the tape and keep him trapped in yesterday forever, Wanda lets him go. It's a lesson she's been hoping to unlearn. She had let Pietro go and he had never returned. She had tried to keep Vision and he had taken to his knees and begged to be let go for the greater good. She turns onto her side and buries her face into his metal shoulder, and knows that he'll change the tide and come back to her.
.
.
.
"What a surprise," Bucky drawls, peering down at his phone, "Samuel's late." He slips his phone into the back pocket of his jeans and shrugs at her almost comically. Wanda slips into a summery dress and tugs her hair out from beneath the fabric as she eyes him. He presses his lips together and shifts on his feet before innocently looking around the bedroom.
After lying in bed for another hour, it'd been at Wanda's insistence that he slithers out and ensure his bags were packed and not mysteriously missing. She enjoys how playful Bucky is. Once upon a time, she had thought him to be as stoic and unfunny as a metal machine.
Now, she cocks her brow and plants her hands on her hips as she regards him with a pointed look. Sparing a glance at her, he begins to whistle all too innocently and keeps his gaze from hers.
Wanda chuckles. "Ridiculous."
"What?" he peers at her innocently, brows lifted and lips pursed.
"You think I am stupid," she says, widening her smile.
He shakes his head and furrows his brows tightly. "No, never—"
"You told him to come later, didn't you?" she asks, smiling fondly. Bucky does his best not to blush or look too guilty, but it's as obvious as water being wet what he's orchestrated. It also helps that she has very sharp hearing. When he turns around to pretend to occupy himself with her dresser drawer, opening and closing it without much thought, she knows she's caught him.
Wanda approaches him and claps him on the back. He spins around to face her, his arms hanging by his sides in his long-sleeve blue shirt. It's such a nice colour; it brings the ocean to her doorstep, but she hates that it covers the metal ocean bed that she adores so much.
"You don't have to lie, James," she says, still smiling. She pats his chest, enjoying the firm muscle of his pec. Bucky watches her curiously, expecting a trick of some sort. Wanda feels compelled to give him one—perhaps an electric spark of her magic or a bop against his nose—but she thinks it's kind of her to leave him wanting. "I know I am irresistible."
He smiles widely and chuckles, ducking his head boyishly. His cheeks glow pink. "I didn't want to tell you, you see…"
"Oh," Wanda purses her lips together and feigns seriousness. "I'm absolutely shocked you are weak to my charms."
"Very."
She pats his chest before dropping her hand. She takes his hand in hers and gently tugs him out of her bedroom and to the staircase. Bucky remains obediently behind her, a warm presence in a house that had once felt anything but. It's strange to think that she'll be going back to a time that exists firmly as 'Before Bucky'.
At his insistence, though, it won't be for long. And it won't see her grow too accustomed to being by herself. While she hasn't allowed him to steer any of their conversations to what she intends to do in his absence, he's figured out her plans.
Plod along. Retreat. Talk to the birds and the bees and the weeds. Exist as she had before.
While she's feigned looking forward to having her space again—she'll be able to spread out in bed and listen to the television loudly and eat when she wants to eat—she doesn't particularly like how the energy in the house is beginning to disperse. The bubble's starting to feel a little cooler like the autumn breeze has infiltrated it, but it's the chilliest part of the breeze, the slips of it she hates the most.
She follows him down the stairs and keeps a smile plastered on her face. Bucky, despite being bulky and long-legged and sometimes uncharacteristically clumsy, is a sniper with a too-sharp eye. All it'll take is for him to glance over his shoulder and he'll see right through her picture-perfect facade of a woman who is looking forward to a temporary week or so of peace and quiet.
His footfalls are heavy on the staircase. His bags are piled neatly—at her behest—by the front door. He has more than his lonely duffle now. Wanda had magicked him some expensive airport-like luggage, sleek black metal cases with streaks and swirls of gold to match his arm. He deserves to travel in some style, especially given she's the reason why he has more shirts than the five he chose to bring along to Sokovia.
"God," he scoffs, "I can't believe I'm going to have to start laughing at Sam's dumb jokes again." Bucky turns around suddenly and wraps his arms around her when she walks into him. Purposefully, he tucks her face beneath his arm—thankfully, he smells like her soap. "I never had to do that here."
She snorts.
"You were actually funny, you know," he continues playfully. "I only had to fake a laugh at least once a month."
She growls and huffs, and wraps her arms around his waist to squeeze him tightly. She doesn't try and pull her face from the warmth of his arm. His metal arm's right there, vibrating softly. Selfishly, she wants to feel it again.
"You are so funny," she deadpans in a muffled voice. "You act like you know how to tell jokes, but even your dad ones are very flat."
"I have great dad jokes."
"Bullshit." She smiles and hugs him to her, closing her eyes. Taking advantage of how her face is hidden from him, she allows herself to relax for a mere moment. If he spies her unguarded expression, he's going to push away and unpack his bags, and she can't have that.
"Come on," he nudges the small of her back gently. "Let me make you breakfast one last time so you don't forget me."
Before she can remind him he's hard to forget for a variety of reasons—he's bulky, he's useful, he's very, very annoying—he's picking her up and holding her to his chest, and letting her legs swing like a rag doll as he carries her unceremoniously to the kitchen. Wanda doesn't wrap her legs around him. She wants to remain stubborn and annoying—and she much likes his exasperated laugh.
.
.
.
She ignores the quiet roar of the Quinjet as she allows it to puncture her invisible magical bubble. Sam is a decent pilot, gently lowering it to the front yard in the exact spot she had requested he park. It hums and brings the entire world to light, and makes the hair on her arms uncomfortably stand at attention.
Bucky acts like he doesn't hear it. He insists on opening her cupboards to make sure that everything is in its place—and very loudly declares what he's doing and what's allegedly severely lacking inside of her cupboards. He's washed some of her glasses under the guise that they were too dusty. She's certain if Sam delayed any further, he'd be outside on the ladder clearing out her gutters.
It's nice that he doesn't want to leave. It puts Wanda characteristically on edge. Everyone she's ever cared for has left her without hesitation.
His phone beeps. Wanda sits at the kitchen table and watches his broad back as he pinches his phone from the back pocket of his dark jeans and gazes at the screen. It takes him a moment too long before he sighs quietly. When he turns around, he paints a smile on his face, but it's not bright and bubbly.
"Looks like my driver's here," he says almost too sheepishly for her liking.
Wanda smiles brightly and stands, brushing her hands against her dress. She approaches him. "Then it's best that you don't make him wait." Bucky rolls his eyes. "Do you want him to hold it over your head for a week?"
"God, no."
Taking his metal hand in hers, she squeezes his fingers and playfully scrunches her nose as she peers up at him. "Then we best get going. Your magic carpet awaits."
He furrows his brows. "I thought that was your mode of transport."
"Mine's the old shitty broom in the garage."
"Ah."
He swings their hands like he's eighty years younger and leads them out of the kitchen and through the house. Wanda doesn't allow herself to wilt. She blossoms beneath his smiles and the way he ignores his bags at the door. She blooms as he slips over the threshold of the front door and teases the edge of the real world as Sam descends the staircase of the quietly humming Quinjet.
Bucky stops at the edge of the porch and lifts his hand up in greeting. "You're late."
Sam sputters and glances down at the thick watch on his wrist. The ground is solid and welcoming beneath his black boots. "Excuse me? You told me to be late! I'm actually on time."
"Yeah, yeah," Bucky rolls his eyes and waves his hand dismissively.
Sam's gaze shifts to her tucked neatly against Bucky's side and his smile breaks into something bright and toothy. It instantly warms her. There's no need for her to step out from the shade of the porch; the sun is approaching her in the brilliantly warm body of Sam Wilson.
His footsteps speed up in excitement. "Well, well, well, if it isn't Miss Maximoff. I'm surprised you didn't throw him into the lake to let him drown."
"It was tempting," she says, genuinely smiling at Sam. She squeezes Bucky's hand and loosens her grip, quietly inviting him to take to the stairs to meet his partner. Instead, he disappears behind her to grab his bags and close the front door. "But then I realised I would have to fish him out. Not a very nice ornament to have, you see. He scares all the fish."
"We had that problem in Delacroix," Sam says, mockingly sighing in disappointment. He slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shrugs despondently. "Couldn't catch a damn fish because of his ugly mug."
"Hey!" Bucky begins to descend the porch steps with his bags and points at Sam. "I'm not the ugly one here, Samuel."
"I won Mr Delacroix six years in a row." At Wanda's arched brow, Sam bows his head slightly and sheepishly offers, "It's a beauty contest. Something my sister strongly encouraged after I had very unsoberly suggested it."
Wanda smiles, cocking her brow. "Were all the other men ugly beasts?"
Sam chuckles warmly. "No." He claps his hand against his chest. "I go up against the best of the best unlike ugly metal head here."
"I don't get why we're personally attacking me today," Bucky sighs in mock frustration. Leaving his bags at Sam's feet, he turns to face her, rolling his eyes and shaking his head as he gestures too obviously at Sam. She chuckles; it's nice to see him in a good, teasing mood. He's been in one since she warmed to him.
"How's the family?" Bucky asks as he walks back to the porch to take his other bags.
She listens to Sam's responses. Seeing them together is strange. She's missed out on their budding relationship, their antagonistic partnership blooming into a genuine friendship neither one of them will admit to each other. They fit together like a proper puzzle. Wanda isn't quite sure where she fits, but she's begun to accept that she has a place with Bucky.
Sam laughs and Sokovia bursts with brightness. He fits here. This private bubble she's claimed as her own has space for him.
"The boys miss you," Sam says, grabbing the handles of the bags Bucky's left by his feet. Bucky is noisy as he wheels his bags along the porch and down the steps as if he isn't capable of picking them up without any effort. "Don't know why. Guess I'm just not enough of a clown for them."
Wanda ensures to keep her footfalls as even and slow as possible as she slowly follows him. She doesn't want Bucky to mistake her quick steps as an eagerness to be rid of him. She doesn't want him to misread her sloth-like approach as her not wishing to say goodbye, either.
Sam smiles at her as she leaves the safety of her perch. When she comes to stand beside Bucky, Sam claps his friend on the arm. "Good to see you took care of her."
Wrapping her arms around her chest, she lets Sam fold her into his arms. She rests her head against his chest and keeps her arms wrapped around herself before happily letting him pull away. He feels different—stronger now, confident in a way that makes him bubble with insecurity. She likes the way he sets his shoulders and slaps Bucky on the back.
"You've kept this old man in one piece," Sam says loudly, smiling teasingly at her. Sokovia continues to grow warmer in his company, just like Wanda.
"It was very hard," Wanda says, not hiding her Sokovian accent. Sam's brow arches ever so slightly in amusement at the way her voice deepens and changes from the American accent he's accustomed to. "He kept falling apart like he was made of metal scraps."
"Hey!" Bucky smiles, looking between them with a furrowed brow. He rubs his hand back and forth over the handle of one of his bags. "I'm right here."
"That you are," Sam says, regarding Bucky with a purposefully judgemental arch of his brow.
Staring hard at Sam, Bucky cocks his head to the side a few times, each jerk growing sharper. Wanda chuckles as she watches him mouth 'Piss off'.
Sam smiles before he inhales deeply. Clapping his hands together once, Wanda notes the way he wrings them together and begins to take small steps backwards. "You've got some really nice, uh… flowers. Mind if I check them out?" At the shake of her head, he awkwardly pivots on his foot and wanders over towards her front garden.
Sam glances back at them before he whistles a little too obviously and bows his head, observing her garden like he's always had an interest in weeding and growing.
Wanda doesn't remove her arms from around her chest, squeezing her biceps as she smiles up at Bucky. He glances down for a moment, a small smile on his face. She wishes to see him smile brightly again.
"Don't you dare finish that greenhouse without me."
Wanda smiles wetly. "I wouldn't dream of it."
"Good," he smiles, nodding. "And don't think about letting the weeds grow too wild, okay?"
"I won't," she smiles.
He shifts on the spot and grips the handle of his bag tightly between his fingers. His right arm hangs by his side in uncertainty. "I'm coming back, you know."
Wanda nods and looks down, scuffing her feet against the ground. "I know."
Bucky's quiet for a moment.
"And you'll be able to find me," she says, ducking her head in an effort to catch his gaze. He smiles, shyly lifting his head. "I won't hide from you again."
"I'm glad," he says, letting his lips curve lopsidedly. "It was hard work trying to find you." He scrunches up his nose as he teases, "All those months I let you ogle me kind of made it worth it."
She laughs brightly. "You let me?"
"It was the least I could do." He reaches out to brush the back of his flesh fingers against her cheek. "Glad that you're still laughing."
She tilts her head towards his hand and smiles close-lipped. "I enjoy laughing at you."
Bucky snorts, shaking his head. "Incorrigible," he mutters. He steps into her and the world around her overheats. Wanda easily folds into his chest as his right arm comes around her. He kisses the top of her head.
Bucky doesn't step away from her as Sam, clearing his throat a little too loudly and multiple times, sidles up against his side, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He gives her a toothy smile and sways uncharacteristically uncertain for a moment. It's strange to see Sam Wilson so quiet and controlled. It's not a look she likes on him; she much prefers when he takes flight, when he unfurls his wings and beats wildly against the air to remind the world he's here.
Just as he should. It's about time the world knew Sam Wilson was here.
His presence has always been so intoxicatingly steady and confident. Wanda likes the way it's different to Bucky's quieter disposition.
"You going to let her breathe, man?" Sam tsks under his breath. Bucky rolls his eyes and glares sharply at him, slowly pulling away from her. His hand remains pressed against the small of her back.
Sam's quick; ignoring how Bucky stands beside her almost possessively, he pulls her into another hug. A proper one this time. Wanda wraps her arms around him and clings to the back of his jacket. "Always a place for you, Maximoff," he murmurs warmly against her ear.
Wanda smiles against his shoulder. Lifting her hand, she rubs his back kindly. She wishes to infuse strength and invulnerability along his spine, but she knows that he won't need it. Sam is and has always been so unswayable and stubborn.
She pulls away from Sam, smiling up at him as he grins down at her.
"I'm proud of you," she says, her eyes shining with tears. "You've done a good job."
Sam blushes and ducks his head. "It's the least I could do. I can only hope I'm half the Cap he was."
"Oh," she scrunches up her face and laughs warmly and lightly, "you will be your own Cap, Sam. That's why you have the shield." She brushes her hand against his arm in comfort and smiles widely when Sam shyly peers at her.
He nods his gratitude; she doesn't need his words. All she wants is for him to soar, to be the hero she has always known him to be.
"You know, uh…" Sam licks his lips and regards her quietly for a moment. "The Avengers are still there for you. I am, too."
Wanda nods and clears her throat gently.
"You've got a nice place here, Wanda," Sam continues, throwing a look over his shoulder at her house. "Even if you stay here, try and stay on the map."
"I'll do my best," she says quietly. Sam smiles and nods, seemingly happy with that.
Clearing his throat, Sam looks between them and notes how Bucky's keeping his head down and scuffs his foot against the ground. He throws his thumb over his shoulder. "I'm going to go over there and look at the uh…" Waving his hand, he makes a disgruntled noise. "You know." Awkwardly, he spins on his feet and casually walks back towards the jet, dragging two of Bucky's bags with him.
When Sam's a few steps away from them, Wanda turns to face Bucky. He keeps his head lowered, his toe pressing against the damp earth. The grass clings to him in a bid to keep him here. Wanda knows this bubble wishes to keep him just as she does. She keeps her arms crossed loosely against her chest to prevent herself from tying him to her.
"You have to go," she says with a wet smile.
Bucky inhales deeply through his nose before allowing his shoulders to sag. He nods, glancing up at her. "I really don't want to."
"I'll be here for when you come back."
He smiles lopsidedly as he peers up at her. "Seriously, don't go cloaking this place. It was hard enough the first time to find you."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
He steps into her and gently cups her face. Wanda smiles against his lips, standing on the tips of her toes. Pressing her hands into his shoulders, she wishes to dig her fingers into the sinew of him and anchor him here with roots.
But Bucky doesn't belong here. He doesn't belong caged and hidden away. He's already spent decades locked in a box and hidden in dark corners, only ever allowed out to lose further slips of his humanity.
The world deserves to see him. Wanda knows the world is a lot bigger than her bubble in Sokovia.
Reluctantly, she pulls away from him. Scrunching up her nose once more, she brushes the tip of hers to his and licks her lips. Bucky remains hunched over, growing smaller, tilting towards her. He wishes to be clung to; Wanda refuses to cage him.
"Don't take too long," she says quietly. "I will have to hire a new lawn boy if you are."
He smiles, chuckling softly. The tip of his nose brushes against hers. "You don't make anything easy, do you?"
Wanda smiles. "No one has ever loved me for that."
Bucky hums and nods. "If you need anything, you call." He looks up at her, his brows pinching together seriously. "I mean it. None of this keeping it to yourself bullshit. You call me and we can figure it out together."
It's a promise Wanda will find difficult to keep, but she nods as she brushes her hands against his biceps. "I will. But only if you do the same."
"Of course," he says a little too seriously for her liking. "I told you I wasn't going to let you do anything alone. I mean it."
She nods and wipes the back of her hand against her wet eye. Patting his bicep, she nods at his silent question. She'll be okay. Wanda Maximoff is nothing but resilient in the face of loneliness, and while she knows Bucky isn't choosing to abandon her, he's leaving her to the whims of the shadows that she had come to embrace long before he had chosen to grace her doorstep.
"Go," she says, sniffing. Tilting her head up, she smiles up at him and laughs wetly. "Please, go. I want a souvenir and a postcard from Louisiana."
He smiles. "Anything you want." Turning on his foot, he sways back towards her and kisses the crown of her head. Brushing his fingers against her cheek, Bucky reluctantly allows himself to consider leaving her space. Wanda does her best to keep the energy around her free and encouraging. She doesn't want him unable to move.
When he turns around, Wanda wills him not to look over his shoulder. She's seen this play out one too many times in her favourite movies. He's meant to walk away and look over his shoulder one last time—perhaps run back to her, refuse to leave…
But, of course, Bucky never listens. He's refused to read the script she's given him since the moment he wandered over the threshold of her magical boundary.
Bucky turns around, pressing his index finger to his temple before he gives her a small salute. Wanda crosses her eyes and pokes her tongue out and smiles widely when he laughs warmly. He follows Sam up the staircase and steps inside the belly of the jet. She watches as the staircase climbs inside of it and the door closes.
She could pull them down. Build an invisible barricade that not even their advanced satellite system would be able to detect. She could keep them both here, safe from the world outside that's been trying to break all of them since the moment they entered it.
But Wanda doesn't. She keeps her hands and her magic at bay as the jet rumbles to life.
She watches him fly away.
.
.
.
"Who?" she asks innocently into her cellphone. Sitting on the steps on her back porch, Wanda smiles as she watches the fireflies glitter and flitter above her. The spot beside her is cold, but she can almost imagine him sitting there beside her. It's only been a day, but a day has felt like an eternity to her before.
"Bucky," he sighs exasperatedly. "Barnes. Don't tell me you forgot me already, Maximoff."
She furrows her brows and makes a noise low in her throat. "I don't recall anyone by that name—"
He mutters underneath his breath; she laughs. "It's James," he says begrudgingly. She likes that one word coming from him. It sounds like the right line for this scene. "You know, your live-in gardener and gutter cleaner and weed remover and booty call—"
"Okay, okay," she laughs loudly, holding her hand up even though he won't be able to see her. She smiles warmly as she shifts on the porch and draws her knees up to her chest. "Hello, James."
"Hi, Wanda," he says, chuckling. "You're a pain in the ass."
"But a small one, yes?"
"Hardly."
She smiles. Sokovia's slow to grow dark. Wanda doesn't wish for this day to end. If it does, then that's a chapter closed, and she doesn't particularly want this book to progress any further without him beside her.
"So," he starts, "Wilson and I are all safe. No issues with turbulence, and I did not jump out of the plane without a parachute."
"Good to know you have some self-control."
"Yeah, yeah."
"How's Sarah?"
"Good," he exhales. "I'm actually out the back. Sam works the boys up and it becomes a screaming fest. Gives me a headache."
"But you love it."
He lets out an amused breath. "Yeah, guess I do."
Wanda swaps her phone to her other ear. Curling over her knees, she tries to slink closer to him. It's impossible to with the distance. Even though he feels so near, he's too far away.
"How are you?" he asks.
Luckily for her, she's prepared for this question. "Good," she says with all the pep she can muster. "I finally got rid of my ball and chain—"
"Hey…"
"And I am walking around naked."
"Hey."
"And it is peaceful," she ends with a smile.
"Now I really regret leaving," he mutters.
Wanda smiles and swallows thickly, her true answer growing more demanding as her adrenaline begins to spike. She wants to tell him she misses him. It's hard without him here. It's only been half a day and she has come to dislike how the house is too quiet and Sokovia feels blemished in his absence.
But doing so will only guilt him. He needs to stay where he is. Sam needs him more than she does; missing him doesn't and should never override helping others.
She wishes it did, though.
"I'm waiting eagerly for you to return," she says instead.
It's clear he's smiling on the other end of the phone. She feels warmer; she wants to believe that's him. "Naked, hopefully?"
"Very much clothed. Fifty layers."
"Jeez."
"And a mask so you cannot see my face."
"Not a paper bag?"
"No," she chuckles, "too comical."
"But a mask isn't? What kind of mask is it?"
"The Thor mask."
"I thought I told you to get rid of that ugly thing."
"And that's exactly why I didn't," she laughs. "He's hot."
Bucky makes a disapproving noise on the other end. She can imagine him poking his tongue out in disgust.
He's quiet for a long moment. She hears him shift on the other end, hears a wooden plank creak beneath his feet. He's moving. She wants him to be moving towards her, but he feels just as distant as he had a few moments ago.
"I miss you," he says. "Like a lot. I wanted you to know that."
Wanda licks her lips and stares down at the last porch step.
"When this is over, I'm coming right back. So, you know do—"
"Don't cloak," she says, smiling softly. Her smile doesn't quite make her eyes crinkle. "I won't."
"Good," he says quietly. "Because I'd be devastated. Heartbroken. Ugly tears all around if you did that."
"Will you take a picture?"
He laughs loudly; she swears she can hear its echo all the way in Sokovia. "Wicked witch."
"I could wear the green skin."
Bucky's smiling on the other end. "Wear that for my coming home party."
Even when their conversation becomes utterances of nothing, he insists on keeping her on the line for another two hours to listen to her describe how many fireflies she's concocted to flutter around her, the height of the grass, the shape of the moon. He insists on listening to her close down the house and get ready for bed. And when she's tucked inside, it's her who chooses to end the call.
The one thing she has gotten skilled at is saying goodbye. She's beginning to learn that Bucky's talent is saying hello.
.
.
.
After three days, Wanda nourishes her weeds to grow almost as tall as the underside of her knee.
She sits on the front porch and watches as the grass shakes in the breeze. The blades are so tall they'll engulf her, but she doesn't take to her garage to mow it nor does she spread red across the tips to trim them down to the earth. It's not her task. It's not her job. Her attempts at mowing had been poor in comparison to his.
When Bucky calls her at lunch to check in, she smiles and lies through her teeth about how the house isn't in disrepair. If he knew, he'd insist on Sam letting him return to Sokovia to trim her hedges, mow her lawn, and clear out her gutters.
He's needed for more important things. The Flag Smashers aren't necessarily the biggest threat he and Sam have ever faced, but when he calls her with video, she notes he's sporting a thick bruise on the side of his face.
"It looks good on you," she says from the kitchen table, smiling down at her small phone that contains Bucky Barnes. "It makes you look handsome for once."
"That's nice," he chuckles, "real nice. Calling me ugly when I'm down."
She shrugs. "I call it as I see it, Barnes," she smiles.
He shakes his head incredulously. There's noise in the background as Cass and AJ clamour for the remote. She can hear Sam bark his laughter and try and calm them from almost destroying the coffee table.
The light behind Bucky is bright. It almost drowns him out, setting his blue eyes to being slightly duller than she likes. She wishes she would see all of him—his hands, his metal arm, the way he's sitting or standing. She can't tell if he's seated or leaning against a counter.
"Fill me in," he says, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. He smiles and his eyes crinkle, and she realises he's standing and leaning against something. "What's been happening in the Scarlet News lately?"
"Well," she inhales and puffs out her chest, "I hear Wanda Maximoff is the most eligible bachelorette in Sokovia."
His brows lift. "Oh, that must be a misprint."
She shakes her head. "Hardly. There is a competition for her hand. If you get a rose, you proceed to the next stage."
"Huh." Bucky furrows his brows as he glances around, slightly disappearing from frame. "Mine must be on the way."
She smiles, chuckling. "All of them," she says as he returns to the centre of the frame. "I am sending you the entire box."
"Then I accept," he says, grinning widely at her. "I'll make sure the next time we talk, I have a rose between my teeth."
"Parental guidance, James," she chuckles, ignoring the heat crawling up her neck. "This is not a booty call."
"You don't know how much I'm looking forward to that."
Despite the commotion in the background and the invitation to join the Wilsons' in the living room, Bucky stays where he is until her phone's about to die. It's with reluctance that she allows herself to bid him goodbye. She's the Scarlet Witch, capable of recharging all phones without the need of an electrical socket, but she doesn't wish to keep him from enjoying the normal life she knows he's craved when in her magical pocket of Sokovia.
.
.
.
With Bucky gone, Wanda projects the Scarlet Witch back into her abandoned corner. She peruses the pages of the Darkhold, running her fingers across the ancient pages and feeling the power of centuries' worth of magic thrum beneath her fingertips.
She's not quite sure what she's looking for anymore. The Darkhold is a mystical object filled with information that Wanda has yet to understand. It's a vast historical text that exceeds even her. The Scarlet Witch may be a mythical being, but Wanda is merely a girl.
She wonders if the Scarlet Witch is allowed to miss anyone. And then decides that she is. She is, after all, the creator of realities, the manipulator of dimensions. If she wishes for the mythical being known as the Scarlet Witch to miss someone, then she'll write it into her lore.
Wanda stops paging through the Darkhold in search of text that will see her house filled with laughter and small footfalls belonging to two rowdy boys. She turns to the last page detailing the legend of the Scarlet Witch and creates a new one, and begins to write of how she, too, can be a woman who misses the company of her loved ones.
.
.
.
"You know," Bucky says, "this is the most I've ever called anyone."
She chuckles. "I feel very lucky."
Sitting out in the garden, she's tucked her phone between her ear and her shoulder. Wanda scratches idly at her ankle as grass blades brush against her bare skin. She doesn't tug at the weeds; she pulls the healthy grass out from the ground and piles it in a clump beside her. It's been over a week and she's refused to tend to her garden properly. She knows Bucky would be disappointed. He'd also be able to read between the lines she doesn't want him to see.
As Bucky hasn't insisted on video, she doesn't press for it. It's nice to hear his voice. While Wanda favours his blue eyes and the way they crinkle when he smiles, she doesn't want to miss out on the warmth of his voice. Her liking his voice is her best-kept secret.
She also doesn't want him to see the downward curve of her mouth, either.
With her red hair in a braid resting uncomfortably heavy against her shoulder, Wanda ignores how it begins to fray. When Bucky had been in Sokovia, she had been able to weave her hair into intricate braids that remained perfectly intact despite her fussing in the garden or trailing behind him when he insisted on ensuring nothing was clogging up her gutters. Now, without his watchful eye and his hands insisting on weaving her hair into patterns she thinks he'd thought he'd long since forgotten, she keeps her braids looser and considers them with little care.
"You should be," he says and she can hear the warmth in his voice and picture his bright smile. "I never called Sam this much."
Wanda hums long and loud.
"And I don't talk to him," Bucky continues. "Whenever he wants to, I tell him to talk to the hand."
"Which one?"
"Metal, of course," he chuckles. "He can see his ugly face reflected in it a lot easier."
She hums warmly. "I'm sure he likes it. You're helping him see if he has anything in his teeth, after all. What a good friend you are."
"That's what I said!" Bucky laughs brightly.
Wanda smiles as she peers down at the overgrown grass. Tugging at the blades again, she holds the pathetically limp things in her palm. Her house appears more unkempt than it had been before he'd arrived. She's let the weeds grow within the last week and has produced more clutter in her gutters. A part of her wonders if he can sense that he's needed back here.
A comfortable silence layers between them. When Wanda listens closely, she can hear the sounds of boats, horns in the distance, and chatter nearby. He must be at the docks. She chuckles as she imagines him trying to haul a tugboat to the pier.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks.
"You," she offers willingly. "And your big head."
"That's mean."
She chuckles. "That's what I am."
Wanda's never been to a dock before. She's never fished, not in the way Sam and his friends do. Bucky's sent her a few photos he's taken of Sam on a boat, of Sam frowning at him, of Sam pointing at him and giving him the finger. Each photo had progressed into a worse story that had made Wanda feel as though she was missing out on something she should've been a part of. But that had always been a common feeling in the Avengers' Compound.
"I miss you," she says quietly, holding her breath. She peers down at the grass blades in her hand and frowns. "That's what I'm thinking about."
He's quiet on the other end for a moment that feels too long. "I miss you, too," he says warmly. "But I thought my photos were keeping you warm at night."
She laughs wetly. "Your arm photos have, yes. I've been incredibly entertained."
"I told you they beat nudes."
"Yes, yes," she laughs and sniffs, ignoring a tear wetting her cheek. "I don't know why kids these days think sending naked photos in the mirror is hot."
"Nope. Metal arm photos are it. Very niche kink."
"Incredibly."
"Mine is red magic," he says before he clears his throat. "Though, I wouldn't want you to send me any. I have very poor self-control and if you did that I'd have to come back."
"Don't tempt me."
He chuckles. "I'm glad you're tempted."
"When will you be back?" she asks before she loses her nerve. Wanda clears her throat and sits up straighter, purposefully pulling her shoulders back. She drops the grass blades onto the pile beside her. "Do you know?"
"No," he sighs. "Soon. Sam's a little worried about the lack of Walker."
She furrows her brows. "He hasn't appeared?"
She can easily imagine Bucky shaking his head. "No," he says quietly. "He's been M.I.A. It's strange. A good doer like him would definitely be trying to put these Super Soldiers down. Considering how he felt about me…"
She hums long and low. "He isn't after you."
"No. Wouldn't dare. He knows I'd kick his ass."
"And I would turn him into a pickled herring."
Bucky chuckles. "I haven't revealed that yet. I feel like it'd intimidate him into freakishly good behaviour, and him trying to make friendly conversation with me was more than enough at the time."
"Be careful," she says, biting her bottom lip. Now that she has someone to lose again, Wanda wishes for him to not follow in the ghostly footsteps of her family. She wants that path to become overgrown with weeds and shadows as a deterrence.
"Always," he says. "I got something to live for now. I need to make a scrapbook of my arm photos for you for Christmas."
She laughs. "You ruined the surprise."
"I didn't say which Christmas."
.
.
.
For the last two days, Wanda's approached her cellphone, scrolled to R in her contact list, and quickly turned it off and run to the other side of her house or garden. Although her contact list is somewhat bigger than it'd been before she joined the Avengers, she hovers in that particular section more than she'd like.
She wants to credit her sudden burst of confidence to Bucky, but she knows her sudden desire to call Monica doesn't come from him. While he'd made the phone seem less scary, the distance between her and the real world less terrifying, he'd made her feel too comfortable with his phone calls. Seeing Bucky's name and the blurry picture of his face has made her feel safe to keep herself somewhat open.
Seeing Monica's name makes her wish to run. Monica sees her in the same way Bucky does, but her gaze is sharper. She'd witnessed the atrocities of Westview. She'd experienced them in a way Wanda doesn't think Bucky can understand. She's capable of cruelty, and while Bucky has seen the harsh hand of the world, she knows he thinks of her as something soft while ignoring all of the sharp edges people have cut themselves on.
Standing in her kitchen, she drums her fingers against the countertop. Staring down at her phone, she nods to herself. "Yes," she murmurs and drums her fingers harder. "I'm going to do it."
But when she reaches her hand towards her phone, she snatches it away and spins on the spot. "Fuck."
Resting the small of her back against the countertop, she crosses her arms against her chest and huffs angrily at her empty kitchen. If Bucky was here, he'd sweep into the room and talk her down from huffing and puffing and blowing the place to smithereens. He'd tell her she's capable of anything. He'd make some stupid joke.
But he's not here, and her irritation only grows.
Curling her fingers into her cardigan, Wanda closes her eyes and forces herself to breathe heavily. All she sees is darkness. Her vision clouds in shadows as she feels nothing inside of this void. But then she begins to populate it with tiny red dots before she envisions herself with her flaming red hair standing in her kitchen with her shoulders pulled back confidently. She watches that version of Wanda approach her phone and easily pick it up and slide her fingers over the numbers. She hears her voice—warm and friendly—as she greets Monica, and she listens to Monica's warm greeting as she welcomes the intrusion.
It looks easy, so it has to be.
Wanda turns abruptly on the spot and picks up her phone with a jerk, almost dropping it. Holding it steadily, she moves fast, letting her adrenaline spark her into action. Her fingers crackle with red as she scrolls to R and clicks on her name. And when she hears the dial tone, Wanda doesn't think of hanging up.
With a sharp inhale, she prepares herself for Monica's voicemail. It'd be karmic retribution, considering all the times Wanda sent her to voicemail.
But there's a noise and silence, and then a hint of an exhale.
"Hello," Wanda says hesitantly. "Monica?"
"Wanda!" There's a clash on the other end of the line. Monica's voice sparks warmly like an old friend's. "Hey. I'm glad you called."
"Me too," Wanda smiles hesitantly. She ignores the way her heart pounds in her chest. This cannot be a mistake. History has dictated that Monica is, if anything, the most reliable choice Wanda has ever made. Reliant, safe, a friend. "I'm sorry I never called you back…"
"It's okay," Monica says too generously. "Trust me. I get it. If I can speak freely, dealing with loss is hard and sometimes it's a lot easier to deal with it alone."
Ah. There she is. Monica Rambeau doesn't waste time.
Wanda's throat tightens. She nods, closing her eyes tightly. She wants to say the right thing. She wants to read her script so she can ensure that Monica knows she understands. But instead, she sobs loudly.
"Oh, Wanda," Monica coos gently. "You're going to be okay. I'm here for you to talk to or to cry on. No matter what it is."
Wanda sits on the floor of her kitchen and curls into herself and cries.
When she finally stops, she sniffs a little too loudly and laughs. "Sorry, that was disgusting."
"I've made worse sounds," Monica chuckles warmly. "I'm proud of you, you know."
"Why?"
"Because reaching out is the hardest step."
Wanda wipes at her eye ferociously, smearing tears on her already wet face. Anxiety swirls inside of her like a storm, but she finds it an easy task to cut through it to where it's most stable. The fear she'd felt for an entire year has abandoned her.
"I wanted to ask… Can I ask?"
"Of course," Monica encourages kindly. "Go for it."
"Can I see you?"
Monica laughs warmly. Something flutters kindly in Wanda's gut. The anxious butterflies begin to dissipate, replaced with a burst of hope and pride.
"You can," she says after a long moment. "But on one condition."
Despite the anxious clench of her heart, Wanda nods. "Yes."
"I know you're in Sokovia," she continues. "The new Captain America caught me asking a few questions above my pay grade and told me where you were. I'm happy that you're safe, but… If you want to see me, we do it somewhere else. You need to get out of there, Wanda."
Wanda feels Sokovia pulse around her. The magic responds to her anxious desire to stay put. It's safer here. It's better here.
But Wanda knows she doesn't want to stay here anymore.
Swallowing down her comments about it not being safe if she leaves, she clears her throat. "Okay," she says, nodding. "Can I suggest a place?"
"Name it," Monica says. "Nothing will put me out. Except for space."
Wanda chuckles and tells Monica where she'd like to meet her and when. Staying on the phone for well over two hours, she misses Bucky's call. When she returns it and explains why, he doesn't seem to mind.
.
.
.
With a click of her fingers, her bags are packed. She magics them to the front porch and keeps the weather warm and sunny despite the thundering outside of her Sokovian bubble. Wanda's slow to walk throughout her house and close the windows, locking them and drawing the blinds down. She checks to make sure Billy and Tommy haven't managed to slip through the cracks of where they are to tuck themselves into their neatly made beds.
When the top floor is secured in darkness, Wanda does the same for the downstairs. She ensures her garage is locked and her greenhouse is in the same state in which Bucky had left it. She stalls, walking around her garden, taking in the clean gutters, the mowed grass and the lack of weeds she'd magically plucked from taking deeper roots into the earth.
She should change her mind. She should. This is the closest she's gotten to giving into the faint and dying ember of desire to return to the world from which she's come. While she doesn't want to leave the safety net of Sokovia—it has always taken care of her, even in its crueller moments when it took from her instead—she doesn't quite enjoy the quietness of her house or the routine of nurturing weeds to only go outside and remove them.
When she comes to her front porch, she locks her front door and magically picks up her handful of bags. All sleek airport luggage that would only belong to her in a special travel episode of WandaVision.
As she walks down her steps, her luggage follows. And as she lifts herself up into the air with her magic, her long cardigan keeping her arms warm, her luggage follows her. She locks her bubble of Sokovia securely with her magical key.
She disappears in a burst of red and appears on the other side with all her limbs intact and no regret following her.
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.
.
While Wanda's purposefully circumvented the need for a plane, she appears at the airport in New Orleans and stands on the kerbside. She wants to do this right—or as normal as someone of her capabilities. Hailing down a cab, she easily packs her bags into its trunk and gives the driver the address Sam had texted her all too long ago.
She doesn't bother to text either of them. If she does, she risks chilling her feet and fleeing back to Sokovia. It's better to ride this hot wave of adrenaline instead. The fewer obstacles she puts in her path, the better.
Wanda sits quietly in the passenger seat and makes small talk with the driver. It's easy to make up a story—she's here to see a friend and she doesn't quite know how long she wishes to stay. It's fun being a character that makes no impact. The driver is too nice to her, but he doesn't know he should be rolling out of the moving car and fleeing from her. She selfishly likes that.
When she arrives outside of the Wilson home in Delacroix, she ensures to give the cab driver a generous tip. Once the cab has disappeared, she wiggles her fingers and transforms her handful of bags into a deep red duffle bag that bursts to the brim. Lugging it over her shoulder, she walks the worn dirt path to the front porch of the Wilson home.
She smiles at the toy cars discarded on the steps and in pot plants. The house is lived-in and looks like how her house should've gradually grown to become in Westview over a matter of years, not hours. It's what she wishes her Sokovian childhood home had looked like.
Sensing someone inside the house, Wanda slows her steps as she approaches the porch. Gripping the strap of her duffle bag, she notes a silhouette move from behind the thin white curtains before the doorknob turns noisily.
This is her chance to run. She can turn back with the only disturbance she's caused being the equivalent of a soft breeze. But Wanda grounds her feet and tugs her shoulders back as a woman opens the front door and tentatively steps outside.
Not taking her eyes off of her, the woman closes the front door and eyes her for a long moment, her gaze lingering on her flaming red hair. Wanda ignores her sweating palms and her wildly beating heart and tells herself this wasn't a mistake.
She's not being judged for Westview. This is entirely different. It's like sizing up someone from a story that gets told over and over again at breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
"I was wondering when you'd show up," the woman says. She smiles all too knowingly. "Sam had a bet that you'd come to collect him sometime next week."
Wanda's brow furrows and she tilts her head to the side ever so slightly. "Did you make a wager, too?"
The woman shakes her head. "No. But I should've." She leaves the safety of her front door and descends the porch steps. "Sarah." She holds out her hand. Wanda peers down at it for a moment before she takes it, giving her a gentle squeeze. "Sam's sister."
"Wanda," she says a bit pointlessly. Sarah takes her hand back and stands confidently before her. Wanda wrings her hands together. "Did he say good things?"
Sarah smiles. "Sam did."
Wanda shakes her head and clucks her tongue. "I should've known Mr Barnes would only disparage me."
"He's at the dock," Sarah says with a knowing smile. "While I know you're also here because Sam's told you how great of a conversationalist I am…" Sarah wrinkles her nose playfully. Wanda decides that she likes Sarah very much. It's not surprising, especially from all the stories Sam had shared with her at the Avengers' Compound. "Come on. I'll take you."
Wanda appreciates the lack of questioning about whether she wants to go. If Sarah was to give her an opening, she'd be offering her a chance to turn back on her heels and run all the way back to Sokovia.
When Wanda keeps her duffle bag resting heavily against her shoulder, Sarah regards it with an offended curl to her lip. She clicks her fingers and gestures for her to put it down. "That stays here."
"But—"
"There's no space for a duffle bag on the dock. Come on. You're going to miss out on one of them tripping over if you argue with me."
"That sounds too good to miss out on," Wanda smiles anxiously.
Leaving her bag tucked safely inside the locked house, Wanda awkwardly follows Sarah to a dark coloured truck.
"Sorry," Sarah says, sighing heavily as she gently toes a yellow toy truck off of one of the stones leading to the side of the house. "The boys don't know how to put their toys away."
Wanda smiles. "It's okay. I like it. Reminds me a little of home."
The drive with Sarah is short and comfortable. Wanda rolls the window down and watches as Delacroix passes her in a soft blur. The trees feel different to the ones she had created in Sokovia. More real, more alive. Damaged in a way that makes them seem like they belong here.
"Prepare yourself," Sarah teases. When Wanda regards her with a confused and anxious furrow to her brows, she chuckles. "They've grown even more obnoxious over the last two weeks. Bucky and Sam."
Wanda smiles, letting out a relieved breath. "I'd expect nothing less. But who is responsible?"
"Sam, of course."
Wanda chuckles. "I would've thought Bucky. He's a very bad influence."
Sarah shrugs, not taking her gaze off the road ahead. "He's come back with a smaller chip on his shoulder." Her lopsided smile grows wide and toothy as she adds, "And he seems more spirited than usual. Something about a good influence in Sokovia."
Wanda ducks her head and blushes.
She memorises the turns and landmarks as Sarah pulls into the car park at the dock. The air smells of sea salt and the gentle waves are loud to Wanda's ears. There's a burst of energy bleeding from the dock. So many people congregate here like a school of fish. She wrings her hands together in her lap as she stares out the front window anxiously.
"You good?" Sarah asks after a moment. Wanda ignores the fact that Sarah's been staring at her, sizing her up. She imagines she's comparing the notes she's made of Bucky's descriptions of her to who she is as a person. Wanda hopes she measures up.
Wanda nods. "Yes."
"Don't worry," Sarah says gently. "It can get overwhelming for us old-timers, too. Just smile and nod and feel free to say no."
When Wanda peers at Sarah, she smiles at Sarah's toothy grin. It's strange to think of her as familiar energy considering they just met, but there's something friendly and genuine about her. It's so reminiscent of Sam. Where her brother is loud and almost purposefully obnoxious, Sarah is gentle and confident. Wanda hasn't felt uncomfortable since meeting her.
At her invitation, Wanda slips out of the truck. Sarah immediately lifts her hand and yells a greeting to a woman named Leona. The smaller lady nods and waves to Sarah—and Wanda's surprised to be on the receiving end of a toothy smile and generous fluttering of her fingers.
Staying by her side, Wanda wrings her hands in front of her as she bypasses people who loudly greet Sarah. The dock continues to bleed warm energy. It doesn't feel as chaotic as Westview's.
"They're causing trouble up the end," says a man with the cutest dimples Wanda's ever seen. His dark skin's slick with sweat as he holds a crate of crabs in his hands.
Sarah sighs heavily and shakes her head. "Of course. What else are they going to do with their time?"
"Not fish," he laughs heartily. "Leaves them all for me. But Sammy's getting as crabby as Ben."
Sarah smiles and Wanda finds that she's smiling, too. Clearing her throat, Sarah steps closer to her and bows her head to utter, "He thinks Bucky's name is Benjamin."
"Oh," Wanda glances back at the gentleman before looking back at Sarah. "Does Bucky like it?"
Sarah snorts. "What do you think?"
Although the dock doesn't appear incredibly long, it feels like a journey to get to their destination. Almost every person turns to greet Sarah with warmth, and every time their gaze lands on Wanda, their smiles broaden.
Sarah's pace slows as they near a large boat. It smells of fresh paint as it shines on the water. Wanda can already feel him. Of all the energies on the dock, his is the brightest. His metal arm sings to her. He's tucked inside of the boat—the Paul & Darlene—as Sam appears from inside of the helm. His back's facing them as he curls his hands into tight, aggravated fists by his sides.
"Can you just listen for once!?" he yells, sighing in aggravation. "I get that you're an old man, but turn up your hearing aid, Buck!"
"I wouldn't have to turn it off if you didn't talk shit all the time!" Bucky yells from the other side of the boat, out of view but very audibly present.
Sam clucks his tongue as he shakes his head. Turning around, he rests a hand on the railing of the boat and immediately smiles. "Sarah!"
When Sam's gaze shifts to Wanda and his smile widens so brightly the sun settles between his lips, Sarah presses her fingers to her mouth and shushes him. Sam presses his lips together and nods, appearing a little sheepish. But his embarrassment lasts only a few seconds before his face brightens and he smiles. He gives her the thumbs up and winks.
"Hey Buck!" he yells loudly. "I thought you sanded this railing!"
"I did!" Bucky yells, still hidden behind the boat.
"Then why the hell do I have a splinter in my thumb?"
"I don't know." His voice grows louder as he appears from the side of the boat, sighing heavily from over Sam's shoulder. His shirt's a lovely blue; Wanda knows it's silly to notice. "Maybe because you're a pain in the ass?"
Sam chuckles, bowing his head. "I'm the pain in the ass? Me? The metal bucket's telling me I'm a pain in the ass?"
Bucky licks his lips and shakes his head as he comes to stand beside Sam. He glares down at the railing, opening his mouth for a retort, and then looks up.
He stares at her, eyes wide, lips in a line. His aggravation tempers quickly. The furrow of his brows disappears as his smile widens into something bright.
Resting his hands against the railing, he turns to face her completely as she stands on the dock. "What are you doing here?"
Wanda smiles, feeling shy. Pulling her hands away, she lets her arms hang loosely by her sides. "'How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.'" He chuckles. "I didn't want to say goodbye," she says, shaking her head. "I'm tired of it. So, hello."
Bucky claps the railing gently before skipping around Sam and jumping off the boat to the dock. He stands before her, his arms hanging by his sides in the same manner hers do.
"Hi," he laughs.
Wanda smiles, flushing. "Hi." She furrows her brows playfully and gestures towards the boat. "Did you not do a good job again?"
"Ha!" Sam claps his hands together in validation. "Ha!"
Bucky rolls his eyes. He doesn't glance at Sam. He keeps his gaze on her as he smiles. "Maybe I was distracted by this redhead who refused to send me hand pictures."
She clucks her tongue. "What a horrible woman."
"Witch," he says warmly.
Sam leaps off the boat, rubbing his hands together. While Wanda looks at him, Bucky keeps gazing at her. "Hey," Sam laughs, smacking Bucky hard against his chest, "he's smiling! I didn't think his face could do that!"
Bucky rolls his eyes in mock exasperation.
"Stop it," Sam says. Bucky widens his smile until his eyes are crinkling comically. "It's starting to freak me out. Stop it."
"No," Bucky says, looking down at her. "I have a reason to smile."
"And now I'm going to barf on my own dock."
Wanda chuckles. "Stop smiling," she says, grabbing Bucky's face gently between her fingers. He doesn't listen, of course. Bucky Barnes hardly listens to good sense.
He bows his head and rests his hands on her hips. She should've seen it coming: he kisses her palm and licks her lifelines.
"How long are you here for?" Bucky asks quietly, ignoring Sam who speaks quietly to Sarah.
Wanda inhales quietly and shrugs. "For a while," she says. "I thought I would see where the sea takes me."
Bucky smiles. "I'm glad," he says. "I'm very glad you found me."
She smiles, scrunching up her nose. He tries to mimic her, but his attempt only makes her laugh. "I would always find you, Benjamin."
Bucky groans, rolling his eyes. "Not you, too."
"Come on," Sam says, cocking his head towards the Paul & Darlene. He claps Bucky on the back; Bucky barely responds to him. "Let Captain Sam give you a tour before the old man thinks he can give a better one than me."
Bucky scoffs. "But I can."
Sam turns his back and easily steps onto the boat. Curling his hands around the railing, he twists on the spot and regards Wanda hopefully. "You're staying for dinner, right?"
With a glance at Sarah, Wanda nods. Sarah smiles widely and chuckles. "Finally accepted that invitation, huh?"
Wanda shrugs sheepishly. "I want Sam to cook for me."
Sarah tilts her head back and laughs. "You hear that, Sam? You're the cook tonight."
"Hey, better me than the old man who burns shit."
Despite being set up for a retort, Bucky ignores him. Wanda smiles as Bucky gazes down at her and brushes his hands against her biceps. He bows his head and slopes his mouth firmly against hers. He's a little distracted in the kiss. He searches for her hand and threads their fingers together and smiles once he's captured his fish.
As Bucky pulls away from her, he keeps her hand in his. Encouraging her to spin, he steps closer to her once more and rests his hand against the small of her back. Wanda laughs as he sloppily dances with her towards the Paul & Darlene and laughs even harder at the way Sam rolls his eyes as Bucky spins her away from the boat.
"Sometime today would be preferable," Sam mutters.
"I'm dancing with my girl, Wilson. We got many todays."
"And many tomorrows," Wanda laughs, scrunching up her nose as Bucky dips her once more. "But I'd like to see the boat today."
Bucky makes a show of rolling his eyes. "Only because I missed you."
"And you are a sucker."
"That, too."
He falls into step beside her as she walks to the Paul & Darlene. Bucky wraps his arm around her shoulders and tugs her closer to plant a kiss on the top of her head. He makes it incredibly difficult for her to board the boat without tripping.
notes.
• "How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard" is from Winnie the Pooh.
• Earworms: Serious Love by Anya Marina, Don't Go Home Without Me by Lights, Sway by Bic Runga, Right Back Where We Started From by Maxine Nightingale, and Underdog by BANKS.
• You can find me at finnicks at Tumblr and buries at archive of our own.
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And we've come to the bittersweet end! Yes, there will be a follow-up fic and some fics interspersed within this universe. :) I'm not done with this universe yet.
I wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone who has left comments while I've been writing this fic (and for those of you who will come after I've posted this chapter and the newspaper articles). It's meant so much to me that so many people have enjoyed this fic. I don't have the words to express my gratitude other than thank you.
When I first started brainstorming and writing this, I had planned for it to be three parts. It was meant to be super basic but it obviously grew bigger as I began to break the story down.
This fic was inspired by Bucky's grief/trauma response arc in TFATWS—especially his therapy scene in episode one—and while I feel like he's only truly started to touch the surface of that trauma, I appreciated his emotional maturity in trying to be a better person and his journey in discovering just who Bucky Barnes is. Sam's role in helping him recover from the big hovering question mark over his head was inspiring because he was a healthy influence over him.
I felt that Wanda's journey in WandaVision was only the beginning steps of her unpacking her grief. I may be in the minority, but I enjoyed the ending of WandaVision because it made sense for Wanda's character to be as alone at the end as she was at the start of her journey because the most important people to her were dead. But I didn't like the fact that she seemed so isolated and that isolation was viewed as a punishment and "sinister". (While I know MCU is definitely taking her story further, I don't believe they'll really do a deep dive into the intricacies of her trauma.)
I paired them together as I wanted to see how Bucky could be a positive influence over Wanda, especially after he opened up to Sam. And, well... we got this. c:
This has been a really enjoyable story for me to write. Grief is personal to me, and it's something I've been wanting to explore. I've gotten to explore the uglier sides of unhealthy grief with my other Wanda fics, so I wanted to try and explore it in a healthier and positive light by giving her the opportunity to have support.
And like grief, I didn't deal with all of the trauma that both Bucky and Wanda have experienced as grief is a lifelong journey. There are some elements of their stories (particularly Wanda's, since her story is what inspired underdog) that I deliberately left out to deal with in follow-up fics because grief is something that never quite leaves you.
I'm so very proud of this story—and I'm very grateful others are, too.