A/N: Italicized text can represent several things (dialogue in another language, inner thoughts, flashbacks, etc.) please be aware of this and the context to better understand what is happening!
Someone sat a mug down in front of her. Odette looked up from the table, her hands interlaced together and propping her head up. Clint's face was impassive as he gave her a nod and walked around her to sit next to her.
Steve and Natasha were combing every frame of security footage from the clinic, the hallway, and the grounds. Once Odette had separated the crowd by the door, the other half of the crowd had broken into the clinic, dragged Brooke kicking and screaming out of the closet, and broke the windows. They tossed her outside where a second mob had been waiting. They took her to the far side of the campus, past the agents headquarters and offices, through the trees, and beyond the safety of the fence.
Brooke was gone.
It was her fault.
Odette felt sick to her stomach. "Can you please mute that?" She asked, her throat raw from screaming and crying. She couldn't handle hearing Brooke's screams for help any longer.
"We might miss something." Steve's reply was sharp. A dagger in her already pained chest.
"Steve," Natasha tried to gently get his attention.
"We need to know where they took her." Steve cut her off.
"Cap, Brooke's a tough kid, she'll be fine." Clint reminded him.
"Someone should have been with her." Steve said, keeping his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
Odette slowly closed her eyes and turned back to look down at the table. Clint reached out and squeezed her knee comfortingly. "Me. It should have been me." She knew this. They knew this. She'd left Brooke to aid her friends. Her friends, who were more than capable in dealing with a few rowdy citizens and a cybernetically enhanced assassin. This was a planned attack. But why? And who? Odette pressed her fingertips to her temple, as if she could squeeze the answer out of her head.
Her head was still throbbing, it had been nonstop since she'd been trapped on the floor. "I need an ice pack." She said suddenly, standing up and leaving the meeting room. No one said anything as she walked out. Odette moved around the kitchen automatically, grabbing a plastic bag, and some paper towels. She grabbed a cup from the cabinet and filled it with ice from the freezer. She dumped the ice into the bag, sealed it off, and wrapped the bag with the paper towel.
Instead of laying it on her throbbing head, Odette pressed her head to the cool metal surface of the fridge and exhaled until there was nothing left.
"Doing okay, Doc?" Clint asked. Odette hummed, letting him know she'd heard him. "The kid's tough. She'll be fine. You know Steve's just worried. We all are—,"
"Clint." Odette stood back up straight. She turned around to watch him peel an orange. "I know. But it's my fault she's gone."
"It's not your fault." Clint said, "Trust me." He shook his head, clearly more on his mind than just their missing Energy Current.
"I should have stayed with her." Odette crossed her arms protectively over her chest and leaned back against the counter, ice pack forgotten.
"Well," Clint was looking intently at his orange, "If you had been, it would have gone only two ways. Either she'd still be here with us and would need a shit ton of therapy. Or," He looked up at her and held out a slice of his orange, "You'd be dead."
While normal people might freak out at that assumption, Odette did not. The words didn't faze her, she'd been willing to die for a cause since she'd signed away her life to Dr. Luce. She would have gladly laid down her life to protect Brooke, or any of the Avengers for that matter.
She reached out and accepted the orange slice.
"And they still would have taken her." Odette realized where Clint was going with this.
"This was a planned attack," Clint nodded to himself, leaning back and chewing over his orange slices, "We just need a lead and she'll be home before any of us know it."
"I hope so." Odette thought to herself, looking down at the orange slice. She popped it into her mouth.
"Hey, guys," Natasha called from the door between the kitchen and the meeting room, "Our friend is up."
Odette and Clint followed Natasha back into the meeting room. Steve had swept aside the old video feed and was now looking at a live feed from one of the storage garages. Something about the situation made her skin crawl.
"What's she doing?" Odette asked, walking around the length of the table to stand before the screen.
"Nothing." Steve answered, his voice just a whisper. Odette stepped up beside him and gave him a sidelong glance. He didn't like this situation either.
Odette turned back to the footage and Clint stepped up on her other side, and Natasha stepped up beside Steve. "Something isn't right." She mumbled. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Clint raise an eyebrow. "None of those people even bothered to help her." The mob had been taken down and arrested, some going straight to holding cells in jails, others going to the hospital to have their broken bones and bruises taken care of. But this woman was just sitting in her cell. She wasn't even trying to escape.
"None of them had cybernetic hands." Natasha pointed out.
"No…When she was down. While she's still here. Why didn't any of them help her?" Odette wondered out loud. She took a breath, "She's not trying to escape. And no one bothered to help her or come back for her." She pinched the bridge of her nose, "there's been no ransom, no world-ending plots, it's like it was random...but it wasn't."
"What about those people that ended up in jail or in the hospital, any of them talking?" Natasha asked.
"No." Steve shook his head, "Just a lot of insane ramblings from the reports we got back." He jerked his head over his shoulder, motioning to the piles of paperwork they'd gotten back from the police after their preliminary rounds of interrogation were done.
"Maybe it was that Stryker guy." Clint mused out loud, crossing his arms and shifting from foot to foot.
Odette paused, "What makes you think Stryker is behind this?" She saw Steve and Natasha both turn to look at Clint as well.
Clint shrugged helplessly and looked at her as she turned to face him. "Just a hunch? I mean, he's been harassing you guys for a while, hasn't he?"
"But why not come here himself?" Steve asked.
"Why don't any bad guys do shit for themselves?" Clint asked in return. "They're not smart enough, not fast enough, not strong enough," he listed off, "you know, we've fought a lot of people who send the little guys in to do their dirty work." He pointed out.
Odette thought for a moment, then turned back to the screen showing the woman. She swiped the feed away, ignoring Steve and Natasha's protests, "Friday, can you access Brooke's tracker for Stryker?" She ignored Steve and Natasha's looks of shock, but if Odette was right—and she was willing to bet money on it—Brooke had repurposed her HYDRA tracking program to keep tabs on Stryker.
"Right away, ma'am." Friday obliged.
"Knew it. God bless you, Brooke Field." Odette's heart soared with hope, and it took every ounce of self-control to not bounce excitedly on her toes.
The four Avengers drew in closer together, nearly shoulder to shoulder as they watched the algorithm Tony and Brooke had developed to track Avenger's activity and HYDRA activity unfold on the screen. News reports, YouTube videos, blogs, Facebook posts, Tweets, old CCTV footage showed a lot of Stryker's shows and conferences. Background analysis narrowed down locations of where Stryker had been, and an Avengers APB caught him in multiple airports, subway stations, and even taxi cabs in the past month alone.
"Look here," Clint leaned forward and pointed to a Tweet, "looks like Brooke's 'little friend'," he said sarcastically, "spotted Stryker at her shop yesterday."
"What's it say?" Steve asked.
Natasha was already reaching for the Tweet. Enlarging it, she read out loud, "Total creep came by today. Hashtag, Shady A. F."
"It means 'as fuck'." Clint said absentmindedly.
The picture included with the Tweet was of Stryker, there was no denying that. It was blurry, likely taken in a hurry and at hip height to avoid detection.
"What the hell was Stryker doing in town?" Odette asked, mostly to herself.
"Well, he sure as hell wasn't getting coffee." Natasha zoomed in on the blurry photo, although, even blurry they could see the vague outline of a gun holster on his belt.
"Okay," Steve sighed, stepping back to sit against the edge of the table, "Suppose it was Stryker who sent those people to get Brooke. Why would he be after just Brooke? Where would he have taken her?"
Odette slouched back to sit beside him and sighed heavily. She shook her head and chewed on her sore lip. "What is Stryker's problem?" She knew he was angry at them for failing to stop Thanos, but so was the rest of the world. And yet, when Odette saw the people of the world, most of them had come to accept this new reality—in no small part thanks to Brooke, who used her knowledge from being their public relations director to show the people of Earth that the Avengers would have fought to their last breath to save them. Sure, there were plenty of people still angry, but like all of the stages of grief, it came and went in waves.
Stryker had just been born a menace, it seemed. With a permanent scowl on his face, and a vein pulsing with anger in his neck.
"Friday, is there anything else in here on Stryker that might give us an insight as to what his deal is?" Natasha asked, putting her hands on her hips.
"Miss Field had me run a background check on Reverend Stryker after the incident at Avengers Tower." Friday answered.
"Reverend?" Steve asked, caught off guard.
"Yes," Friday answered, she pulled up an old newspaper article from two-thousand-three, which read:
Military Sergeant loses wife and newborn in bizarre car accident
Included was a picture of the shell of a car, which looked like it had exploded, and then a picture of a very burned and injured man in a hospital bed. "Reverend William Stryker was a Sergeant in the U.S. Army and was involved in the Weapon X Program." Friday carried on, showing redacted files and information about Stryker's military career. "Stryker worked at a nuclear testing facility, however after the death of his wife and newborn son, he was honorably discharged from the Military."
"And he took a few religious courses, it seems." Clint muttered as images of Stryker leading a congregation flashed on screen while Friday was talking.
"Yes, Agent Barton. Reverend Stryker believes he was saved from the car crash that took the lives of his wife and child by God."
"To do what?" Natasha asked.
"Rid the world of heroes." Friday answered as an image from one of Stryker's early days parked outside the Avengers facility took up the whole screen. In the image, Stryker was standing on a milk crate, screaming his head off into a megaphone, and holding a sign that said, 'The Devil Could Perform Miracles, Too. Death to the "Heroes"!'
"Bit on the nose." Steve sighed, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
"So," Odette shuddered, the skin crawling sensation coming back to her, "Stryker loses his wife and kid, goes insane, and now wants to kill any and all heroes?" She asked out loud.
"Sounds like it." Natasha agreed.
"Glad I'm not going crazy." Odette nodded to herself.
"Hey, Friday?" Clint spoke up, "What's the Weapon X Program?"
Friday attempted to pull up information on the Weapon X Program through her internet connection, but failed. Nothing was public about the Weapon X Program. Then, she attempted…other ways of getting the information. The only information Friday was able to pull up was that it was a rebranding of Project Rebirth.
As soon as Dr. Erskine's grainy, sepia-toned photo popped up on screen, Steve hung his head. "They were making super soldiers." He mumbled.
Odette wanted to reach over and console her friend, but she was unsure how he might react. A chill ran down her spine. She always knew how Steve would react to things, but looking at him now…it was like she was seeing him through a fog. His image was…unclear. It terrified her. "What's happened to us?" Fighting down her fear, Odette reached out and laid a hand on Steve's arm. He turned to look at her. His hardened stare immediately softened.
A ping went off on the screen and the four Avengers turned their attention back to the images sorting themselves away. "Position update. Stryker was at JFK International a few hours ago." Data composed of names and numbers scrolled across the screen. Friday highlighted a line that read:
W. Stryker NY to NV
"Where's he headed?" Steve asked. The four stood back up, none of them daring to blink in fear of missing some crucial detail.
A few seconds passed and Friday answered them with, "He is on a nonstop flight from JFK to McCarren International Airport in Las Vegas, Nevada." She showed the plane was already somewhere over Ohio.
"Was anyone with him?" Odette asked, desperately clinging to the dog tags around her neck as a way to anchor herself.
"I'm afraid not." Friday answered.
"But that doesn't mean that people aren't taking her there." Steve said. He turned on his heel and began to march out of the meeting room. "Suit up, we're going after him."
"Doc," Clint stopped Odette from following Steve. She turned back to him. Natasha stood beside Clint, looking unsure and on edge. "Do you really think they're gonna be able to smuggle a eight month pregnant woman across the country?"
"I don't know." Odette admitted, "But I can't sit around here doing nothing anymore."
The flight across the country was quiet. Clint was in the pilot's seat, focused entirely on the sky ahead of them, and Natasha was seated just behind him, anxiously bouncing one leg as time seemed to drag along behind them.
Odette had offered to teleport them there, but Steve had wanted the time a flight would offer them to come up with a plan. So far, he'd just been hunched over in his seat, elbows propped up on his knees, and chin propped up in his hands. Odette sat beside him, thankful for the under-his-breath mutterings that kept out all the dark and spiraling thoughts from her head. She'd never seen Steve so on edge. It wasn't like him to mutter to himself.
Once more, that feeling of losing him and no longer knowing who he was came over her, and Odette turned and laid a hand on Steve's thigh, just behind where his elbows were resting on his knees. Steve turned to her once more.
Odette opened her mouth to say…something—anything! But, she couldn't find the words she wanted, so she closed her mouth and took a deep breath. She pulled her hand away, "I'm—," She began to apologize when Steve cut her off.
"It's my fault she's gone."
Odette's heart came to a stop. "What?" She asked in disbelief. "But earlier…" Steve's sharp words and cold attitude had given Odette an entirely different impression.
Steve sat back and rested his arms on the armrests, "This morning, God…" That seemed so long ago. A lifetime ago. "This morning, Brooke called me to her room. She said that the security covering a section of the fence on the opposite side of the campus had been knocked out. Said one moment it had been working and the next, disconnected."
"Like someone hacked the system?" Odette asked. "That would explain why the facility lost power."
Steve pursed his lips momentarily, "She said she was worried something had happened and asked if I would go with her to take a look, to make sure it was something physical, like maybe a tree branch had fallen onto the system and cut that section off…" He looked down at his lap, "I told her it was probably nothing, and that if Stark wasn't calling and blowing a gasket, that everything was fine."
Odette was speechless.
"If I'd just listened to her." Steve inhaled sharply and looked everywhere but at Odette.
"Hey," Odette leaned over and laid her hand on Steve's arm once more, "We both could have stopped this from happening. But neither of us knew this would happen. How often are we attacked in our own home?"
"Historically speaking?" Natasha spoke up from the front of the quinjet, "Three times for you two, and now twice for the team."
Odette leaned forward enough to flash Natasha a deadpan expression that read as, "Not helpful!" She took a breath as she leaned back and looked back at Steve, "My point is, and don't get angry," She made sure Steve understood her before she continued, "she's been through this before. Brooke has been trained by some of, if not the best heroes the world has ever seen. She will be fine. We just have to find her."
Brooke's head was throbbing. The ground was vibrating, though she knew it couldn't have been because of her or her powers. Squeezing her eyes shut even tighter to prepare herself for what felt like blinding light, Brooke tried to get a feel for her surroundings before she opened her eyes.
"Okay, think…what did Steve and Nat teach me?" She thought to herself, trying to steady her breathing.
The little speed demon in her uterus kicked at her, clearly upset at the shitty day they'd been having.
"You and me, both, kid." She thought. Brooke let out a long breath, slowly rubbing her swollen stomach in small strokes. She was moving, that much was true, and fast. "Van? Maybe a semi?" She could feel that the space was bigger than just the trunk of a car. "There's people here with me." She could hear and feel them shuffling around.
Jewelry clinking.
Clothes ruffling.
Multiple people breathing.
"Must be in a semi." in a van, she'd been feeling their feet on her.
"How long have I been out?" Brooke wondered, not daring to open her eyes just yet in case she happened to make awkward eye contact with her kidnappers. "They haven't fed me, so it's likely been less than three days." Being pregnant, Brooke couldn't tell from her usual standards of hunger or having to go to the bathroom. It seemed like she was always hungry and always having to pee these days. Even her muscles weren't a reliable source as to how long she'd been out, laying in the same position for more than a few hours was irritating and uncomfortable. Brooke could not wait until she could sleep on her stomach again.
A freezing wind howled in her ears, "Okay. Definitely been, like, hours." Her skin was numb, and not the tingly numb she was used to from her powers. This was a chilling kind of numbness. Her nose was dripping, and her upper lip felt swollen, almost like she'd developed a sore.
Another kick.
"I blame you for this." She winced at another kick, "Alright, alright, I don't blame you." She whined, a small, dry noise escaping her throat, "I'm going crazy. I've been kidnapped—again—and I'm talking to my unborn child." Another two kicks, "I know. I know. But I'm gonna make sure nothing happens to you." Just thinking so made Brooke relax a little, "Okay, so, what did Odette say about kidnapping situations?" She went back to listening to her environment. As her senses slowly came back to her body, Brooke relaxed as much as she could on the bumpy road.
"Traveling at high speeds. Must be on a highway…where are they taking me?" Brooke wondered. "I can hear metal, but I'm not chained or restrained. Might be guns? Maybe construction equipment?" She honestly wasn't sure how one might smuggle a pregnant woman away from her home, nor was she sure of what nondescript semi-trucks carried in their carriages. "Why isn't anyone talking?" She realized, a cold chill rolling down her back.
Brooke peeked open an eye and felt an unnecessary amount of embarrassment, "Oh…they blindfolded me." Through the black, threadbare fabric, however, Brooke saw that she was, indeed, in the back of a semi-truck. Golden sunlight came through the walls, leading Brooke to conclude the outside of the semi-truck was likely white and likely nondescript like she'd originally thought. The wall she was facing had wooden benches—for lack of a better term since they were more like wooden slabs—installed on the sides. Seven people were sitting, facing Brooke in silence.
"Well, thankfully it doesn't look like they have guns or weapons, but what are they doing?" A nervous shiver started in her stomach, but Brooke did her best to remain calm. She swallowed hard. These people just sitting there, doing nothing, was more terrifying than if they'd been up and moving and talking. Hell, it was more terrifying than if they'd been hurting her. At least if they were hurting her, she'd have an excuse to fight back and escape.
The people with her were a mixture of ages, sexes, and races. "So…it doesn't look like they chose me for a specific reason? Oh, come on Brooke, you're a Goddamn Avenger. Of course they chose you for a specific reason! Think!"
Brooke chose one person to focus on, a young woman with pin straight blonde hair and downcast brown eyes. She looked average? Certainly not capable of taking down an Avenger on her own. Nothing about her clothing seemed to stick out, other than the fact it was way more conservative than anything Brooke would ever wear. For being in, what she assumed to be, her late twenties, she was dressed like a twelve year old going to church.
"Oh my God, church!" Brooke looked over everyone's outfits as closely as she could with the blindfold on. Every single person had a cross on them. In some form or another.
One man had a rosary in his hands. The woman next to him had a cross necklace.
Brooke tried to keep her breathing level as her heart pounded furiously against her ribcage. "Stryker."
The little speed demon didn't like what was happening to Brooke's nerves, and decided now was the time to play the xylophone on her ribs. Brooke winced and curled up to hold her stomach.
"Are you okay—," One of the women started to ask when the rest quickly shut her up with choruses of; "Shut up!", "Be quiet!", "Don't talk to it!", "Shh!"
Brooke's entire body was tense. "So...they're just staring at me…" she swallowed, "Okay. So, I've got a couple of options. I could speak and try to figure out what's going on. Worst thing is they attack me. Or they might just give me the silent treatment. Or I could try moving...but they might think I'm trying to escape and really try to attack me."
No matter how uncomfortable laying on her side on the bottom of the trailer was, she wasn't going to try anything that might risk her or her child's life. Brooke opted for the safer option, "Hello?" Her voice was hoarse. She swallowed and tried again, "Hello? Where am I?"
Through the blindfold, she could see the people shifting uncomfortably.
"Please," Brooke pleaded, "I don't know who you are, or what you might want from me, but please...I don't want anyone to get hurt. I want to go home."
"Tough shit—," another woman snapped. She was quickly silenced by her peers.
Brooke tried to keep her breathing even as the trailer quieted down again. "Just," she licked her lips, "Just tell me what I can do to get home as quickly as possible, please."
No one answered her.
Another kick.
"Can I at least move?" Brooke asked, holding her stomach with one hand.
Silence.
Brooke began to sweat despite how cold it was. "Hello?" She didn't want them knowing she was well aware of her surroundings. "Please, I," she let out a nervous chuckle, "I don't know if you've noticed, but I am very pregnant with a very rambunctious child." A kick of protest came from within, "I'm in a lot of pain, and I just want to be sure you won't hurt us if I move."
Still, no one answered her, but the people she could see shifted uncomfortably.
Finally, the man with three cross necklaces on blurted out, "Fine, but don't try anything, we're armed."
They weren't.
Even if Brooke couldn't see through the blindfold, she would have known they weren't because in the middle of all his peers shushing him, one of them hissed, "Why would you say that, we don't have anything?!"
Brooke ignored their quiet bickering and pushed herself onto one elbow, from there she wiggled and twisted as much as she could in an attempt to sit up.
No one helped her.
Brooke fell back, half on her side, half on her back, panting. "I don't suppose any of you will help me sit up?" She asked.
None of them answered.
"Course not." Brooke groaned. She wiggled and rolled and pushed herself with all her might until she could finally sit up. She crossed her legs and cradled her stomach, leaning over to whisper to the baby she carried.
"I'm going to get us out of this, I promise." A cold tear slipped out from her blindfold.
"What was that song they used to sing?" Brooke squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately to remember the words to the Sokovian song Pietro and Wanda used to sing to each other when the other was upset. Pietro had sung it for her a few times, usually just half-mumbling the words because he didn't like his singing voice. Hands trembling as she smoothed down her sweater, she began to hum a broken song. Her voice cracked on some of the higher notes, and was lost on the lower notes, but the melody was there. For a moment, Brooke could close her eyes, and be a thousand miles away from here.
Back in Europe with Wanda and Pietro, taking trips to meet up with Vision, sneaking around, pretending to be normal.
"I think they're asleep." Pietro said, peeking into the room his sister and Vision had claimed.
Brooke hummed in response, "Well, we had a long day." Taking down a black market ring that was selling stolen Avengers tech and weapons in the upper echelon of Great Britain was just another day for them at this point. And Wanda had done a lot of the heavy work, tricking the buyers and sellers into thinking they were trapped so they wouldn't try to escape. Brooke didn't blame her for crashing at—a quick glance at the clock—four in the afternoon.
"And, Vision doesn't sleep." She reminded him.
"Then he is doing something eerily similar to sleep." Pietro shot back at her as he strolled into the small living room where Brooke was seated by a lamp and reading. He paused in the doorway, making Brooke look up at him after she reached the end of her paragraph.
Pietro was giving her a lazy sort of smile, his eyes slowly wandering over all of her. Brooke's heart twisted in her chest.
"What?" She asked, almost fearful of the answer.
"You look like a little kitty cat all curled up." He said with a smirk.
Brooke rolled her eyes and returned to her book. Pietro zipped into the room and scooped Brooke up in her arms. At this point, she was used to his arms quickly finding their way around her body. He'd saved her from many a split second disaster by simply picking her up and carrying her off, so it didn't surprise her when she found her head spinning as the world jolted around her.
She was still in the chair, but now she was sitting in it sideways on Pietro's lap. "Go on. Keep reading." He instructed her.
Brooke, ignoring how she couldn't focus with Pietro playing with the sensitive skin on the nap of her neck, made a show out of getting comfortable on her lap. Pietro was tense the entire time. Once she was done she looked up at him, smug. Pietro let out a tense chuckle and did his best to relax.
However, it wasn't long before Brooke had phased Pietro's hands out of her mind and she was absorbed back into her book. It wasn't until her eyelids began to feel heavy and her head naturally fell to rest on his shoulder that she remembered Pietro was even there. His breathing picked up with a start, as if he'd fallen to sleep and was woken by her movements.
"Sorry." Brooke mumbled, the exhaustion from their mission finally weighing her down. Her book nearly slipped from her hands, but Pietro was quick to catch it and save her place.
"I'll take you to bed." Pietro mumbled back. Blinking wearily as he fought off sleep.
Brooke turned, planting her hands on his shoulders to keep him from standing. Pietro looked at her, confused.
She wanted to say, "no, let's stay here," or "you can join me," but instead, what she actually said was, "Do you regret kissing me?"
"What?" Pietro blinked incredulously at her.
"It's just, I mean." Brooke settled back down, looking at him, "That whole display thing back on The Raft a few months ago, and then we just kinda did nothing after that, and then this whole bedroom set up. I just—it feels like you're avoiding me. Are you avoiding me? Is it because of the kiss? If so, I kind of thought you initiated it, but if I overstepped our boundaries, I'd rather you tell me. I know we had that whole thing with my friends and Crystal, but after what happened I just...kinda assumed we were chill..." She wasn't trying to get worked up, but she was so tired of working and fighting and then holding on to whatever feelings she may have had about Pietro and Elias and—it was just getting to be too much for her to be silent about.
"I," Pietro's words got caught in his throat. He exhaled, caught off guard by Brooke's mini breakdown. "Wow."
It was a lot to process.
"Ya know what, it's fine." Brooke swallowed her need for answers and she turned to stand up. "It's fine. We've had a long couple of days. We've had some pretty rough missions. I get it. You're more here to look after your sister, and I just kinda tag along." She began to walk towards the second bedroom, but Pietro sped in front of her and stopped her. "Pietro, look, I'm sorry. I'm tired, let's just," but she didn't get to even think of an excuse out of this conversation because Pietro, acting quick and on impulse as usual, cupped her face and crushed his lips to hers.
Brooke wanted to give in and kiss him back. She really did. God did she want to kiss him back, especially when—while still holding her face—he stepped up to her so their bodies were touching. Brooke had to crane her neck back to keep the connection, but Pietro quickly realized she wasn't kissing him back.
He pulled away, "is that...not the answer you wanted?" He asked.
"No! I mean," Brooke winced at her wording, "It was great. It was lovely." She reassured him gently, reaching up to hold his wrists. She could feel his heartbeat on the tender side of his wrists. "It just...doesn't answer my questions? I mean," Brooke sighed, "It kind of did, but it also didn't? It was super romantic!" She was quick to add, "I adore that kind of thing, but...why did you give me the cold shoulder for so long? Did I...did I do something wrong—?"
Pietro was quick to shake his head, his eyes wide, "No! No, you didn't do anything wrong, Little Spark." Brooke felt like a tired, grimy, idiot. She pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes until she saw stars. "Brooke," her heart hammered in her chest as she lowered her hands to peek through her fingers. "I avoided you because I didn't want another Elias or Crystal situation." She completely took her hands off her face. "I didn't want us to be together out of convenience, and I didn't want us to just have a placeholder for the next relationship." It felt like someone had put her heart in a blender with knives, but she kept quiet. "After what happened on The Raft, my first priority was helping my sister." Again, Brooke felt like a horrible idiot. "After that, it just never felt like the right time to do anything about...us."
Brooke frowned, "but what about our bedroom arrangement?" Anytime the four of them found themselves free of work, they always found a place to stay for a while that had at least two bedrooms. It had been Wanda's idea, and she only sold Pietro on the idea by promising to do bedroom rotations. One person on the couch, the other two in beds. Rotate every night. Then, Vision started joining them, and it was terrifying to get a glass of water and just see Vision standing in the darkness and watching Wanda sleep on the couch. So, after making Pietro swear he wouldn't bite Vision's head off, Wanda was guaranteed a room. Brooke tried to continue their rotation with just her and Pietro, but he refused to let her give up the bed. At first, it had been sweet, then it became a source of anxiety for Brooke.
"After not making a move in so long, would you have been okay with me sleeping in the same bed, much less the same room?" He asked, tilting his head.
Brooke thought for a moment, "I guess we'll never know." She admitted quietly.
Pietro's chin lowered, hanging his head in defeat, "I cannot make up for the miscommunication. But I can do better from here on." He said. A very mature thing to say, too, because it caught Brooke completely off guard.
She agreed and pointed out that the miscommunication was on both their parts. And then, with confidence from seemingly nowhere, she began to ever so slightly tug Pietro in the direction of her room. "I know it's early, but I'm tired. Would you mind laying down with me?"
Pietro smiled and let her lead them to the bedroom. Brooke crawled under the covers while Pietro stayed on top of them. It took them a moment to find a comfortable position to lay in, trying to find where their bodies fit with each other with a blanket in the way, but they eventually found something suitable.
Pietro ran his hand through Brooke's hair, playing with the ends before letting them drop, and doing it again. Just as Brooke's eyes were beginning to close, Pietro's chest rumbled and vibrated under her.
The sound was light and soothing, and Brooke found herself instantly relaxed by it.
He was humming.
She sniffled, more drainage threatening to drip from her nose.
"Shut up!"
Brooke tensed up. "I just want to go home." She pictured Pietro and Wanda in her room, lounging, watching TV. The three of them could spend hours doing nothing and everything and Brooke would still love every second of it. Her heart ached, missing them both dearly.
The road carried on, confirming Brooke's worst fears. She was getting further and further away from home. Away from safety. Away from her family.
Subtly, she reached for the pocket on her sweatpants, "Nothing." Her phone had either been taken away or lost in transit somewhere.
With no idea how long she'd been out, and no idea of how long they had until they reached their destination, Brooke's nerves were on fire. She felt like she was going to be sick.
"Not to alarm anyone." She spoke up, but her voice was barely audible over the wind outside, "But I will need a rest stop sooner rather than later."
I didn't really want to do a split POV chapter, but I didn't want anyone to worry too much about Brooke, plus, this kinda serves as a little teaser for my side story that's told from Brooke's POV. Don't know who Elias or Crystal are? Well maybe you should go give that story a follow and you'll find out (though, that does mean I have to remember to publish THOSE chapters as well, lol)
Happy Holidays!
