TC Stark: Honestly, I am having such an amazing time writing this! Pietro is great to flesh out and I really hope everyone likes Tilda. I have decided that this is definitely a love story. God, I haven't really written one in forever, but it feels good. Quicksilver is just one of those characters - he's so well rounded. Granted, this is definitely angsty, but you can't have a great story without some angst, right? lol So, if everyone could please, please submit a review and let me know what you think, I'd love you all forever ^^ Not that I don't already!

Disclaimer: If anyone has read my "Whatever Time We Have Left" story, I am reusing Tilda. I found with that story that I never developed her properly, so I'm revamping her - giving her a fresh coat of wax and throwing her into this story. Also, as much as I love the Cap, I've realized (in my head) she is much better suited in this AU, as this is a Pietro/OC story (with small parts of Cap/Black Widow because they're my OTP). This story is rated M for mature content, such as sex, violence, death, language, etc. I try not to ever be too vulgar, but also don't believe in censorship. This story deals with the serious issues of a fatal medical condition, so there's that. I do not own anyone, except Tilda and my ideas.

Chapter Five

Poor Pietro had been very under the weather the next day. Even though his body had started recovering that night, he still slept well into that afternoon and had woken up with black circles under his eyes. Most everyone had been well into their daily routines, before he found himself down in the cafeteria trying to soak up the alcohol in his body.

Tilda had already worked out and showered when heading down to the cafeteria. As nice as the previous night had turned out to be, she was happy to be back in tactical gear and back in her comfort zone. She couldn't remember if there was ever a time she was in a dress, other than maybe medical gowns.

Amused, Tilda casually made her way over to Pietro and handed him a glass full of tomato juice, "Virgin Bloody Mary. Should help. I think."

"Spasibo." Pietro grumbled, his accented voice groggy and muffled.

"Are you normally that competitive?" The agent stuck her hands in her pockets, straddling the chair to sit down on.

Shrugging, the Sokovian sheepishly admitted, "I got carried away. My twin and I, we didn't get off on the best foot with the Avengers. I think to...overcompensate."

As Pietro took the Virgin Bloody Mary, Tilda recommended, "Next time, maybe don't try to oneup an Asgardian."

"I will remember that."

A small chuckle hummed from her lips, as the telekinetic bowed her head down and stared at her feet. Tilda didn't know why she had the need to nurture Pietro through his hangover. It seemed he had a sister who usually did that, though she was caught up with her relationship with The Vision. Not that that was bad; they were all unique and she seemed to really like the enigma.

"My God! It's three already!?" Pietro exclaimed, holding his forehead, "I slept so long! What time did you wake up?"

"Seven."

Eyes wide, he gawked, "In the morning!?"

Smirking, Tilda teased, "Yes, Pietro, in the morning. Most adults like to start the day early."

"I am not adult, I am child." Pietro groaned, burying his head in his arms.

She rolled her eyes and looked off to the side. Tilda knew for a fact that Pietro was twenty-six, only a year older than herself. Mid-twenties were an odd age. In normal civilian society, half of that age bracket were off getting married and maybe having children, while the other half were still staying out until six in the morning partying and couldn't find their pants. They were young and old. Children and adults, all at the same time.

Moving her right foot side to side, Tilda cleared her throat before awkwardly proposing, "You know...I was looking online...and there's a Russian restaurant in the city...and...maybe...you would...like to go?"

Seeing Pietro lift his head up, Tilda quickly defended, "Not a date! I don't often go out with people - I don't have friends, so how do friends ask each other to...do things...without seeming like a date?"

Pietro could see how awkward Tilda was and he wouldn't disrespect her by making her feel any worse. He understood that she wouldn't have ever had the opportunity to have much social interactions with peers. Being experimented from a young age and then transferring to being a deadly agent, she was unsure of how the norm was.

Smiling, Pietro acted out, "Pietro, you busy tonight? No, Tilda, I was going to watch TV or bug Wanda. Want to grab a drink? There's a good Russian place in the city. Hell yea! Let's go! See? Easy."

"And you won't misconstrue that as a date?"

"No. I think you covered that when you got mad at me touching your shoulder," Pietro mused, before adding, "Which, I completely respect. So, we go now?"

Tilda took a glance at her watch, "I have an appointment with Bruce in fifteen. We can leave after that."

Pietro thought to himself that Tilda went to the doctors a lot, but perhaps they were just meticulous. He remembered when he and Wanda had volunteered for their own experiments. Those moments were hard. Especially at first. Coming to terms with the changes in their bodies. It was enough to make him mad. Being separated from his sister. Hydra doctors constantly poking at them. He could relate.

Rather than using one of the jets or helicopters that were provided for them, Pietro and Tilda rented one of the cars at the Avengers facility since neither actually owned one. Even though the Sokovian didn't have a driver's license, he somehow talked the agent into letting him drive. Which, was a terrible mistake on her part, as he liked to drive as he ran - fast. Thank God for seatbelts.

They parked the car in a garage in New York City that was in the area of the restaurant, Tilda having never been happier to be on solid ground, "I was not bad." Pietro proclaimed.

Tilda simply shot him a look, before composing herself and guiding him forward. As usual, New York City was congested and loud. Being surrounded by such a dense population needed some getting used to. Sure, they had just been to Stark's tower, but that had been a direct route. Pietro wasn't used to such a crowded environment and the need to dash away was strong, but he repressed it for his friend.

The restaurant Tilda guided Pietro to was neither fancy nor dumpy. It looked like a mom and pop shop. Where locals could enjoy themselves and feel at home. It was crowded, but in a good way. People were laughing with each other; old men played cards as they were served their food, and he saw a few children helping out, who clearly were the owner's. It was good that it was a casual place, as neither of them were dressed up.

The young hostess guided them to a table in the corner, as a waitress placed a small plate of pickled cucumbers before them. Tilda had quickly ordered a glass of water, as Pietro asked for soda. His hand was reaching immediately for a pickle, as if feeling right at home in the place. There was none of that uncomfortable tension that she usually felt in new places. Though, somehow with him, she felt better.

"This is nice. Nice place," Pietro nodded, grinning happily, "You look a little uncomfortable though."

With a small shrug, Tilda waited for the waitress to set their drinks down and leave, before responding, "Not often used to places like this. Everyone seems so friendly. Not used to a family environment."

"I know your parents, but you never have anyone else? Uncles? Aunts? Grandparents?"

Tilda shrugged her shoulders, while giving a rueful smile, "If I do, I don't know about them. I know when my father was brought to trial, no one was there on his defense. Or even to show him support. I mean, it's not a big deal. Everyone has different upbringings. Mine could have been worse...sorry. This is inappropriate to talk about."

Leaning forward, Pietro assured her, "We are friends. We talk about anything. You never have to worry."

Anything Tilda would have said, was interrupted by the waitress coming to ask if they had made a decision. The agent didn't know much about Russian cuisine, so she ordered the kielbasa - as Pietro asked for something she couldn't even pronounce. Even though her father was Swedish, her mother had been American and their tests were done in the states. Besides a few Swedish words, some sentences in Spanish - she didn't know much else besides English.

"I have no idea what you just asked for." Tilda stated, once the server walked away.

"Golubtsy. It's ground beef and rice in cabbage. I also ordered borscht. It is beef and beet soup," Patting his stomach, the Sokovian winked, "I am growing boy you know."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Tilda shook her head, "That sounds exhausting. Don't you have to eat almost all day long to keep up with your body?"

Pietro shook his head, "Not all day. I just eat big meals. Never feel satisfied. I used to cook for Wanda, did you know that?"

"No. I can't imagine you as a cook."

"No apron or anything," The Sokovian laughed, "But, when it just us two...I know we are twins, but I am twelve minutes older. I always felt responsible for Wanda. I needed to protect her. That also meant she did not go hungry. I did some bad things...to get food. I was not always...Avenger."

Tilda knew he was using the Avenger title to describe a do gooder. Like a boyscout almost. But, the truth was they all had dark pasts. Natasha had been a former KGB agent, Clint was a master assassin, and she didn't have the cleanest rapsheet. In a way, they were all looking towards the Avengers initiative to help wipe away all the blood on their hands.

With a sip of her water, she asked, "So what, you were part of the Russian mob?"

"Sokovian. And no, not direct part. But, did work with them. Odd jobs. To make money. Anything to put roof over Wanda and my head. Selling drugs. Bouncer at mob clubs. I did not kill anyone though - I did not want violent jobs. And then Wanda came to me with experiment proposal. We did not know who...who Hydra even was, until we already too late into it." Pietro explained, his eyes staring outwards at nothing as he reminisced.

Lips thinned, as Tilda asked, "Did yours hurt?"

"Yes...I hated Wanda's screams...but, the men assured me. Your sister stronger than you. Her powers...they will bring down the world," Snorting, Pietro growled almost primal, "I only wanted to bring down Stark."

Pietro caught the venom in his mouth and apologized, as the waitress came with their food. He did not want to put a black cloud on his time with Tilda. While he had forgiven Stark, it was hard to let go of all those bitter feelings. Sixteen years of hatred did not go away after only one of being an Avenger.

Taking in the aroma, Pietro went to dive into his food. He didn't have the worst table manners, but Tilda could tell he was starving. She eyed the speedster, cutting into her own food. The soup was the first thing he tried, spooning the red liquid into his mouth and closing his eyes while savoring it.

Pietro wordlessly moved to the stuffed cabbage dish, doing the same thing as before. Once he took a long enough pause, he set his utensils down and sighed happily, "It is very good…" Ruefully smiling, the enhanced man's voice sounded distant, "Tastes like mom used to make…"

"Are you alright, Pietro?"

"May I hold your hand? Only for moment. I must say something." Pietro quickly asked, desperation in his eyes.

Stiffening, Tilda wanted to tell him no. Wanted to yell at him. How dare he be so forward. Did he think he could be nice for a week or so and then suddenly be inappropriate? But, the way he was looking at her made her think of some kicked puppy - eyes wide and Jesus, his lower lip jutting out in a pout.

Wordlessly nodding, Tilda jumped slightly when his hand came out to grab hers. Pietro quickly saw her apprehension, loosening his grip as he spoke, "Thank you, Tilda. Thank you for taking me here. You are good friend."

For a moment, Tilda forgot that Pietro was even holding her hand. The last few words struck a chord with her and she felt her chest tightening at the impact of what he said. Lips twitching into a sincere smile, she softly stated, "I've never had a friend before."

"Well, you have me. And Wanda - we come in pairs you know." Pietro grinned, letting go of her hand to go back to his meal. Not knowing Tilda was still smiling.

"Should we get ice cream?" Pietro asked, as they stepped out of the Russian restaurant. After that small moment, they had gotten back to eating. Tilda's food was delicious and it was clear the runner really enjoyed his dish. So much so that he had called over the owner to profusely thank him for bringing authentic food to America. Clearly, the man had a flare for the dramatic.

"Because ice cream goes so well after Russian food?" Tilda quirked an eyebrow up, though there was a hint of amusement to her question.

With a sheepish grin, Pietro shrugged, "Of course. My favorite is strawberry. What is yours?"

Arms folded, Tilda pondered as they strolled alongside the sidewalk, "Um...vanilla, I guess? I don't think I've ever thought about it."

"You don't think about it. It's something you taste and you go mmm, and you know you keep wanting more."

Pietro didn't notice Tilda halting, looking over at him before picking back up. They were talking about ice cream, but the explanation gave her a sinking feeling and tugged at her insides. They had spent a whole day together. Just the two of them. And they had had a lot of fun. More fun than she had had in a really long time. If she ever really felt that much enjoyment before; and for the first time, she realize how depressing that was.

She also realized she was beginning to like Pietro more than a friend.