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Disclaimer: See Chapter 1
Wanda tried to read a magazine as the plane taxied down the runway. The roaring of the jet engines filled her ears and rattled her skull, but it didn't matter. In just a few short hours she would be in New York City-and then she could start looking for her brother.
The city of Belfast shrank below her until it was smaller than a doll village. The cars on the roads seemed like nothing more than dots-and then, as the plane entered the cloud level, they dwindled until they were nothing at all. She was leaving her pursuers far, far behind her.
She'd managed to avoid a confrontation but just barely-and it had almost caused her to miss her plane. Her path to the airport had been intentionally long and winding-down side streets and through small shops-but she thought she'd shaken them off, whoever they were.
It was like poking a pit bull with a stick; it would just make them angry. But she'd bought herself a little time-hopefully, just enough.
The cabin's lights dimmed to reflect the night outside. Everything seemed calm, peaceful, and tranquil-a world out of time. Wanda knew that with every second she spent in the air and every mile the plane covered she was growing closer and closer to her destination. And hopefully, when she reached her destination she would also reach the end of her quest for knowledge.
~V102~
"Come on, kid. I've seen you do better than that."
Pietro rolled his eyes and glared at Clint. The guy had to be the best archer he'd ever seen, but Clint also liked to taunt-perhaps too much for his own good. He took a second to collect himself-occasionally he ran into walls when he wasn't focused up-before he took off again. He saw Clint aim a practice bow at him but he ducked easily, pulling the bow out of his hands and throwing it across the room in one easy motion. "How was that?"
"Better-but I think you can do more."
Pietro bristled. This was never how it had been. Even as children, Wanda had been the one who was always encouraging him-always pushing him to go further and faster, to stay focused even though it could be hard, and to accept orders without question or complaint. It was her right to correct him-not Clint's.
Feeling worked up, he started the next round before he was ready-and almost immediately knew something was wrong. He'd started too early…his foot slipped on the training center's tile floor, skidded for a while, and then slammed into a rack of blunted samurai swords. They all fell off the rack at once; an especially long sword hit him in the gut.
Instantly, Clint came over to help him up. "Whoa there, kid. Slow down for just a hot second. You okay?"
"Yeah. Fine." He shoved the rack away; swords spilled down the length of the training center floor. He swore colorfully before he pushed himself to his feet again. "My bad. Sorry."
"It's okay. Hey, are you sure you're feeling all right? You're looking a little pale."
"I'm fine. I'm just going to get some coffee." He went into the kitchen before Clint could follow him. He didn't want to have to explain things, especially the mood swings. Some moments he felt completely fine and the next he would get so angry with himself or sad about what had happened in Sokovia that he would need to go for a 'run' around the city just so he could cool himself down.
This was one of those times.
He went back into his room and put on a fresh set of running clothes. It was really early; in fact, the sun had barely risen. Perfect. He liked peace and quiet. He liked being able to run and run without worrying about being hit by cars or trampling civilians. "I'm going for a run." he called. "Does anyone want anything?"
"Shawarma!" he heard Natasha call from her basement office. What she did down there was anyone's guess-the only one who had actually been there was Tony on one of his frequent visits to the Tower. He'd been looking for some of her Russian vodka, but he'd run back upstairs an hour later shivering and refusing to talk to anyone. All he would say was that Natasha's office was absolutely not a liquor store.
"Some new laundry detergent would be nice." Steve said. "Vision needs a new hard drive."
"How about a six pack of diet coke?" Sam chimed in.
"What do you want, Rhodey?" Pietro called. "A hand knit Christmas sweater?"
"Very funny. I'm fine. Really, I'm fine." James called from the training center.
"Suit yourself. I'll be back in about an hour." Pietro drank half a cup of coffee and sighed. He could run all he wanted to-for minutes, hours, or even days. He could run out of the city, out of the country, even off the continent, but he could never escape the memories-no matter how much he wanted to.
The city was relatively quiet this early in the morning. He only passed a few other joggers, although by the time they realized what was going on, he had long since left them in the dust. He didn't care. He wasn't present-not really. He was back in Sokovia, back in a dead city with dead people.
And Wanda.
Wanda…he would never hold her again, talk to her again, protect her again…she was gone. She was gone and she was never coming back. And in a way, in all the ways that mattered, that was his fault.
Just then, he full on crashed into someone. They both went sprawling, dirt and gravel flying everywhere. "I'm so sorry-"
He saw a curtain of brown hair and a pair of wide brown eyes-and then she was gone, vanishing into a nearby storefront.
And somehow, inexplicably so, his cold and dead heart began to beat again.
He skidded to a halt in the middle of Broadway. He could have sworn he'd just seen a ghost-of course, he didn't really believe in them. But for second there he could have sworn he'd just crashed into Wanda.
Pietro ran back to the place where the collision had occurred. The road was deserted, so he looked in all the stores in the nearby vicinity. However, he didn't find anything-there wasn't a sign of the brown haired woman.
You're losing it, Pietro. Imagining things that don't exist, seeing things that aren't there…you probably just imagined her in the first place.
He started to walk again, walking faster and faster until he was practically running. Manhattan Island streamed by on either side of him-high buildings towering to the sky, more coffee shops than he could count, and building upon building of identical office cubicles. He arrived back at Avengers Tower ten minutes later.
"How was your walk?" Steve asked.
"It was…fine."
"Do you have the laundry detergent?"
Pietro ran a hand through his short hair. "I apologize. I was so absorbed in other things that I completely forgot."
"Hey, don't worry about it. We'll go and get some later. It's not a big deal. It's fine." Steve looked at him with concern. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Completely fine"
"If you want to talk about it-"
"I said I'm fine!" He immediately felt bad for yelling at Steve. During all of this, Steve had been one of the most welcoming to Pietro; in his opinion, Pietro had been given a clean slate after Sokovia. He seemed almost happy to let bygones be bygones. He didn't deserve to be yelled at. "I'm going out on the terrace."
"Okay. You know, Pietro, losing someone you care about isn't an easy thing. If you need or talk-or even just to vent…I'm not saying you have to, but I'm here just in case."
"Thanks. I appreciate it." And he did. He just didn't think he was going to take his advice.
Ever.
~V102~
"Chestnuts! Get you hot chestnuts here!"
Wanda stepped out of the airport and directly into the path of an oncoming pushcart. A man screamed at her in a language that sounded suspiciously like Italian until she got out of the way. Seconds after the road was clear, the cart shot by; its vendor still screaming about having the best prices.
It was early morning; the sun had barely risen over the Manhattan skyline and everything was covered in the golden glow of dawn. The streets were still crowded; the taxi she'd commandeered to take her into the city idled in traffic for almost an hour. Eventually, she asked to be let out early before the rate became too expensive.
At first she didn't know exactly where she was-until she saw the neon flashing signs for all the different shows playing on Broadway. It was amazing to be in the premiere theatre district of the country, especially because Wanda had always dreamed of going to a theatre and seeing a real play. Sokovia had one theatre but no real acting company. Her family had gone to see The Nutcracker every December, but other than that none of the plays the theatre had put on were in any way ritzy or high class.
Her parents had bought her tickets to see a musical-a real musical-in Moscow for her eleventh birthday.
Unfortunately, they'd died before she got the chance to go.
Just then, a blur of blue crashed into her and knocked her down. She banged her elbow on a patch of concrete and tore a hole in her jeans, but other than that she was unharmed.
The man who had run into her stood up. "I'm so sorry." He was very tall, with mostly silver hair, brown eyes, and a t-shirt advertising a band called Kansas.
She was about to say that it was all right, but he left before she could. Wanda got up, brushed herself off, and went into the nearest store to clean herself up.
The store happened to sell antique books; it was filled with stack upon stack of dusty tomes. "Good morning!" the woman behind the desk called. "Half off all merchandise unless otherwise marked!"
Wanda decided to browse. Most of the books were older than she was, their covers crumbling to dust. After a while, she stumbled across a small volume with a brightly colored cover. The title of the book was Avengers: Age of Ultron. That certainly rang a bell.
This is impossible…She began to flip through the pages as quickly as she could. There was a picture of someone who looked almost exactly like her standing next to someone who was labelled as Pietro. "Why am I in a book?" she muttered.
The clerk looked up from a cooking magazine. "What was that? I didn't quite catch it."
"Never mind. Who are these…Avengers?"
The woman's face morphed into an expression of disbelief. "You don't know who the Avengers are? I don't mean to be rude, but have you been living under a rock? I thought everyone know who the Avengers were. They've become household names."
"I'm a…foreigner. We don't have them where I come from."
"The Avengers are a team of Earth's mightiest superheroes-six of the best and brightest our world has to offer. After what happened in Sokovia, we got a whole new team." She took the book and turned to a picture of a man in a red, white, and blue spangled costume. "This is Captain America, their leader. He was injected with a super soldier serum in World War II and sacrificed himself in a mission to save the world. He was frozen in ice for almost seventy years. Talk about a culture shock. Then there's Black Widow. Ex KGB assassin. I hear she's the best of her kind. She can kill with anything and outtalk anybody. There's War Machine-he wears a suit of armor that allows him to fly and shoot repulsor rays. He's a friend of Tony Stark, who made the first Ironman suit. Eventually, Tony designed one for him."
She pointed to another guy with mechanical wings, soaring over a tall building. "This is Falcon. He has mechanical wings, obviously, that he can attach and detach at will. He's been out of the public eye for a while-some kind of missing persons case, or so I've managed to pick up. Then there's the Vision. He's an android, another of Tony's creations. He's one of the most powerful members of the team-the gem in the center of his forehead contains almost limitless power if handled properly. And finally there's Quicksilver, the newest member of the team. He can run faster than sound, although he can also be extremely quiet. And I don't blame him. During the Battle of Sokovia last year, he lost his sister. They were twins. The poor boy. I can only imagine how hard it must be for him to move on." She blushed a deep shade of crimson. "As you can see, I'm a bit of a casual fan myself."
"Yes. Would you mind telling me where exactly I can find the Avengers?"
"Just look for Avengers Tower. I think they're in town this weekend. The building is huge; you can't miss it. Good luck getting inside, though. It's kind of an appointment only operation."
"Oh, I don't think I need to worry about that." Wanda pushed the precious book across the counter so the cashier could ring it up and bag it. "I think I'm Quicksilver's sister."
~V102~
Pietro had been out on the terrace for almost three hours. It was promising to be a nice day; sunny and warm. He paced solidly, back and forth and back and forth. He couldn't slow down and he couldn't stop. He couldn't remember a time he'd felt this worked up or this out of control.
He didn't want to talk. He couldn't. Steve meant well, but he didn't understand. He didn't know what it was like to lose the only thing you had left-the only thing that mattered. He'd lost everything except his sister-and now he'd lost her too.
Sooner or later he would have to move on. Sooner or later he would have to start to pretend that he was okay.
He didn't know if he could.
Just then, the screen door opened and Natasha stepped outside. "There's someone at the door, Pietro."
"Okay. Why don't you let whoever it is come inside?"
"Because…I think you should meet her first."
Reluctantly, Pietro followed her down the entrance hall and into the grand foyer. Someone was standing on the doorstep-Pietro stopped short and almost crashed into Natasha.
The girl at the front door looked in at them curiously. "Hello. Do you mind if I come in? My name is Wanda Maximoff. I was told my brother lives here. I want to see him." She was very calm-too calm.
But she was the real thing. Pietro was sure of that. "Wanda…you're alive?"
"Yes. You wouldn't believe what I had to go through to get here. Flying from Ireland to New York is no party-"
Pietro couldn't take it in. He thought he should be saying something-at the very least asking her where she'd been. But something about her seemed different. Something seemed a little…off. Pietro moved to hug her, but she didn't hug him back. "I missed you so much." he muttered. "I thought you were dead."
She nodded absently. "For a while, so did I."
He felt like a little child, just seeking assurance. "Did you miss me at all?"
She faced him head on, calm and expressionless. "It's very nice to see you, but it's hard to miss someone you can't remember."
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