[ she had always considered herself a creature of impulse — rarely waiting, often acting immediately and with a force so full, it possessed a tendency to leave behind something ( or someone ) to be cleaned, a lesson to be learned. they teach so many here — so many lessons, so many rules. she wonders if this is the place for her, if she is capable of having a place at all.
what she expected even less, was wanda maximoff. wanda, who moved with a magic all her own. wanda, who she initially found loathsome, irritating — she had built up such a pride in herself, in her abilities, in being the strongest person she knew. who did this girl think she was? red and beautiful and full of a rage she knew so intimately. where the line started, how it came here, she's uncertain; all she knows is that it has, that it is, and that she finds comfort in the shape of it.
she doesn't wait for wanda to tell her the door is unlocked. she doesn't wait to hear a lecture from someone about relationships with other trainees. instead, she rushes with long legs and bare feet, across the carpet of the halls, careful and cautious around each corner. behind her is a trail of blonde hair, here and gone again. in her back pocket, her phone lights up and goes dim again — one unread message as she tries the doorknob ( grinning at her own success ) and peers through the frame. ]
You should have locked this.
[ she finally says, touching her back to the door to close it. ]
(Wanda giggles, then pulls her blanket back for Illyana. She knows this is unwise. Everyone else knew when Illyana was up after lights out. They knew which door she was going to. Her brother was oblivious to her physical relationship with Illyana, because he said, and I quote, "but they're both girls." He didn't have much of an imagination when it came to his sister, did he?) I did lock it. (she actually didn't, hoping for a night of Illyana coming to talk to her and hang on her like a scarf.)
[ illyana removes her phone, turning it upside down and onto wanda's nightstand. she doesn't wait for this, either, crawling onto the bed and curling into the space she's been given. when the sheets are settled back over her, she cants her head against the pillow, searching the other girl's eyes. ]
[ she breathes in, out, steadying herself and watching the way wanda stares back. it catches her in the gut, stirring something that warms her cheeks. illyana doesn't look away; instead, she moves nearer, touching a hand to wanda's, grazing fingers across her knuckles. ]
[ she's teasing, her grin spreading at the warmth that spreads from wanda's touch. there's a gentle squeeze given, her eyes finding the other pair again. ( they think we're evil — she doesn't need to know who. ) ]
(Wanda thinks she only comes to these dumb meetings for the free coffee. And because she can bum cigarettes off people during the breaks. She lost her brother, he was her world. She can handle five years and a lost lover.
She was strong.
One night, she pours coffee for another meeting-goer and accidentally looks away, pouring it all over his shoes.)
I'm so sorry! Here!
(With a wave of her hand, the droplets are encircled by red fairy lights, pulling them back and onto a napkin in her hand.
[Frank tells himself that he's doing this out of solidarity. He is not doing this because this is the advice that Curtis would have given him if he felt lost. Go to a meeting, get out there, if you don't want to talk listen. He can't make himself go to his district vet meeting because Curtis isn't there.
Maybe he's okay somewhere. Maybe he moved and finally decided to just not speak to Frank.
He can't bare to try and find Amy to know she is lost. As to Karen and the Hell's Kitchen crew? Fuck. He just...he can't.
So you show up. You get free coffee and you bum cigarettes. It's better than actually buying a pack. He quit when Maria got pregnant with Lisa. The only thing now and again is cigar. And a shared smoke from someone that knows he needs it without asking the why. That's kind of nice. Sort of.
Coffee spills over the leather of his boot. It's not a big deal. Not like there's much feeling in that foot anyway with what the Irish and a drill did to it. What good would yelling do anyway?]
Nice trick you got there.
[Definitely the most shiny he's seen. And for the smallest thing.]
...uh...Wendy right? ...Wanda.
[They got sticky name tags and everything. Real organized. Frank doesn't bother with the facade of Pete Castigilione anymore. Just Frank. Says enough. The worked is fucked up enough as it is.]
(She nods and holds the pot out so that she can pour a little more into Frank's cup.)
What did you say your name was? After all, you know mine.
(Wanda did a lot of talking today. Not about her superhero adventures, but her love for Vision. She never once mentioned he was created unlike the rest of them.)
Talk about it? I just open my mouth and it falls out.
(She's poetic like that. Her voice is deep and her accent is thick, letting it return to her like an old habit. She looks up at Frank, he's so tall. She wonders what it's like to hug him.)
I try not to, ever since the Avengers got into trouble.
(Wanda looks a little haggard. The world after being Snapped isn't a fun one. Everyone may be back, but Vision and her brother are still dead. Her hair is messy and the bags under her eyes are designer.)
[Frank's expression evens out and he nods. Out of habit, he pays attention to world events. It keeps him busy and in the know. It also has a tendency to dictate a trickle down of activities to small time crime one way or the other.]
Oh. Oh yeah. I can see why.
[He takes a sip of his coffee, his gaze down turned.]
My whole family was gunned down.
[How do you even? That doesn't even sound like it even sums up what happened, how it felt, what it had done to his life. Saying his whole family diminishes them down to that moment. His wife wasn't forty yet. Frankie and Lisa were still in grade school.]
My wife. My son. My daughter.
[He doesn't have the same finesse that Wanda possesses even with a second language and the same heavy weight of grief. Of course it weighs on her. It's on Frank too.]
[In this conversation, in this atmosphere he's going to assume that means that her brother is no longer with us. The way she speaks and the look in her eyes, that seals it. Frank still has it in him to say:]
I'm sorry to hear that.
[Not like grief has a limit or anything. The second question is blindsiding. Frank blinks and his brows furrow.]
Uh. Huh.
[Not like it was an utter shit show however this is gonna take a minute.]
[Was that wrong? He's not so sure. Her mood hasn't lifted. Frank's mouth twitches.]
...yeah. I could go for a smoke.
[He has tried not to. The itch comes back. He's only human. And it isn't like he is trying to save himself any ailment. Frank steps back and moves to the exit. The sky is grey with clouds, not much light radiating through.]
(Wanda's small stature seems so much bigger as she strides out of the building. Carrying herself like a gnarled tree- strong but deformed. Broken. She reaches into her hoodie pocket and offers Frank first pick at her already opened pack.) It just felt like something to do. Maybe it would fill the emptiness inside of me? If even for a moment.
(This was before Westview. Before finding out where Vision's remains were kept. She could feel it, that wave. Knocking her over and over again.)
Not as big or bad of a choice. I kinda thought that I'd given up. Sometimes the flavor, the nicotine, it's what you need.
[She's a grown woman, no matter what she's been through she doesn't need anyone's judgement, anyone's say. He takes a cigarette from the box.]
Got a light too?
[Frank leans against the walling of the building, leaning. Her eyes are so... to say sad really doesn't touch the kind of depths she's got there. He doesn't know why but it makes him offer something like a smile.]
It don't have to be a magic light or nothing.
[She's already gone and done something fuckin' special for spilled coffee.]
[He repeats it back. The fanciful notion, the expanding possibilities. The first inhale of his cigarette gives him a moment to ponder, to pause. There have been so many nights spent looking to the past and wishing to feel that way he did at the head of the table, the family he lost around him. It's too personal, too close and too painful to put to words.]
Anything... That's a big, loaded gun if I ever seen one.
[Gravel has cut into his voice. It can't be helped. That's just how it is. The second impulse is to be somewhere, sometime where he knows who and what he is on the battlefield. His imagination is a hale of bullets and explosions.
To ask for that, fuck all, man.]
A bigger space. Me and my rescue, we could use a stretch. Though I'm not sure if more walls would make it feel more empty.
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a little bit x-men? a little bit avengers? we're winging it.
[ she had always considered herself a creature of impulse — rarely waiting, often acting immediately and with a force so full, it possessed a tendency to leave behind something ( or someone ) to be cleaned, a lesson to be learned. they teach so many here — so many lessons, so many rules. she wonders if this is the place for her, if she is capable of having a place at all.
what she expected even less, was wanda maximoff. wanda, who moved with a magic all her own. wanda, who she initially found loathsome, irritating — she had built up such a pride in herself, in her abilities, in being the strongest person she knew. who did this girl think she was? red and beautiful and full of a rage she knew so intimately. where the line started, how it came here, she's uncertain; all she knows is that it has, that it is, and that she finds comfort in the shape of it.
she doesn't wait for wanda to tell her the door is unlocked. she doesn't wait to hear a lecture from someone about relationships with other trainees. instead, she rushes with long legs and bare feet, across the carpet of the halls, careful and cautious around each corner. behind her is a trail of blonde hair, here and gone again. in her back pocket, her phone lights up and goes dim again — one unread message as she tries the doorknob ( grinning at her own success ) and peers through the frame. ]
You should have locked this.
[ she finally says, touching her back to the door to close it. ]
There are some real weirdos here, you know.
💕
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[ illyana removes her phone, turning it upside down and onto wanda's nightstand. she doesn't wait for this, either, crawling onto the bed and curling into the space she's been given. when the sheets are settled back over her, she cants her head against the pillow, searching the other girl's eyes. ]
You're a shitty liar.
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[ she breathes in, out, steadying herself and watching the way wanda stares back. it catches her in the gut, stirring something that warms her cheeks. illyana doesn't look away; instead, she moves nearer, touching a hand to wanda's, grazing fingers across her knuckles. ]
It didn't take.
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(Wanda turns her hand up so that Illyana is touching her palm, and she wraps her fingers around Illyana's.)
They think we're evil.
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[ she's teasing, her grin spreading at the warmth that spreads from wanda's touch. there's a gentle squeeze given, her eyes finding the other pair again. ( they think we're evil — she doesn't need to know who. ) ]
Let them.
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(Illyana lights a fire in Wanda. A fire that won't soon be put out. She curls up closer to Illyana, tangling her bare legs with the other girl's.)
SNAPPED: What next?
She was strong.
One night, she pours coffee for another meeting-goer and accidentally looks away, pouring it all over his shoes.)
I'm so sorry! Here!
(With a wave of her hand, the droplets are encircled by red fairy lights, pulling them back and onto a napkin in her hand.
She smiles. You didn't yell.)
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Maybe he's okay somewhere. Maybe he moved and finally decided to just not speak to Frank.
He can't bare to try and find Amy to know she is lost. As to Karen and the Hell's Kitchen crew? Fuck. He just...he can't.
So you show up. You get free coffee and you bum cigarettes. It's better than actually buying a pack. He quit when Maria got pregnant with Lisa. The only thing now and again is cigar. And a shared smoke from someone that knows he needs it without asking the why. That's kind of nice. Sort of.
Coffee spills over the leather of his boot. It's not a big deal. Not like there's much feeling in that foot anyway with what the Irish and a drill did to it. What good would yelling do anyway?]
Nice trick you got there.
[Definitely the most shiny he's seen. And for the smallest thing.]
...uh...Wendy right? ...Wanda.
[They got sticky name tags and everything. Real organized. Frank doesn't bother with the facade of Pete Castigilione anymore. Just Frank. Says enough. The worked is fucked up enough as it is.]
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(She smiles weakly, taking a sip of her coffee. She liked it bitter, and so hot it hurt your throat.)
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No real harm done either way. I mean. Only shoes.
[Worn or not though they are looking pretty bad these days. About everything about Frank is rough around the edges.]
Can I still get a top off? Shame I can't soak it up like a plant.
[He notes she's drinking it black. Same as him.]
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What did you say your name was? After all, you know mine.
(Wanda did a lot of talking today. Not about her superhero adventures, but her love for Vision. She never once mentioned he was created unlike the rest of them.)
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Frank.
[Oh. Well he had a nametag once. Oops.]
I don't come all the time. Just. You know. Not the easiest thing.
[Carrying your grief is a heavy, time consuming aft.]
And I know the point is to share but I'm just not a talker.
[Not here. Not like that. Not yet anyway.]
....how do you do it?
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(She's poetic like that. Her voice is deep and her accent is thick, letting it return to her like an old habit. She looks up at Frank, he's so tall. She wonders what it's like to hug him.)
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We all been through a lot. Not like I'm thinking it'll be something no one's heard.
[Plenty of people die. All the time.]
Maybe I like making people heard than saying shit, we gotta have people who talk and people who listen.
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(She wonders who he lost. A girlfriend. A boyfriend. A wife and mistress.)
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[The corner of his mouth curls upward.]
You don't--typically follow local news do you?
[Mighty presumptuous of him to assume that she knows the whole sob story like the rest of New York.]
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(Wanda looks a little haggard. The world after being Snapped isn't a fun one. Everyone may be back, but Vision and her brother are still dead. Her hair is messy and the bags under her eyes are designer.)
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Oh. Oh yeah. I can see why.
[He takes a sip of his coffee, his gaze down turned.]
My whole family was gunned down.
[How do you even? That doesn't even sound like it even sums up what happened, how it felt, what it had done to his life. Saying his whole family diminishes them down to that moment. His wife wasn't forty yet. Frankie and Lisa were still in grade school.]
My wife. My son. My daughter.
[He doesn't have the same finesse that Wanda possesses even with a second language and the same heavy weight of grief. Of course it weighs on her. It's on Frank too.]
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(And she already talked about Vision.)
What's something that's made you happy this year?
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I'm sorry to hear that.
[Not like grief has a limit or anything. The second question is blindsiding. Frank blinks and his brows furrow.]
Uh. Huh.
[Not like it was an utter shit show however this is gonna take a minute.]
Gimme a second there.
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Did you get Snapped?
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[Frank's face scrunches a little.]
I mean. That's good. I guess. I can keep working.
[Working on taking out the garbage of humanity night to night.]
I rescued a dog. That's a good thing.
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(She touches the rim of her Styrofoam cup, trying to wipe away a little of the lipstick.)
My brother was gone for five years, then I was snapped, and now it's been ten years since he was on this planet...
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[They make him feel a little better. It is the feeling that he is stopping someone's worst day ever from happening. It's a small consolation though.]
...you never stop thinking about em. Hope no one tries to tell you otherwise.
[Who would dare? No one around here.]
I try and do what feels good. That kinda changes a lot.
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You want to go outside with me while I smoke?
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...yeah. I could go for a smoke.
[He has tried not to. The itch comes back. He's only human. And it isn't like he is trying to save himself any ailment. Frank steps back and moves to the exit. The sky is grey with clouds, not much light radiating through.]
no subject
(This was before Westview. Before finding out where Vision's remains were kept. She could feel it, that wave. Knocking her over and over again.)
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[She's a grown woman, no matter what she's been through she doesn't need anyone's judgement, anyone's say. He takes a cigarette from the box.]
Got a light too?
[Frank leans against the walling of the building, leaning. Her eyes are so... to say sad really doesn't touch the kind of depths she's got there. He doesn't know why but it makes him offer something like a smile.]
It don't have to be a magic light or nothing.
[She's already gone and done something fuckin' special for spilled coffee.]
no subject
So, Frank. (she blows the smoke through her lips in a small o.) If you could do anything you wanted, right now? What would it be?
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[He repeats it back. The fanciful notion, the expanding possibilities. The first inhale of his cigarette gives him a moment to ponder, to pause. There have been so many nights spent looking to the past and wishing to feel that way he did at the head of the table, the family he lost around him. It's too personal, too close and too painful to put to words.]
Anything... That's a big, loaded gun if I ever seen one.
[Gravel has cut into his voice. It can't be helped. That's just how it is. The second impulse is to be somewhere, sometime where he knows who and what he is on the battlefield. His imagination is a hale of bullets and explosions.
To ask for that, fuck all, man.]
A bigger space. Me and my rescue, we could use a stretch. Though I'm not sure if more walls would make it feel more empty.