Light Up The Night

The first thing Wanda noticed was the scent of lilies. Her mind panicked but her body didn’t move into fight or flight. Her heart rate and respiration remained alarmingly steady despite the fact that her mind was screaming at her to run. Her body felt heavy and numb, disconnected from her.

With effort, she opened her eyes, wary of what she would see. The blurry shapes and images were even more confusing and frightening than she had anticipated. The room, which came more and more into view as she blinked repeatedly, was both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. There were elements that were the same as the room of her childhood – the decorations, the wall color, the furniture – but the geography was all wrong. The furniture sat in different places, the paintings on different walls, hanging at different angles.

But enough was the same for her to start making sense of her fragmented memories. She remembered the panic room and the heaviness of Pietro’s slumped body as she shoved him through the door. She remembered the click of the door as she kicked it shut. And she remembered the sinking feeling in her stomach when she was told that Tony Stark sold them out.

Everything after that was fuzzy and blurred, with bits and pieces fighting to come through. The feeling of a car moving beneath her. Snippets of conversation that didn’t make sense because they were either in a different language or she only caught every few words instead of the full sentence. The disorienting sense of being lifted and carried, combined with whatever medications they had put in her system.

Then being in one place and not moving, with the same smooth and soft sheets around her that covered her now. Someone leaning over her. Pills placed in her mouth and her having no choice but to swallow. The prick of a needle entering her arm. And then the world falling away again.

She had no idea how much time had passed. It might have been hours or days or weeks. With effort, she pushed the sheets down and felt vaguely sick as she realized that she no longer wore the pajamas she’d been in when she’d been taken. Instead, she was in a pastel colored nightgown, similar to the type her adoptive father had ensured she wore throughout her entire childhood.

A glance at her body revealed that while there were mottled bruises on her arms from the injections, there was no IV or feeding tube anywhere. It couldn’t have been more than a day or two, definitely not a week. That was good. That was something. As was the fact that while her body still felt heavy and remote, Talbot had decided that she did not have to remain sedated.

Which meant she would be required to make an appearance soon. She would have to be face-to-face with Talbot and would not be able to lose her temper. At best, she would need to act the role she always had with him; at worst, she would be the recipient of his wrath with her brother thankfully not there.

She carefully pushed herself into a sitting position, taking it slow as the medications still in her system made the room spin. Her bed was the same, as was all the furniture, but the sheets were different. Of the same quality, naturally, but the fact that Talbot had clearly prepared this family reunion left a sickened feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The fact that the two of them had been found, that he had spent so much effort in sending various groups after them, that he had not blinked an eye over Pietro being shot, all of those things had demonstrated to her that Talbot was never going to let them go. But somehow seeing the set up of the room made things even worse. He had kept all of their furniture but moved it to a new, secure location where it would be harder to find them. He had also purchased – or had someone else purchase – new bedding and clothes, because none of her previous nightgowns would have fit her any longer.

This wasn’t the work of a man who planned to kill her. This was the work of a man who wasn’t going to let her go that easily, who had plans that would require her to be alive and around for a length of time. How long, exactly, was the question.

Getting to her feet was difficult when her legs did not feel attached to the rest of her but she only stumbled for the first two strides. Then, even though her legs felt no more connected with her than they had a few moments ago, she made her way over to the windows. Or, more appropriately, what she had thought were windows, given that there were curtains.

She pushed the curtains back to reveal a steel contraption which covered the actual window underneath. Definitely an upgrade from the bars that he had fixed to her and her brother’s windows after the first few escape attempts. But Talbot wasn’t taking any chances now.

There was a knock from behind and she spun around, almost falling, just as the door creaked open. The figure strode into the room and Wanda found herself stumbling back, only to find the wall and covered window behind her. There was nowhere else for her to go but she couldn’t stay here. She had to run. She had to escape. She had to get away from him.

“Hello, Wanda,” the Baron said, his tone neutral and yet also somehow far too familiar. “It is good to see you again.”

“Hello, Baron,” Wanda said, lowering her head demurely and averting her gaze, just as she always had with him.

The words and gestures came automatically, despite the fact that she was saying the farthest thing possible from her actual thoughts or feelings. But she knew better than to respond truthfully. Not with the Baron.

“Please, take a seat,” he said in a way that was less of a suggestion, more of an order, as he gestured towards the bed.

She kept her eyes locked on the floor as she made her way back to the bed and sat on the edge. She made no attempt to raise her eyes from the floor and therefore saw the well-shined black leather of the Baron’s shoes as he stepped over to her. She heard the rustling of cloth as he laid something down beside her. Then slipped his finger beneath her chin, raising her eyes to meet his own.

Despite how the touch barely registered through the numbness still coating her body, she had to fight the urge to flinch.

“It has been some time, Wanda. You have been missed. Your father is glad to have you back.”

There was no right answer to respond to that. Simple pleasantries were acceptable but stating, “I am glad to be back” or “I am glad to be home” would be clearly lies. But to disagree would also not be acceptable. Finding a correct answer would be easier if her head didn’t feel packed with cotton. The only option was to remain silent.

The Baron allowed a few moments to go by, providing her with the opportunity to speak, but it was clear to her that they both knew she wouldn’t be saying anything. After those few moments went by, he sighed and then took out a small orange cyclical container from his pocket.

“It would seem that you are not yourself yet, Wanda,” he noted, pulling his hand away from her face and shaking two pills out of the container to hand to her. “Perhaps these will help.”

She took the pills automatically and placed them in her mouth. They left an unpleasant residue on her tongue in the time it took the Baron to hand her the glass of water placed beside the bed on the nightstand. The thought of pretending to take the medication lasted only a few seconds; he would check and she needed to start things off in the correct way. By following orders, she would incur trust and good will. Eventually, that would allow for them to slip up. Then she could make her move.

As she expected, the Baron checked her mouth for any remnants of the pills – and the feeling of his finger in her mouth, moving over her tongue and digging into the corners of her mouth with feigned gentleness nearly made her gag – and then nodded approvingly.

“You are being such a good girl, Wanda. This is a good first step to rebuilding trust with me and your father.” He kept his hand on her cheek, although his gaze shifted over to the item he had placed on the bed. “Speaking of your father, he is ready to see you. You have approximately 45 minutes to make yourself presentable. At that time, I will return to bring you to have dinner with him. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” she recited.

The Baron trailed one finger against her cheek. “Very good, Wanda. Very good. I am pleased and encouraged by how cooperative you are being.” His hand slowly moved away from her face and he stepped back. “I will return in exactly 45 minutes.”

Wanda managed to wait until he left the room, the sound of the lock clicking into place behind him, before she stumbled her way from the bed through the cracked open bathroom door on the other side of the room. As much as she longed to be sick and curb the nausea now wracking her body, she forced herself to swallow everything back down. The Baron wouldn’t have gone far and if he heard her throwing up – or realized that she had thrown up – that would mean injections and IVs and all sorts of other unpleasantness to keep her compliant.

She took several deep breaths and then slid down to the bathroom floor to take inventory of her situation. The tile on the floor was blessedly cool. The more deep breathing she engaged in, the more the nausea eased up. Even from her position on the floor, she could see that the lock on the bathroom door had been removed. It wasn’t surprising – her adoptive father always had a way of staying a few steps ahead of them, at least in terms of the environment and setting. That led to her and Pietro – and it was agonizing to think of him, even for a second – needing to find ways around Talbot’s scheming.

Her brother. Who could have been dead, for all she knew. Still, better than having him here with her. He’d definitely be dead here. At least where he was now there was a chance. She had no idea how much of a chance but the odds had to be better.

Didn’t they?

Getting to her feet took effort but she had no idea how much time had already gone by. If she wasn’t dressed and ready to go by the time the Baron returned, she had no doubt he would dress her himself and that was the last thing she could handle. Best to be ready and waiting for his return and minimize her need to spend time with him.

Her body felt numb as she moved to the wardrobe, barely feeling the wood under her hands as she opened it or the fabric as she took down the first dress she saw hanging there. Moving on autopilot, she removed the nightgown – trying not to think too hard about who had placed it on her – and replaced it with the dress. A few moments of rummaging in the wardrobe revealed several pairs of shoes and she selected a non-heeled pair – not trusting her balance with even low heels – and instead selected a pair that almost appeared to be ballet flats. These would do nicely, giving her close contact with the floor to help her stay grounded, but providing a bit more protection than bare feet would provide.

She tested out a few steps, waiting until she felt comfortable. Then she returned to the bathroom, splashing water on her cheeks and not registering the temperature and whether it was hot or cold, and ran a hairbrush through her already mostly tangle-free hair.

The nausea started to resurface as she considered how much care had been taken with her while she was drugged. She splashed more water on her face in the hopes that would help. It gave her something else to focus on than the meal she was about to attend with Talbot.

It seemed that hardly any time had passed at all when her door was unlocked and the Baron stepped through. He looked her up and down, his gaze moving slowly over her body in a way that felt almost as violating as his touch would have. She kept her gaze straight ahead and did her best not to meet his eyes or focus too long on his face. After a few moments, he nodded approvingly and then offered his arm to her.

She took it without hesitation and now lowered her eyes to the floor. It was wood, well-polished and utterly unfamiliar. As they reached the steps, she found it padded with a strip of red carpet coating the middle, which she found herself grateful for, given that her balance was poor due to the medications running in her veins. The last thing she wanted to do was lean any more heavily on the Baron than she had to. Somehow the feeling of the carpeting beneath her thin soles helped steady her.

Every instinct in her body warned her to panic – told her to allow her adrenaline to start flowing, to bring on that fight or flight or freeze response – but instead everything felt remote and distant. Her heartbeat remained steady, her breathing even, even as each footstep took her closer and closer to Talbot. Even with the Baron at her side, her arm on top of his own.

Then they turned and stepped through a doorway and there he was, seated at the head of the table, just as he always had been. It all looked horrifyingly familiar. Even the table appeared similar – no, identical – to the one in the house. He’d either brought it to this new location or he had bought the same model for the sake of appearances. He remained seated and brought a glass of wine to his lips as the Baron walked her into the room and didn’t quite bow, more just inclined his head in a respectful manner in Talbot’s direction.

The Baron lightly pressed his elbow against Wanda’s side and she curtsied automatically. It was alarming, really, how quickly this all came back to her. The movements, the inclination of her head, and the intonation of her voice as she said, “Good evening, father.”

None of that remotely matched what she wanted to say and for an instant she wasn’t certain if she’d made the right decisions. Though, it wasn’t as if she’d thought through her actions. It had merely been the programmed response, triggered by all of the situational cues, and therefore there was nothing false about her words. Even if a part of her wanted to tell Talbot to fuck off, that wasn’t the way she spoke in these situations. Nor was it the response that would be beneficial.

“Good evening, Wanda.” He gestured towards a chair to his right. “Please, take a seat. I trust that you are hungry.”

The Baron didn’t give her a choice – he started to move her towards the chair before her feet could decide whether or not to respond to the order. She didn’t protest. There was no point. Instead, she allowed the Baron to pull out the chair for her and guide her into it, before pushing in the chair and placing her uncomfortably close to Talbot. But being close to him was nothing compared to the Baron standing behind her, his hands on the back of her chair, fingers pressed against her shoulders like weights.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat as she saw the food on the table. “Father, I must admit… I do not have much of an appetite.”

She could hear the cadence of her voice changing, her choice of words shifting away from the usual ones, and that, as much as the scent of the food on the table, left her feeling unsettled and sickened. She hadn’t heard those words come out of her mouth in that manner since she left home. She’d worked hard to change how she spoke, to not feel as though each word had to be carefully selected and pronounced, and now she was right back to the beginning.

“You must eat, Wanda. After all, you need to keep up your strength. I would not want to have to find other ways for you to get your nutrients.”

She swallowed hard again, trying to force the lump further down into her throat, and then reached for the fork. The alternative involved tubes or needles and that was not something she was willing to entertain. The food, despite clearly being of the highest quality money could buy, was tasteless in her mouth.

The Baron’s presence behind her remained and she tried to take her mind off of his hands still touching her shoulders. Focusing on the action of eating helped somewhat with that, but not enough.

“Well, Wanda, it has been awhile,” Talbot said. “It sounds like you’ve had quite a bit happening since you left, including befriending Tony Stark. How exactly did you and your brother manage that? Was he hiding you this entire time?”

She flinched at the reminder of how Tony had betrayed them, even though she still couldn’t believe he would have done that. Not after everything he had done for them.

Given her thoughts, she wordlessly shook her head, then realized, as Talbot’s gaze remained on her, that she needed to speak. “No. We only met him recently.”

“Interesting. That sounds… impressive and unlikely, to have developed a friendship with someone in such a high place.”

She could hear the questions imbedded within the statement and opted to ignore them.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” she said demurely, keeping her eyes on the plate in front of her.

“It’s a shame,” Talbot commented. “While I do not like him, I do have a certain level of grudging respect for him. I wish I had not been compelled to use force on him to find out where you and your brother were hiding.”

Although her fork had barely touched the food on her plate and therefore there was nothing in her mouth or throat for her to choke on, she suddenly couldn’t breathe. Despite that sliver of hope inside of her that kept assuring her that Tony never would have willingly sold them out, she had not gone further down that path. But now the pieces were coming alarmingly into place. Tony had been forced – tortured – to extract the information. The Baron was now standing behind her. While she had no doubt that her father knew others with those talents, Wanda doubted there were many with the same level of expertise as the Baron. And if the Baron had tortured Tony…

“What do you mean?” she asked, before she could reconsider those words.

“Just as I said, Wanda,” Talbot said calmly, surveying her in a way that made her question whether he was wondering whether he should have held back on that piece of information, to increase her distrust of Tony.

But of course, that tactic only would have been helpful if he thought Wanda might see Tony again and he clearly didn’t intend for that to happen.

“He was reluctant to share with my associate here where you and your brother were,” he continued. “But the Baron was able to get him to provide that information. Of course, that has drawn a bit more undue attention to what should have been a simple, discreet job.”

A pause and another bite of food, as though he were talking about something commonplace like an article in the newspaper, not having a man tortured for information. “Not that I need to worry. I have my alibies already set in stone and there is no way to connect what happened to Mr. Stark to me. It was, of course, a gamble to raise the stakes to this level, especially with all of the recent press between us. I know I am the most likely person to be scrutinized in light of this but it will be impossible for anyone to prove anything about my involvement.”

He took another bite of food. “Especially with the condition Mr. Stark is in. I do not anticipate he will be able to provide any information, if he survives at all.”

Wanda froze, partially in light of those words, partially in light of the fact that she had no idea how to respond to them. If she responded too emotionally, she’d be in more trouble. If she didn’t respond with any emotion, Talbot would be suspicious.

It was a lose-lose situation.

Although the emotions were raging inside of her, they didn’t seem to be able to make it to the surface due to the pills. Everything felt muted and distant and while part of her wanted to scream and rage and question why, even if she already knew the answer, there was a barrier between all of that and what came out on the surface.

Ultimately, she decided not to say anything and instead concentrated on forcing another bite of food into her mouth instead of speaking.

She could feel Talbot’s eyes on her and the Baron’s presence loomed at her back. When it became clear she wasn’t going to raise her gaze or speak, Talbot broke the silence.

“Well, enough of that unpleasantness. I suppose it is best to focus on the fact that you are back at home. That is an event to celebrate.”

With those words, Wanda could already imagine meal after meal after meal, just like this, in her future. She could see that the safe house, which had previously felt like a prison, was freedom compared to being locked in here. Already, she had to consider the fact that Talbot likely would be gone and not every meeting would involve him. At least for the immediate future, she guessed Talbot’s presence would be replaced by that of the Baron and the last thing she wanted was to be left alone with him for any length of time.

“Soon enough, your brother will be home with us. Then we’ll be a family again. And won’t that be nice, Wanda?”

She forced her gaze up at those words, knowing that she couldn’t avoid a response. All of the anger, she pushed back. Any defiance that might leak out of her gaze disappeared.

Being alone with the Baron would be horrible but nothing would be as bad as having her brother there with her. She didn’t know how, if at all, she could prevent that from happening, given her place locked up in here. But maybe, just maybe, if she played the dutiful daughter and demonstrated the proper level of obeisance, that would be enough. Maybe Talbot would forget about bringing Pietro here.

And so, she met his gaze without a hint of hesitation and said, “Yes, it will, father.”