Chapter 4
“We will stay in Asgard tonight,” Thor said. “I need to consult with my father briefly. There will be a feast to welcome you later.”
“Wow, we rank a feast?” Clint said.
“All of Asgard has heard of your exploits,” Thor said. “And it doesn't take much to 'rank' a feast. Sif, would you show the Lady Wanda to her chambers? I will lead Barton and the Vision myself.”
The dark-haired woman nodded curtly and began to usher Wanda down the hall. With a final backwards glance at Clint and Vision, she allowed herself to be guided away.
They walked down the hallway in silence. Wanda could feel Sif's mind churning beside her and she reached out, cautiously. She caught anger, with fear beating hard just beneath it, and under it all a deep sense of love and-
“Stop.”
Wanda jerked back, thrown into her own mind with a stunning force. The lady Sif stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at her. “My mind is my own,” she said sternly. “Stay out of it.”
“I can't control it,” she gasped.
“Learn to.” Sif took a calming breath. “I apologize for my harshness. I have grown somewhat skittish of magics lately.”
“I thought all Asgardians knew magics.”
“We've all seen it.” Her eyes went cold for a moment, and even without reaching Wanda could see the face of the dark-haired boy from Thor's memories. “Some closer than others.” She paused again, and then smiled, the first open and kind smile Wanda had seen from her.
“I am being a terrible host,” she said. “Welcome to Asgard. I only wish you had come under happier circumstances.”
Wanda nodded. “Me too.”
“I'll take you to your room,” Sif said. “It's not as grand as it might have been. We had to make some – renovations.”
“Stark complains about the same thing,” Wanda said dryly.
“They have similar causes, from what Thor tells me.” Sif smiled. “Thor speaks of all of you often. He said you have the spirit of a true warrior.”
“That was kind of him,” Wanda said perfunctorily, familiar twist of guilt worming around her insides. Kind. They were all kind, so kind, despite everything she'd done, and how did she repay them?
“You certainly have a warrior's tongue,” Sif said wryly. “Would you be more comfortable speaking in your native language?”
“You speak Romanian?” she said in surprise.
“I speak everything,” Sif said flawlessly in Wanda's native tongue.
Cautiously, Wanda extended her hand. “Wanda Maximoff.”
Sif beamed and clasped the extended hand firmly. “I am pleased to meet you, Wanda. Come. I will show you to your chambers.”
“You want to do what?”
Rhodey sighed heavily. “We need it, trust us.”
Behind the counter, the little old man stared up at him from behind thick round glasses incredulously. “No! Absolutely not. It's a sacrilege.”
“Come on,” Sam said. “There has to be some sort of legal precedent. It's for the Avengers.”
“And you have no legal authority!” the old man squeaked. “This is absurd.”
From behind Rhodey and Sam, Tony coughed significantly. The other two parted to let him step forward. “Listen,” Tony said. “We don't really have time to do this the legal way, whatever that is. So here's what I'm going to do. I am going to write you a check for-” He looked the man up and down skeptically. “Ten thousand dollars,” he said finally, scrawling it out on the check and signing with a flourish. “And you are going to let us go dig up that dead boy's body.”
He tore the check out with an elaborate flick of the wrist. Rhodey rolled his eyes. Tony tipped down his sunglasses to look the man dead in the eye, who squeaked again, less coherently. Tremblingly, the old man reached out for the check.
“I hope you brought your own shovels,” he said finally. Tony turned on his heel and strode out of the office. Sam and Rhodey followed him.
“I knew we brought you along for something,” Sam said with a grin. “Now grab a shovel. Let's get this done.”
The hall was dim and hushed, the kind of silence that seemed to be waiting anxiously for a sound to scatter. At the end of the hall, the Allfather sat slightly hunched, gazing pensively at the floor.
The sound of footsteps bounced brightly off the walls. Thor Odinson was striding down the hall, the dim light of the room clinging to his golden hair and red cape.
“Thor,” the Allfather rumbled.
He knelt at the foot of the throne. “Father.”
“What is it that you want?”
“I don't-”
“Don't bother flattery, son. What do you want?”
Thor set his jaw irritatedly. “Information.”
“To retrieve your witch's brother?”
“Did Heimdall tell everyone?” Thor snapped exasperatedly. Odin raised his eyebrows.
“You would keep your plans from your father?”
“Is it possible?” Thor said quickly, ignoring Odin's jab.
Odin shifted uncomfortably. “Of course it is possible. But it takes a great power.”
“We have it,” Thor said.
“The girl is weak and untrained.”
“The girl is an avenger,” Thor said. “She can do it.”
“Avenger,” Odin sneered coldly. “You risk your very soul for another of your precious mortal pets?”
“Please, not this again, father,” Thor muttered. “They are not pets. They are friends.”
“You have grown soft, my son,” Odin rumbled. Thor huffed angrily.
“Must we have this conversation every time I return?” he snapped. “You sent me down there, you laid me barren on Midgard, and now you resent the seeds I have sown there?” He swung up his hammer. “I still carry Mjolnir, Father. Do you disagree with its judgment?” He flipped the hammer in midair, catching it so that its handle pointed towards Odin. “Would you like it back?”
Silence rushed back into the hall. Odin stared down the handle with his one good eye, looking strangely calculating. Finally, he looked up at his son with a cold, curved smile that sent shivers down Thor's spine.
“Father?” he said.
“I can deliver you to Hel's realm,” Odin said, “and Heimdall can pull you out. Beyond that, I cannot guarantee.”
Thor relaxed, lowering the hammer to his side once more. “Thank you.”
“Beware, Odinson,” Odin rumbled gravely. “You are dealing with dark and powerful forces.”
Thor shrugged. “I have faith in my team.”
Odin nodded.
“Will you be attending the feast?” Thor asked, stepping back to leave.
“I think not,” Odin said stiffly.
“They tell me you have not been attending as many events as you used to,” Thor said.
“I am old,” Odin said gruffly, “and I am often weary.”
Thor nodded. “Thank you, father,” he said again. His cape swirled behind him and he was gone, too soon to see the faint golden gleam on the throne behind him.
“Wanda!” Clint called, banging on the door to her room. “Come on, kid, we haven't got all night.”
He was just about to start knocking again when the door opened. Wanda and Sif stepped out, both clad in elaborate Asgardian evening wear. Sif wore a stunning dress of blue and silver, a knife clasped to her thigh where it could easily be seen through the slit in her dress.
“Close your mouth, archer, you'll catch flies,” she said coolly. Clint snapped his mouth shut.
Wanda stepped out behind her. Her dress was more modest, a deep, ruddy color with a golden collar. Her dark hair was braided simply and fell over her bare shoulders. She looked almost shy.
Clint felt a sudden rush of sadness for how young she was. Here she was, barely in her twenties, and already carrying more ghosts than most did in their fifties. She had missed so much – she and her brother. No family, a life of boarding schools and orphanages – she'd never had a graduation, or a first day of college, or a prom. With an equally painful tug he found himself missing his daughter, her tiny face absorbed in a drawing at the kitchen table, and he vowed for the hundredth time that she would never have the childhood it was too late to save Wanda from.
“You look beautiful,” he said, a little gruffly. “Now come on, I'm hungry.”
“Are you wearing a cape?” Wanda said.
Clint rolled his eyes and stomped off down the hallway, leaving Wanda and Vision alone outside her door.
“He is quite correct,” Vision said, a little hesitantly. “You do look – quite beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she said, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “You look very handsome.”
He smiled, a little bashfully, and offered her his arm. She took it, their bodies brushing together and sending a jolt of electricity down Wanda's spine. They walked down the hall towards the feast.
“Did you enjoy your time with the Lady Sif?” he said. Wanda nodded.
“She was kind.”
Vision smiled. “Good.”
They entered a giant dance hall, with great arching golden pillars and smooth white stone floors. Tables lined the sides of the hall, laden with meats and fruits and pastries. In the center, Asgardians whirled and stepped to a band playing on the raised platform toward the end of the hall.
“Friends!” Thor unmistakable boom echoed through the hall. He appeared at Vision's side and handed each of them a tankard filled with foaming liquid. “Eat. Drink. This is all for you.”
Clint appeared next to them and plucked the tankard from Wanda's hand.
“You don't want this,” he said, taking a deep sip. “Worst hangover you've ever had. Doesn't exactly keep you in fighting trim.”
“Then why are you drinking it?” she said with a skeptical glare.
“Fighting with a hangover's kinda my superpower,” Clint said.
Wanda rolled her eyes.
“Uh-oh,” Clint said. “Thor's teaching the Asgardians how to twerk.” He pushed off again into the crowd.
“That is a very strange man,” Vision said calmly.
“You're all strange,” Wanda said.
“I suppose that's true.” He guided her over to one of the buffets. “Would you like something to eat?”
The hall was loud. Wanda could hear everything, could sense the very vibrations in the stone as she loaded up her plate. She caught herself at the end of the table grabbing napkins to wrap the food up and stopped herself. After so many years not knowing where her next meal would come from, Wanda had developed a tendency to hoard food, taking a lot and eating a little, tucking pieces into her pockets and purses.
Pietro had been the opposite, shoveling more food into his emaciated stomach than had seemed humanly possible, even before Strucker.
Out on the dance floor, the Asgardians had paired up. They were dancing something that seemed to be a strange combination of the waltz and polka. Thor and Sif were spinning around, breathless with laughter, their hair falling into their faces.
“Would you like to dance?”
Wanda looked up, startled. Vision was standing over her, one hand extended.
“I don't know how,” she said. Vision shrugged.
“Neither do I,” he said, “but I'm sure we can learn.”
She hesitated a moment longer before placing her hand in his. The rapidly-becoming-familiar tingle danced its way down her arm.
He swept her out onto the dance floor, hand landing lightly on her hip. “Do you have any idea what you're doing?” she hissed anxiously. He smiled.
“No,” he said, spinning her out and back in. “Just be spontaneous.”
She grinned despite herself, letting him lead her deeper onto the floor. They whirled and twirled, her dress flaring out around her ankles, his cape flying out behind him. For the first time since she'd entered the hall, the droning babble of other people's thoughts hushed, her mind clear of everything but the music and Vision, smiling down at her.
The song ended, too soon, and the dancers stilled and applauded the band. Next to Sif, Thor caught Wanda's eye and winked. She blushed and dropped her gaze.
Vision lead her off the dance floor again, helping her into a seat. “Can I get you anything?”
“Water,” she said, “please.”
He nodded, pressing her hand gently before he left.
She leaned back against the wall, trying to catch her breath, slow her pounding heart. She let her gaze drift around the room.
Odinson, she heard. And then, louder, she felt the heat of the woman next to her, a deep desire from somewhere further off, a pounding heart.
Food, she heard. They have not mine how dare-
There were too many voices to distinguish.
You heard she lies who would what now how-
There were too many voices, she couldn't think. She felt their minds pressing into hers.
Some what can be true so much how what lovenowcan'tperhapswhensohowwemuchtobehe pleasecan'tdancelaughwho
“Wanda!”
She was dimly aware of figures looming over her, hands on her face. She couldn't focus.
Howwhatgirlavengerwrongwithhercan'tseewherecrazywhywrongsheThorsuspectnothingbut
GET OUT.
Green light burst over her consciousness. Wanda was thrust back into her own mind with more power than she'd ever felt, and she gasped, aware of herself once more. She began to hyperventilate. Her throat felt caught, clammed up tight. She couldn't get air into her lungs.
“Wanda?”
Strong arms clasped her around the waist and she was lifted up gently. She felt herself moving through the air that she could not breathe, out into cool darkness she recognized dimly as the hall to her room. The doors opened and closed, and in the quiet stillness her throat released and she pulled air into her grateful lungs.
After a few breaths she looked up to see Vision and Clint standing worriedly over her.
“You alright?” Clint said.
For a second she was remembering a different man standing over her, and she wanted more than anything her brother's hands gently stroking her hair, holding her hands steady to keep them from shaking.
“I'm fine,” she rasped, attempting to swallow. “I need- water.”
Clint nodded. “I'll get it.” He gently squeezed her hand before he rose, bounding out of the room. She heard Thor's concerned rumble outside before the door shut.
Vision remained, green eyes trained on her face.
“Are you alright?”
“I'm fine,” she snapped.
“You don't seem fine,” he said, a deep sadness in his tone. She glared at him.
“Why do you do this?” she rasped. “Why are you so kind to me? What do you want?”
“I don't want anything-” he began, startled, but she cut him off.
“Bullshit,” she said. “Everyone wants something.” She jumped off the bed and stared, searching, into his face.
“I suppose – I just want – for you to be happy,” he said quietly, catching her hands and bringing them close to his chest.
“Really?” she said, and there was such a terrible combination of fear and hope in her eyes that he could not resist.
“Yes,” he said, and he kissed her.
It was like two particles colliding. The whole world seemed to shiver as his hands anchored themselves on her waist, as she stretched up to cup the back of his neck, the sides of his face. Their whole bodies sparked with the touch, pressing closer and closer as if to absorb each other.
“Oh, for god's sake!”
They jumped apart, startled.
Clint stood with one hand over his eyes, holding out a glass of water with the other.
“Christ, the sock on the door is a time honored tradition,” he snapped. “I- Just- I'm gonna leave the water and go, okay?”
He stumbled forward blindly a few steps before Vision took pity on him and took the water from his waving hand.
“I'm leaving,” Clint said definitively, “and I want us all to pretend this never happened.”
“The door is behind you,” Wanda said dryly. Clint cracked open one eye to find his way out of the room. Wanda was rather proud of herself for waiting for the door to slam to burst out laughing.
“Why are you still laughing?” Clint practically screamed at Thor, who seemed barely able to support himself, he was laughing so hard. “I need Nat.”
Thor wiped tears from his eyes.
“Calm yourself, archer. This is a good thing.”
“I know that,” Clint said. “But- I was supposed to have a good five years before I had to deal with anything like this! Five years! And now all of a sudden I have to figure out how to give a safe-robot-sex talk.”
Thor began to laugh again and Clint heaved a sigh. “Fine. Whatever. I'm happy they're happy, and all that.” He whimpered slightly. “I need Natasha. Natasha would know what to do.”
“Natasha would be laughing at you as well, my friend.”
“Yes, but she'd actually be helpful after,” Clint snapped. “God. I'm going to go drink until the braincells holding that memory die.”
He stormed off, leaving Thor leaning hard against the wall to keep from falling over with laughter.
The last credits of the movie had ended a long time ago. Steve sat in the dim blue light of the TV screen, pencil scratching over his sketchpad. He glanced up every now and then at Natasha, sleeping catlike on the couch. A few strands of red hair hung in her face and he brushed them aside gently.
A wave of affection and gratitude swept over him. He remembered the stunning redhead he'd first met on the helicarrier, cold, cool, and collected. He could hardly recognize the woman sleeping on the couch in front of him now. Somewhere along the line she'd gone from being an operative to a hero – and a friend.
“Steve?” Maria Hill's voice crackled over the intercom. “Were you expecting anyone?”
The sketchpad lay forgotten on the coffee table. “Not that I was aware of.”
“You better get up here then.”