One of the first differences Wanda notices between New York and Sokovia is that New York never sleeps. 3 pm or am, there is always some sort of life down there. It feels a little unreal, when she’s looking at it from the giant windows in the Stark Tower.
When she was eleven, before everything happened, she used to sit by her window in her room and stare out over the city. Sokovia wasn’t much to look at - nothing compared to New York - but she liked the dark sky and the quiet atmosphere the night brought. Her mom would scold her for staying up so late, but it was always worth it.
In New York though, the sky is never dark, and the city is never quiet. She thinks it’s better that way. When she can’t sleep, the constant buzz from the city drowns her thoughts, and she can stay awake just looking at the lights, without feeling lonely.
Wanda knows she’s not the only one who likes the view. More than once has she gone to the common floor and then returned to her room because someone is already there. Most of the time, it’s Captain Rogers, but Natasha shows up fairly often as well. They all have issues, she knows that. Sometimes it’s nice to know that she’s not the only one.
Tonight, though, the room is empty. She hopes they are all sleeping well, because, as unexpected as it is, she has grown to care about them, this little dysfunctional family that for some reason let her in. They’re not Pietro, but they’re something. They deserve happiness.
She senses her first, seconds before she hears the footsteps. Natasha, apparently, couldn’t sleep tonight either. She comes up beside Wanda and with crossed arms, but doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to.
Wanda likes Natasha. She likes her fierceness and she likes her red hair and the way she holds herself, like a queen. Sometimes, she likes her a little too much. Natasha’s eyes are distracting, and her skin is so fair.
She suspects Natasha has noticed, because she notices everything and sometimes Wanda’s feelings slip out, available for everyone to see.
«You like the view?» Natasha says, cutting through the silence.
Wanda turns her head and looks at her. She’s looking at the city, lights reflecting in her eyes. Turning back to the window, Wanda remembers the question.
«I can see why people like this city, yes. It really is something else.»
Natasha is so close, she can feel her mind, the fluttering lights of her thoughts and her swirling emotions. Don’t go further, she warns herself. This is the most private part of Natasha. She has no right to look.
«It’s not like Russia,» Natasha murmurs, sounding absent, like she’s thinking of a place far away, and she is. A memory slips through Wanda’s emotion-wall, and vividly she can see trees and snow and loneliness and isolation.
The picture shatters when Nat turns to her and smiles, slightly heavy-lidded. «But then again, nothing is.»
Wanda’s breath is coming a little short, and she feels shaky. Nat smiles wider and steps a tiny bit closer.
«I like New York,» she says, never breaking eye-contact. «It’s nice. Alive.» Wanda nods, breathlessly.
«It’s full of emotions,» Nat continues, smiling wider and slyer, and Wanda isn’t sure if she can hold back anymore. «I can feel it, right in my-,»
Wanda surges forward and kisses her. Buries her hands in Natasha’s hair and refuses to be embarrassed about her lack of self-control, but Nat doesn’t seem to care. She smiles against Wanda’s lips, like she’s been waiting for this and pulls her closer.
Far down below them, New York is moving with life, but Wanda finds that she doesn’t need more life than what lies behind Natasha’s bright eyes and soft lips.