Chapter 11
Wilson Fisk was never one to shy away from the reality of a situation. To him, living life in such a make-believe state would not propel him to the success that he craved. He had built an empire, a kingdom, but had no one to share it with. He lost his family, and with them gone the only thing to fill the void was power.
Fisk was addicted to it. He needed it. It was only thing that made him feel good. So, though his empire was large he was acutely aware that it wasn’t the largest. The Maximoff’s presence cast a large looming shadow over his own. So, he looked to take care of the problem.
Fisk knew he would shoot Dragos Maximoff as soon as they agreed to meet in private. He assumed the Sokovian was a man of his word and would come alone. He was mistaken, and he hated making mistakes.
Knowing that the Dragos was hospitalized was good at first. Fisk didn’t care if the man lived or died because he thought without Dragos in the way the Maximoff’s would crumble. He was again, mistaken.
The reality of the situation was the Wilson Fisk underestimated the remaining Maximoff’s. He was foolish to believe that New York city would become his so quickly.
An oil spill was clever. It was big, messy, and destructive, but it would always go over as an accident. Fisk realizes that simply blowing up the pier wouldn’t have halted things as much. The play was high IQ.
His large fist slammed against his desk nearly snapping in half. While the Maximoff’s were getting calls placing orders, Fisk was taking order cancelations. He was having the people he got on his side retract their support. He was losing the power, and he would not take kindly to giving up anymore.
Watching them retreat would never be enough. He wanted the Maximoff’s to crumble beneath him, to beg him for mercy. They had embarrassed him in one foul swoop age he wild stop at nothing to have them burn with the same feeling.
You weren’t naïve enough to believe retaliation wouldn't be coming. It arguably was giving you anxiety. All the waiting and looking over your shoulder would've taken a larger toll on you if you were dealing with them alone.
However, you weren’t alone. In fact, contrary to your previous belief Wanda did not forget the terms you agreed to. You spent your nights between the spy and temporary crime boss.
It became somewhat of a routine. Even if you went to your apartment after work, you’d always end up at their place soon after. It’s nice, and that's why you refuse to question it.
It helps you sleep restfully but occupies to much of your mind when you're awake. It makes you feel like a teenager. The only person you can confide in is Kate. You tell her, but she’s not much help. Kate encourages this and pushes you to take more emotional comfort from the women.
Your feet hit the ground a little harder than normal as you run this morning. You think about the familiar, almost instinctual attraction you have for Wanda. Then your mind turns to the new undiscovered feelings you have for her wife. You found yourself craving to be in proximity with the Russian more and more.
Natasha had a warmth around her. She had no problem taking the backseat and blending in, but the moment she sensed anything was amiss she sprang into action quickly. Recently she had started making sure you had a lunch at work after Kate told her you’d usually skip it. There was no point in trying to turn down anything from the woman. Though you hadn’t known each other long it seemed like she just understood you.
You’re too occupied with your thoughts, and not paying enough attention to your surroundings. When you stop running, you go to turn around but a firm hand on your shoulder stops you. A gun is pressed firmly against your spine.
“We’re going to have a little chat. Now keep walking,” the man says guiding you with his hand.
You don’t say anything, you simply follow his instructions. Your nerves don’t fret, even as he directs you to an alley. Once you’re out of public view, he turns you to face him.
“Y/n L/n, high ranking employee of the Maximoff Family,” he spoke the gun now aimed at your sternum.
“Fisk,” you’re glare is unwavering.
He sizes you up, “Aren’t you a sweet little thing? Unfortunately, I’m going to have to put a dent in that pretty face you got.”
“Killing me would only hurt you in the long run,” you say to him.
He smiles, “It would, you’re absolutely right, but hurting you sends a message.”
“I’d like to see you try,” you keep your eyes on his.
He laughs, “Me? No, I don’t get my hands dirty for people like you. I’m only here to make sure you relay this to whoever’s in charge. Tell them that I won’t stop, tell them that surrender is no longer an option, and tell them they should keep an eye on the hospital.”
The last line sends you over the edge and before you know it, you’re attempting to disarm the mob boss. Your movements are fast but as soon as the gun is in your hand, you take a blow to the knees. You fall to the floor and the gun slides out of your hand.
Fisk bends down and picks up the gun, he tucks it into his coat. He looks down at you with a smile on his face, “Make sure she's recognizable boys. Until we meet again sweet thing."
That’s when you notice your predicament. The alley that had once been empty was now filled with Fisk’s men. The large man himself, gets into a car at the end of the alley which drives away promptly. The circle around you, but you refuse to be fragile in this moment. You slowly stand and look at the men, there’s around 8 of them. It seems like time works in slow motion.
You move first to the closest man to you and immediately twist his neck with a satisfying snap. He drops onto the floor and before you can get to another your on the floor with him. The men stomp you out harshly.
Once they’re certain they have the upper hand they begin to get more creative. The start using their fists and elbows connecting anywhere they can. The screams don't displace the pain you feel.
Your attempts to fight back only anger them further. You don’t know hoe long the beating continues for. You feel yourself slip in and out of consciousness a few times.
Blood coats your body in multiple places. You can’t tell when it starts or stops. You can barely breathe when they finally stop their assault.
“Send the Maximoff’s our regards,” one of the lackeys spit on you before laying a final nasty kick to your gut. He walks out of the alley with his men behind him.
Your back lay flat against the concrete as you stare up at the sky. Turning your head hurts, but you do it anyway. Carefully, you scoot yourself over to the wall and try to prop yourself up.
It was only a matter of time before someone came looking for you. You should’ve been by now and you weren’t. Knowing Wanda and Natasha the search party would be deployed soon.
However, keeping your consciousness was becoming a task. Your breaths are shallow and labored. The pain finally starts to set in, and tears fall from your eyes. Everything hurts, so much so that you're afraid to try to stand up.
It couldn’t have been longer than half an hour when a car pulls up in the alleyway. Your head hangs heavy, and you hope to God that these people are on your side.
Pietro is the first to reach you. He can’t find any words to say as he sees you in this state. He begins to shake his head as he bends down to get a better look at you. His hand cups your face gently and it trembles.
It hurts, but you reach your hand out to hold his wrist, “Jesus Christ, Y/n.”
You hear more steps approaching, but you stay focused on the man in front of you. You’re scared for them to see you like this.
“Y/n,” There’s disbelief on her tongue as she whispers your name. She doesn’t want this to be you, but as your bloody tear-stained face raises to meet her eyes, her resolve crumbles.
Wanda can’t help the tears that immediately begin to fall out of her eyes. Your face had begun to swell, blood dripped from your nose, your lip was bleeding too. They could see the bruises beginning to form over your exposed arms and torso.
You gaze over at the other redhead who refuses to look at you. Her body posture is rigid, and her eyes are cast firmly on the ground, you can see how cloudy they are.
“We have to get her to the hospital,” Pietro says.
You nearly scream out, “NO!”
They see the alarm and panic in your face, but Natasha tries to reason with you, “Y/n, you’re hurt badly. They need to check you out or-"
“Bucky,” you cut her off, looking between Pietro and Wanda.
“Y/n, he doesn’t do that anymore and you know that” Pietro says softly.
“Try,” you counter back.
Pietro looks to his sister who nods. He reluctantly leaves his position next to you and pulls out his phone to make the call.
“Why not the hospital?”
You shake your head, but then wince, “It’s not safe.”
“Who said it wasn’t safe baby?” Wanda takes Pietro’s place hand in yours.
“Fisk, he said- he won’t stop, there’s no surrender, and that we should watch the hospital,” you attempt to struggle to your feet.
“Y/n-"
“We have to get Papa out Wanda. He’s not safe there, we have to move him, we have to,” you begin to work yourself up feeling the anxiety finally starts to hit you.
It's Natasha’s firm hand on your shoulder that keeps you in place, “Y/n, breath with me.”
You go to protest, but the look of worry in her eyes causes you to pause. She takes a deep breath in, and you try to copy her, but you end up wincing.
Wanda sees this and lifts up your shirt to see your midsection badly bruised. Her touch is tender as her fingers glide over the faded cut on your side.
“You think anything they did will leave a scar like that?” You say with shallow breaths.
“If they weren't already going to die for doing this to you, I’d kill them for leaving a cut like that on you,” she says pulling your shirt back down.
Pietro walks back over to the three of you, “He said he'll do it, we just have to get her there.”
Wanda scoops you into her arms and walks you to the car. She carefully lays you down in the backseat before getting in herself. Pietro drives and Natasha takes the passenger seat. Wanda’s hand finds its way into your hair, trying to bring you any type of comfort.
“He told them to leave me recognizable, so they didn't focus to hard on my face after awhile,” you say to them.
“How many were there?” Natasha asks.
“8, 7 really I snapped that guys neck first,” you recount.
“How did he get you?” Pietro asks next.
You frown, “I wasn’t paying enough attention when I was running. He came up behind me and put a gun to my back.”
“He pulled a gun on you?” You can feel the woman getting upset.
You take your hand and place it in hers, “I will be fine. Bucky’s going to patch me up real nice.”
Once you arrive at the former doctors house, you’re greeted by a less than enthusiastic James Buchanan Barnes or Bucky for short.
“I retired for a reason you know?” He says as he let’s you all into his home.
The sight of you in Wanda’s arms startles him a bit. Wanda asks, “Where are we putting her?”
“Upstairs second door on your right,” he finds himself quickly leading them to the room.
Wanda is careful as she lays you down. They all stand as Bucky begins to prepare for this job.
“What happened to you kid, were you hit by a bus?”
“8 on 1 attack,” Pietro explains.
“The bus might’ve been better then,” Bucky says as he begins to check the extent of your injuries.
You try not to move too much as he pokes and prods your body. Sometimes you hiss, groan, but you don’t flinch.
“So, what’s the diagnosis Buck?” Wanda has her eyes on you as she speaks.
“Luckily, I don't think anything is broken, but her ribs are severely bruised, and I think her right ankle is sprained. Besides that, I think it's just bruising and some small cuts. Her nose is fine, her lips are fine, and her head is fine. She’s going to have to keep her weight off of her leg and wrap her torso until she’s healed.”
Wanda nods, committing the words to memory, “What do I owe you?”
He shakes his head, “Nothing, anything for your family.”
Pietro smiles, “What would take for you to come back and be our family doctor. We’re going to need one soon.”
Bucky rolls his eyes, “What you need a check up?”
Natasha speaks for the first time, “We’re going to war with Fisk.”
He winces, “Definitely sounds like you'll need a doctor, but I’m retired Ms.…”
“Natasha, Wanda’s wife,” she introduces herself.
“Congratulations, I hope you enjoy your marriage like I enjoy my retirement” he speaks genuinely.
“Buck, we could really use you on our side. Without Papa leading us, we need all the help we can get,” Wanda tries to sway him.
“What do you mean Dragos isn’t leading you?”
The room turns somber as Wanda begins to explain the situation to Bucky. The man keeps a neutral face through it all. He lets out a large sigh at the end of everything.
“When this is over, I'm going back into retirement understood?”
Wanda nods, “Thank you.”
After you leave Bucky’s, Pietro drops you all off at home. Wanda and Natasha help you into their apartment. They sit you on the couch with them on either side of you.
“I’ve sent some extra forces to the hospital to keep watch over Dragos. I’ve also told some of my people on the inside to take care of any of those men that did this to you,” Natasha’s jaw twitches as she speaks.
“Good,” you say flatly.
There’s a tension in the room. It’s weird considering how comfortable you’ve all been around each other. However now as you sit silently on the couch the air feels thick.
“You could’ve died in that alley,” Wanda speaks first.
You nod your head slightly, “I could’ve.”
“He could’ve shot you down right there,” she continues.
“But he didn’t,” you counter.
Wanda looks at her wife, silently asking for help. Natasha knows what Wanda wants to do and she supports it.
“Y/n, we have to talk about something, and we don’t know how it’s going to make you feel,” Natasha says taking ahold of your hand.
You nod at her words.
“And please, just listen before you say anything else,” Wanda’s nerves are present in her voice.
“Ok.”
The tension hasn’t left the room. You sit there, between the couple still slightly in pain. You hardly feel it though, all you could feel was the anxious air around you, waiting for the women to speak. It was nerve-wracking, it was stomach churning, and it was scary.
The thought of losing you terrified Wanda. The thought of losing you, without ever telling you how she felt was even more terrifying. She couldn’t wait any longer after the events of the day. It was her sign, and she was ready.