i know places

Slowly she squeezes her eyes shut, desperate for the moment to end. It doesn't. In the darkness, the soft sound of her mother's voice comes to her. Sva bol nestaje na kraju, their mother would promise them. All pain disappears in the end, she would say, and Wanda would always believe her. But that was years ago, and she's different now. She's lost and grieved too much since then, and now she knows the truth. It doesn't fade, doesn't ever really go away. The pain dulls, grows smaller, but it's always there.

It's always with you and she knows that now, just like tonight will always be with her. Wanda sighs and opens her eyes, forcing herself to begin. She starts by peeling off her black stockings, they're all torn and ruined now. She doesn't want them anymore, so she throws them away into the dark and gently wipes at the blood on her thigh. It aches when she wipes at the graze, water trickling slowly across the small wound, but she keeps going.

Wanda's touch is light, her hands trembling as she rinses the blood away. She covers the gash with a bandage, rinses her hands, and lifts her head to find the stranger still there in the mirror, staring back at her in the dark. She forces herself to ignore her reflection and focus on something else, anything else, except the stinging pain and the way that her hands are still shaking. She lets herself hear their mother's voice again just for a moment, but it doesn't last, doesn't really help.

So she moves on to something else, something easier. The air feels cold tonight, the city quiet and faraway. She knows why, knows it's always like this at 3AM, so silent and dark. Wanda stares tiredly at the half-opened bathroom window, where the dull city light seeps into the tiny space. She moves slowly, her body aching as she flicks on a light and returns to the sink. There's still a bitter taste in her mouth, so she spit it out and rinses with cold water.

It washes most of it away, but the taste lingers so she lights a cigarette.

Wanda shoves open the bathroom window a moment later to let the smoke out. Then she sits on the edge of the tub and stretches her feet out on the cold tiles. The tub she's resting on is big and green, when she climbs in it she can sink to the bottom and float in the water for a while. She thinks about doing that, but she's already cold and she just wants this to be over. She's just not ready to move yet, she needs another minute to just be still.

Slowly she exhales a cloud of smoke and looks down, eyes fixed on the tiny embers burning in the dark. She stares at it until she realises just how badly her hands are shaking. She wonders if she ever stopped shaking and tenses at the memory that floods in; a flash of silver, blood scattered on the concrete, torn stockings and a shadowy face. Wanda squeezes her eyes shut, distantly aware of the ache in her thigh and the grazed up side of her face that doesn't feel good.

It hurts there, feels swollen and sore. She knows she should do something, should take care of herself, but she's so tired and she can't find the energy to stand yet. So she stays where she is, perched on the edge of the green tub, quietly exhaling smoke into the air. She waits a minute then stubs out the cigarette and returns to the sink to clean up. Her lip is puffy and swollen, split down the middle. She cleans the blood away gently, then wipes the dirt and blood from her chin.

When she wipes at her face, it stings and she winces but doesn't stop. It doesn't hurt half as badly as the graze on her right cheek. The pavement tore up the skin there and it bled a lot. It's still bleeding now. Wanda leans in closer and realises that there are tiny bruises forming underneath her eye and across her jaw. She curses to herself and lifts the cloth up to her face, pressing it there to ease the pain.

It still stings, but there's not much else she can do.

Wanda knows it will fade, that it will feel better in the morning. She's felt worse than this before and it always fades by the morning. She moves on quickly, filling the sink with water and wiping the spots of blood away from her wrist and up her arm. Her mind drifts as she cleans herself up and she begins to wonder what will come next. She will have to think of a story to tell Pietro. He can't know the truth, he can never know what really happened tonight.

She knows Pietro well, sometimes better than she knows herself. So she already knows what would happen if she told her brother the truth. That she was mugged on her way home from work. He couldn't carry it, he would be too angry and reckless. He would want to do something, to find who hurt her and possibly hurt them. She can't let him do that, she won't. It will be up to the police to fix this, if that is what she event wants, she doesn't know but for now she can't tell Pietro.

So she decides it will be an accident, that she will spin a story about two drunk men at a bar who got in an argument. She got swept up in all the drunken chaos and got hurt. That is all it was, she decides, and that is all it ever can be. She doesn't want to lie to Pietro, but this is the only way that she can protect him. He has already lost so much, suffered for too many years.

Wanda can't burden him with this, she won't. So tonight is hers, only hers. She feels better, decided on what she will tell him in the morning. She lets out a breath and wills herself to focus on this. The sink is tinted red now, stained with traces of blood. She cleans it away, peels off her clothes, and splashes water over her face. Then she wraps herself up in a towel and turns to the window, feeling soothed by the chilly breeze that comes into the bathroom.

So gentle and soft that it almost feels nice.

She closes her eyes and almost sits by the window for a while. The thought quickly slips away, forgotten at the sound of footsteps outside of her bedroom door. Her chest tightens and for a moment she can't breathe. It's quiet at first and then there's a crash. Something breaks and she hears a voice, distant but familiar. She soon recognises it as her brother, cursing to himself in the dark. She waits and listens as he flicks on a light, curses again, and then leaves her room.

By the time that he returns, she's wrapped tight in her towel, heart pounding against her chest. The bathroom door is locked and the handle rattles when he tries to open it. He must walk into the door, because there's another thud followed by another curse. Wanda says nothing and waits by the sink, a hand propped against the counter to keep her there. She's still shaking, her heart beating hard against her chest.

Pietro taps gently on the door. "Sestra? You are home?"

She nods, almost lets him in but she can't.

Wanda doesn't feel like herself tonight, doesn't feel like this is her home. She feels unfamiliar and alone and sighs tiredly, her eyes half-shut as she wills herself not to let Pietro inside. She's so tired and everything hurts and she can't let him in, even if there's a part of her that wants to, that needs him here. She can't find the words, can't let herself burden him with this, so she stays by the sink and waits, the door locked between them.

"Yes. What do you want?" she calls back.

"Clint's here and he's taking forever in the bathroom."

At first she says nothing, because she can't find the words. She can't let him in, but if she sends him away without a reason then he will know something is wrong. For so many years, they have been so close and so honest. He always knows her, will always know her, better than anyone else. Pietro has always been so good at taking care of her, and she knows that if she lets him in now that she will tell him everything and she can't do that.

She needs time.

"What did you break? Was it important?"

"Does it matter? It can be fixed." Pietro huffs, irritated. "Please, hurry up, I need—"

"I'm in here." she sighs, forces her eyes open. "So you can't come in, okay?"

But he doesn't walk away yet.

"Wanda, please." Pietro whines. "Do I have to go outside?"

"Pietro, I'm not well. So please, go away."

It's quiet after, the city faraway and her brother silent.

She sounds different, doesn't sound like herself. Her voice is different, strained and quiet. Wanda sighs and waits for the moment to end. She waits for Pietro to walk away but he doesn't. For a moment, just the smallest moment, she thinks about letting him in. She almost does, but she quickly reminds herself that it's 3AM and she's too tired to talk about this. She just wants to clean herself up, crawl into bed, and let herself forget about all of this for a few hours.

"You're not well?" he asks, much softer now. "What's wrong? What can I do?"

"I'm fine, I just don't feel well." Wanda lies, brushing the hair out of her face. "Will you please leave? I'm sure Clint is done now. So please, go."

He still hovers by the door. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Wanda wants to tell him no, she's not okay, everything hurts and she's so tired. She wants to let him in, wants to let him help her clean up. She comes so close, too. She walks right up to the locked bathroom door, rests a hand on the door-handle, and almost twists it open, almost lets him in. She quickly lets go and leans against the door, pressing her damp forehead against it and breathing out quietly.

There's no sound, no creak or noise that lets Pietro know that she's standing there. But somehow, it feels like he knows. She thinks this might be why he waits around, why he doesn't rattle the door again or try to come inside. Pietro doesn't say anything at all, not until she does. She still wants him here but she decides that she has to do this alone and quickly takes a step away from the door.

"Trust me. I'm fine. Please go."

Half a beat passes before he steps away.

"Okay, okay. I'm leaving now." Pietro says, voice still gentle. "I'm in my room if you need me. Goodnight."

Then he walks away and she's alone with her thoughts again. Wanda waits by the door for a minute just to make sure that he's really gone. She can't let him see her like this, so she waits and leans back against the door, wondering if she would have let him in if he'd just stayed a little longer. She knows the truth though, that she would never have let him in tonight. He's gone now anyway and the moment is over so she lets it go.

Wanda's bedroom is dark when she steps out of the bathroom. There's a dim glow cast across the space, seeping in from the city lights and creating shadows on the walls. She moves quickly, locking her bedroom door and swapping her fluffy towel for a green robe behind her door. It's soft against her aching skin and feels nice. She tugs it on and walks to her bed, desperately needing something to calm her nerves.

There's a wooden table by her bed, a lucky find. Rusted and old but still beautiful. She keeps all of her favourite things locked inside it, all the little things she doesn't want anyone else to find. Her room is filled with her things now, but it didn't always feel like home, not at first. It was just a room, something to fill with pieces of her new life in New York. But it's so much more than that now, or it was, and it's not something she can share with many people, not even Pietro sometimes.

It's just hers now, only hers. She thinks she might like it better this way but doesn't dwell on it. Wanda sighs and glances over her bed. It's large and always covered with blankets, pillows, and a bunch of junk (as Clint calls it) that's not really junk, just little things she might need or use in the mornings or the late nights. Things like books, and pencils, and half-finished drawings and sketches.

Wanda sweeps the junk away, placing it on the floor by her bed. She leaves the pile there, pushes open her bedroom window, and quickly turns away from the city. It's only a minute later that she notices it. By the window there's a small bookshelf, covered with books and small ornaments that she's collected over the years. Tiny little statues of animals, pretty gems and colourful stones. She realises now that something is missing. A tiny little blue dragon that she found years ago in a market stall in the city. She looks down at the floor, finds a few pieces of it still there, and decides this is what Pietro broke when he stumbled into her room in the dark.

It's broken now, can't be fixed. She doesn't mind. Wand cleans up the broken pieces and then curls up on her bed. She's still shaky, her hands trembling as she settles on the bed. Her head is dizzy too, spinning loudly with thoughts. She's desperate to think of something else, anything else, so she lifts her head and spots a canvas by the bed and considers painting but quickly decides against it. She's still too tired, and she aches everywhere, and it all feels so loud and it's too much.

She quickly rolls over on to her side to face the window.

The city is dark and glowing with faraway lights. It distracts her for a while but doesn't last. Wanda reaches for the drawer by the bed, a vapour pen tucked away in there. It feels like too much of an effort tonight, so she digs deeper until she finds a joint buried underneath a stack of old notes. It's not a habit, really. It's just something she does to feel good. She wants to quit and she will one day but not tonight.

For now it's her secret, something even Pietro doesn't know. She hopes he never will. Wanda knows that she wouldn't be happy if he got high, but she doesn't have to worry about that. She knows what a good influence Clint has been on Pietro these last six months. He's been so good for him, they're both so good for each other, and she loves that for them. But she knows that everyone has a thing or a person to help them through the bad nights and this is just her thing.

Wanda doesn't always do this, doesn't get high every night. Things have been better lately, or they were better for a while, and she hasn't needed it. Pietro has been so happy lately, so much happier in these last few months than he's been in a long time. She knows it's because of Clint but that it's also something Pietro did for himself. He found a way to start again, to move on from the life they had in Sokovia all those years ago, and she's so happy that he did.

This life in New York is so much more than she thought they would ever had. She is so happy for her brother and the life that he has with Clint and his new friends. It's all she ever wanted for him since they were children. His happiness has always mattered so much, sometimes more than her own, but Wanda never cared that it came first, that he always did. Her life is a mess, it has been for years and years, so she finds it easier to not think about it and to put his happiness first.

But sometimes, she does think about it. Sokovia, their parents, the home they lost. For so long it was their home until one day it wasn't, but somehow it still is. It always will be. She still dreams about it, wakes up and cries about it for hours. But she can't tell Pietro, can't tell anyone, so she carries it alone and tells herself that it will get better. One day. But that just feels like another lie she tells herself, another lie she can't convince herself to believe.

It's just like what she would tell Pietro in the years after the war. Before New York, before their life in the city. She had to find a way to keep them going after they lost their parents. Wanda had to give him hope that it would be over, that one day they would be happy again. Sva bol ide dalje, na kraju, dragi brate, she would always tell him, a promise to lift his spirits and give him hope and he would always believe it.

She just never really did.

Most nights, she dreams of Sokovia.

Her parents in the living room, smiling at her. The static of an old TV, smoke and fire in the air. She dreams of the home they had years ago and then it is gone. There's a crack, her ears ring, and she can't move. Pietro grabs her and together they move, rolling underneath the safety of an old bed. The TV is playing, and her parents are gone, and there's a giant hole in the floor right where they were just moments ago.

Wanda wakes breathless. She forces her eyes open and wills herself to calm down. It was only a dream, she tells herself. Pietro is here, and he's alive, and they're not in Sokovia anymore. She's in her bedroom in New York, in their tiny little West Village apartment, surrounded by city noises and bright blue skies. Sokovia is gone, she tells herself, as she glances around her bedroom. There's no fire or ash here, no rubble or broken TV, and Pietro isn't dead.

Pietro is here, and she's here, and they're alive and everything is okay. It's okay, she tells herself, but the memory still sticks to her. It's worse when she swings her legs off the edge of the bed and stands. Last night comes back to her suddenly and her head spins. She quickly sinks down to the bed, flashes of blood and concrete fogging up her memory. Minutes later, her head is a little quieter and her breathes are steady.

She lets herself focus on something else and quickly realises that there's music playing in the kitchen. Her gaze flicks to the clock by the bed, just after 10AM. She doesn't care, she doesn't have to work today and doesn't have anywhere else to be. Wanda pulls herself from bed slowly and walks to the bathroom, wanting to get a clear look at herself in the daylight. She quickly finds that it's all much worse.

Wanda stares at her reflection for a long time, trying to take it in. There are dark bruises on her face, purple and black spots on her jaw. There's a nasty bruise under her right eye that feels as sore as it looks. Her head spins and she quickly sits on the edge of the tub, slowly steadying her breaths again. She soon decides that she will cover up what she can with make-up and starts with a shower.

It's too cold at first, always takes a minute for the water to get warm. She doesn't care today. Wanda combs out her hair and is about to step into the shower when she hears a knock at her door. It's actually more like three thuds followed by the sleepy sound of Pietro's voice. Breakfast is ready, he calls out, and then jokes that he will eat it all if she doesn't get out here soon. She almost smiles, it's more like a half-smile that tugs at the corners of her lips and then fades.

She quickly cleans herself up, sparing small glances at her bruised body. Wanda doesn't let herself look for long. She scrubs away the dirt and sweat, using a cherry blossom body wash that Pietro picked out last week. She's surprised it smells so good and feels glad to be clean again. She's out of the shower minutes later, dripping water everywhere as she pulls on an old black dress, fluffy blue socks and an over-sized sweater that she's had for years.

Her body still aches and hurts when she moves certain ways. She just wants to be comfortable today, so she dresses carefully and then returns to the bathroom to cover up what she can with make-up. There's sunlight in the bathroom now so she can see everything much clearer, but she almost wishes that she couldn't. The graze on her thigh is angry and red. She wipes it gently, covers it with a little antiseptic cream and then a bandage. Then she spares a look at the dark bruises and grazes scattered up her thigh.

Wanda didn't see them last night but she seems them now, all puffy and purple. There are small bruises scattered up her wrists too and her palms ache. She turns them over and notices that a sharp pain flares up her wrist when she turns it that way. She quickly remembers why; it's where she hit the ground, where she tried to stop herself from falling. She quickly tugs the sleeves of her sweater down and looks up at her reflection.

The make-up doesn't hide all of her bruises, just makes it look a little less bad or maybe that's just what she tells herself. She quickly leaves her bedroom before she can change her mind. She steps outside quietly and lets her gaze sweep over the busy apartment. It's not very big but she likes the small spaces better anyway; it's a cosy apartment, old dark brown floors and faded white walls, the paint chipped and peeling in places.

But there's colour and art scattered everywhere, making it feel much bigger and brighter than it is. There's just the two bedrooms, hers and Pietro's room. His is closer to the living area, while hers is closer to the kitchen and near the fire-escape that she often spends hours sitting on. She steps out of her room slowly and walks past the small space outside of her room filled with all of her things.

She keeps her junk here; stacks of old paintings, a blank canvas she hasn't used yet, and an easel for when she finds the inspiration to paint. She can't remember the last time she did but she doesn't linger on the thought. She turns away and finds her brother in the kitchen. It's a small space too but feels open, just big enough for the two of them, or really the three of them since Clint is here all the time lately.

There's a curved bench in the kitchen, always covered with fruit, and snacks, and yummy treats. She often sits up on the bench, or at the dining table, which is long and made of wood and sits right in the middle of the room between the kitchen and the living space. She loves sitting there in the mornings, drinking coffee and laughing at their bad jokes. Her second favourite spot is over in the living room. There's not much in there, just a TV and two soft couches, but behind the longer blue couch there's a tall bookshelf stuffed full with books, DVDs, plants and old photographs. She love spending hours on that couch, reading or watching TV, pretty green plants hanging down above her and her choice of any book she wants.

She always feels safe in the living room, all warm and cosy on the couch. She wants to go in there now but knows that she can't. Wanda quickly looks back at the kitchen to find Pietro there in a bright pink KISS THE CHEF apron. Clint is there with him, Pietro's arms around him as they laugh at whatever joke Pietro is telling. He's probably teasing him, she thinks, and slowly smiles to herself. They look so happy there and she wants to let it stay that way, but like most things it changes.

Clint notices her first. He's smiling for a moment and then quickly fades. She almost forgets why, then she remembers. Pietro's gaze quickly follows and his smile falls too, and this isn't what she wanted. His eyes dart over her and he can't stop staring, and she knows why but wishes that he wouldn't. She wants to walk away but she can't. Pietro is there in a second anyway, reaching out to her with soft hands, and she suddenly feels relieved that there's no space between them anymore.

Wanda opens her mouth but can't find the words. She looks to Clint over in the kitchen, uncertain if he should go or stay. He comes over anyway, moving to her side like he wants to give them space but at the same time he wants to be there with her. He's concerned too, just like Pietro, but she can't read him now. Sometimes he is too difficult to read, and she's too tired, so she doesn't try and she gently gives Pietro's hand a squeeze to comfort him but it doesn't.

"O moj Bože. Wanda. Što se dogodilo?"

"Nothing." she lies. "I'm fine. It was an accident."

It's what she wants to believe, what she needs him to believe. Nothing happened last night, she tells herself, over again until she almost believes it. Pietro is quiet for a long time, hands gently reaching for her. She lets him hold her, his touch soft and careful. But she still feels it distantly, still sees that flicker of rage in his eyes, the fear and then the pain. He carefully moves a hand to her shoulder, softly giving her a squeeze as he glances her over.

For answers, a sign, anything to help this make sense.

"Ne laži mi. Tko je ovo napravio?" he whispers.

She wants to walk away, but Pietro stays with her. His hands soft and protective, like when they were little and both had nightmares almost every night. Pietro holds her hands gently and says something to himself. She doesn't ask, and stays quiet as he reaches out and tucks hair back off her face. Her gaze stays on him, watching quietly as the rage softens and is replaced by a much sadder expression.

Pietro pulls her into his arms suddenly and holds her close.

"Ja sam dobro, ljubavi." Wanda promises.

But it doesn't feel like enough.

Wanda knows that it isn't, that there's not much she can say right now that would help. She can't do much right now either, except quietly enjoy the comfort of Pietro's warm embrace. She sinks into him and almost lets her eyes fall shut, almost lets the words out. Then she hears Clint's voice and she remembers that they aren't alone, that she can't tell them what happened, so she quickly pulls back from her brother and wraps her arms tight around herself.

"I'm gonna step out for a smoke." Clint says and steps towards the door. "I'll be up on the roof if you guys need me."

There's a soft look on Pietro's face, a quiet thankfulness, as Client leaves them for a moment. It fades quickly and soon Clint is gone and it's just the two of them. Pietro doesn't let go, even as Wanda takes a small half-step back. His gaze searches her, still searching for something to help him understand this. She can't give that truth to him so she sticks to her lie and wills herself to go ahead with it, even if it feels wrong and all she wants to do is tell him everything.

"It was just an accident. It is nothing, Pietro."

"This does not look like nothing." he shakes his head, moving closer. "Tell me who did this. Who hurt you? Tell me and I will—"

"It was me. My fault. I got in the way." Wanda insists. "There was a fight at work. It was no one's fault, really."

The words don't mean much, it's too late for Pietro to be calm. There's an anger inside of him, he wants more, wants to make sure that this never happens to her again. He wants to protect her from all the bad things in life like he's always tried to, but he can't and he knows that. Wanda sighs and moves closer, taking her brother's hands and squeezing them gently. It seems to help, to calm him down for a moment, but it doesn't last.

"Pietro, it's okay. I promise. I'm okay."

"What? No, Wanda. I can't. No, look at this. You are so hurt." he sighs, and holds her closer. "This is not okay. Was this last night? Wanda, please. Tell me all of it."

He falls silent and slowly softens when she places a hand on his face. Wanda's touch is light and calming, and for a moment it helps. It lasts long enough for Wanda to calm Pietro down and bring his gaze back to her, so he can focus on her and not this anger that he feels building up inside of him. He's still so tense and overwhelmed, filled with questions and concerns. But when he looks down at her a moment later, she knows that he is ready to listen.

"It was nothing, just an accident. I promise."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Pietro stammers, eyes wide and concerned. "If it is really nothing, why keep this from me?"

"How could I tell you? When I knew you would be like this. I didn't want you to worry."

If Pietro believes her, then he says nothing. He stays quiet, taking a moment to clear his thoughts. His gaze flicks over her again before slowly he reaches out, taking her hand to hold again. He's so uncertain but he's soft too and kind. He still has so many questions, and she knows that he needs answers but she can't give them to him. She's so tired, and she aches everywhere, and she just wants to move on but for now she wants to try and help him find some peace.

"It happened at work. Outside the bar." she begins.

There's a pause; a flash of silver and red, torn stockings, blood on concrete. She tenses and keeps the memories to herself. She feels shaky again but doesn't let it show. Wanda quickly pulls herself together and gives Pietro's hands a soft squeeze, still holding on. It feels better this way, having him be here, and her hands have stopped shaking now so that's something. 

"We asked these men to leave. It got..Violent." Wanda goes on, a moment later. "I was in the way, but I'm okay. I promise, I'm okay."

Pietro still wants more. He wants names, answers, and a way to fix this. He can't. He's always wanted to protect her, to keep her safe from danger, ever since they were children. Her brother has always wanted to keep her safe and far away from the pain that's been chasing them since they were ten years old. But he can't help her with this. Not yet, not today. Wanda sighs and pulls Pietro close, tentatively wrapping her arms around him. 

He pulls her into his arms and hugs her softly. She feels safe here, feels some of his rage slip away bit by bit. She feels calmer too and they stay like this for a moment, his arms so warm and protective around her, before slowly she pulls away.

"Sva bol nestaje na kraju, dragi brate." Wanda offers him a smile. "Remember?"

"Yes, but you understand why I worry? I see nothing, then I see this." Pietro says, and then sighs. "Of course I think something has happened. That someone has hurt you. But if it was just an accident, then I will have to accept it."

Softly she lets out a breath, almost relieved.

"Good. Because the pancakes will be cold," Wanda says, and steps back. "Go find Clint. He has probably had too many cigarettes. It is a bad habit."

"You are sure?" Pietro doesn't move yet. "He would go if we asked."

"Piet, I'm okay."

"It could be just us, if you need." he says, holding her hands again. "I want to talk, if this is what you need."

"I don't, okay? I'm fine. I promise. I'm fine."

Pietro nods and half-smiles, and she thinks he will leave now. He even takes a small step back and she's certain that he will go and find Clint, so they can have breakfast together and carry on as if this is just like every other morning they have breakfast together. But it isn't, and he doesn't leave yet. Pietro stays close, exhales a breath, and then reaches for Wanda again. He takes her hands and pulls her into his arms again.

"Come here, sister. Please."

Somehow it's a softer hug this time, somehow they're closer. She lets him hold her, lets herself bury her face into his chest and feel it. Wanda squeezes her eyes shut and lets herself feel the warmth of her brother's love and the softness of his arms around her. It lasts for a while, until eventually she sends him off to find Clint. it feels too quiet after he's gone, so she pours herself a coffee and searches for aspirin. Her head is starting to ache with the memories of last night again.

She knows she can't hide this forever. One day, Pietro will know the truth. She will tell him or he will find out on his own. She spoke briefly with a police office before she fled and ran home. If the police come back, if they follow this up, then Pietro will learn what really happened and she isn't sure what would happen then. She isn't sure she can continue to lie to him about this but she's trying not to think about all of this too much today.

Wanda quickly distracts herself with a coffee and newspaper. She's only half-reading it when they return minutes later. Pietro comes in first, followed swiftly by Clint. She notices that they're both wearing almost identical PJS and she starts to smile. The boys quickly go back to their pancakes and coffee, and she realises that they're going to act exactly like she wanted them to, like nothing happened and everything is fine.

She is fine and this is exactly what she wanted them to do. So why doesn't it feel like it?

"So, Wanda. Breakfast? Pancakes ok?" Client calls out, disrupting her thoughts. "Not gonna brag but I make pretty amazing pancakes."

She nods and sips on her coffee. "Sounds good."

"Clint say that they are famous." Pietro says, and pops a berry into his mouth. "But they do not smell so good, do they?"

"Hey, buddy. Might wanna be nice to the chef?" he calls back, laughing. "Never know what could end up in your pancake."

Pietro hums and settles at the dining table with Wanda. He plops down in the seat next to hers and opens up his phone, scrolling through it for a moment. She takes another sip of coffee and flicks mindlessly through the pages of the newspaper, not that interested in it or her coffee. She just needs something to do, something to distract her thoughts, so she drinks her coffee and then swaps it for a handful of berries.

She suddenly remembers a text that she needs to send and looks around the room for her phone. Oh. It takes her a second to realise where it is. Last night, the man took all of her things. Phone, bag, keys, wallet. It's all gone now. Her head starts to spin and she finds it difficult to think clearly, because there was just so much in there and now it's gone. She doesn't know why, but it only hits her now that someone out there in the city has her personal things and she may never get them back. 

Wanda sinks back into the chair slowly, so distracted by her thoughts that she doesn't even realise breakfast is ready until Clint drops a stack of pancakes on her plate. She watches Pietro's face light up when Clint puts five or six pancakes on Pietro's plate. He was right, she thinks, they look so good. She's not really that hungry, but she has to eat something so she digs in, scattering fruit over the pancakes and drizzling a little syrup on top.

She takes a bite and it's so warm and oozy and delicious.

"You were right, Clint." she says, between mouthfuls. "These are very good pancakes. Very good."

Clint smiles, pleased that she likes them. He's as pleased as he can be when things are like this. It's not exactly awkward but there's still something there hanging in the air between the three of them. Wanda doesn't dwell on it and distracts herself by watching Pietro. He smiles at her when she looks over at him and she knows why he's okay now. He feels better knowing that she is okay and he just wants her to be safe and happy again.

He wants her to like Clint, too. So he's probably also very happy that she likes his boyfriend's pancakes. It's easy to like Clint; he's good, and kind, and warm. And oh, he makes Pietro laugh like no one ever has before. He's so different to every other guy that Pietro has dated, she never really liked any of them. She always liked Clint, right from the moment they met, and sometimes she gets the feeling that this might be it for them.

Pietro has never met someone who loves and adores him the way that Clint does. It goes both ways and sometimes she wonders if this is it. She thinks that they are meant to be, a perfect match for each other, or something silly like this. Wanda finds a small joy in watching them together, to see their little moments of happiness and love, even if sometimes she feels so faraway from it all.

"See? Did I not tell you that they were famous?" Pietro grins cheekily.

Clint laughs and bumps Pietro's shoulder lightly. 

"This one. Am I right? Always gotta be right."

Pietro smiles back and leans in to kiss Clint's cheek.

"Remember, we talked about this. I am always right." he teases. "Just ask Wanda. She knows everything."

"Oh, does she?"

"She does. Sometimes I think she can read my mind. Go on, ask her. She will tell you that I am always right all the time."

Wanda's half-way through a pancake when she realises that they're talking to her.

"Sorry, what is it?" 

"Pietro was just telling me that apparently, you know everything." Clint smiles. "And you can read minds. No pressure though."

She smiles and reaches for her coffee, feeling like her appetite is gone now. Not that she was ever that hungry. For now the coffee is enough. She swallows a mouthful then looks up to find that Clint is still watching her, while Pietro is now too busy digging into his stack of pancakes to realise what's going on. She's almost certain that he's forgotten all about their conversation now anyway.

"Not always, but sometimes."

Pietro hums in disagreement. "Okay, so maybe she can't read minds. But she acts like she knows everything and that feels real enough."

"That is the trick," she's quick to add. "Act like you know it all, even when you don't."

Her brother smiles and happily goes back to his pancakes. He pours syrup over them, blueberries and strawberries too. It's probably too much syrup and sugar but she says nothing. Wanda tugs open the newspaper, flicks over the pages, and pretends to read it while she half-listens to Pietro telling Clint about 'his' famous Chicken Paprikash, which is really Wanda's recipe but she doesn't mind.

She listens for a little while, then finds herself distracted by another memory. It's an old memory from years ago. From Sokovia before the war, before it was broken and everything that they ever knew or loved was taken from them. Wanda shuts her eyes for a moment and feels herself go back there. Suddenly she's sitting in the kitchen, watching and learning so many wonderful and new recipes from her mother, while her father sits at the table reading a newspaper, a warm smile on his face.

Wanda lets herself think about them for a while.