i know places

In the morning Wanda wakes early, tired from a bad sleep and a night full of dreams. She drinks two cups of coffee, chews on a small bowl of fruit, and then busies herself with small tasks around the apartment until 10 o'clock rolls around and she decides to leave and take care of breakfast for the morning. She dresses quickly, grabs her bike from by the door, and quickly speeds off to the bakery around the corner, only two blocks away from their apartment. It's a small but popular building, always busy, always filled with delicious sweets and pastries. By the time that she arrives the queue is out of the door, winding around the side of the building. She joins the line anyway, waiting ten or fifteen minutes to get inside and order what she needs.

At the counter she asks for three coffees, a bunch of croissants, and a random mix of other sweets and pastries that they like to eat through the day. Wanda knows that by the time she gets home the boys will both be hungry, and sometimes all that's needed to fix a bad hangover is a warm coffee and a big bag of sweets. She collects their coffees first and finds a seat by the window to wait in, while the rest of her order is neatly packed away into small bags to carry back to the apartment.

Wanda only waits a few minutes by the window, enjoying her coffee and the warmth that seeps into her hands, before the rest of her order is ready to collect. She scoops up the bags quickly and leaves, placing them both into the front of her basket, along with the hot coffees, her keys, and phone. Then she clips on her helmet and sets off for home, where she imagines her brother and Clint will be sleeping off last night's drinks. They can't sleep all day though, not when they have to work, and this is her way of making sure they have breakfast before their days begin.

She speeds back to the apartment easily, swerving around small groups on the street, and she considers it another success that she gets back to the building without spilling anything in her basket. It's goes surprisingly well and puts her in a good mood, one that she stays in, even when the disappointment starts to creep in when she gets home. It's because she's back so soon, because there's a part of her that wishes she had more time to ride her bike through the city for a few hours. She likes being out here on her bike, likes moving around and being away from all of this, and even after she climbs off her bike and begins to carry it up the stairs she still feels burdened with a desire to leave, to let everything go and just ride for miles and miles.

The feeling stays with her, soon pushing her to make the decision that later in the day she will do that. She will go for a ride, or to a park, somewhere quiet with water, somewhere away from the noise and the clutter of the city. She thinks that a pond could be nice, she can even imagine sitting there now, and not being here, juggling her bike, coffees, and keys up the narrow stairs to her apartment. Somehow she manages to not spill anything, or trip, or even walk into anyone, while carrying too many things at once. And by the time she reaches her door, she is both relieved and surprised that things have gone so well this morning.

She hasn't exactly been feeling lucky lately, so this feels new, feels like a nice change. It puts her in a good mood again and it stays this time, as she unlocks her apartment, leaves her bike by the wall, and puts all of their coffees and sweets on the kitchen table. Pietro's room is quiet when she passes by, so when she returns she makes sure to knock especially loud, three times, just to make sure that he hears. Thump, thump, thump. She hears nothing after so she tries again, this time calling out their names, and this is when she gets her answer. It's not much of a reply though, it's more like a collective groan from the two of them that lets her know they're awake but they're not happy.

She leaves them soon after this, smiling as she grabs her coffee from the kitchen, drinks a sip, and sets out plates for breakfast. Wanda's quick to gather a few other things, too. Things like glasses, and fruit, and fresh juice. It takes her a minute to set everything up, and by the time she's done the door to Pietro's room is open and she's sitting in her chair at the end of her table, pulling strips off her croissant and stuffing them into her mouth.

Pietro is quiet at first when he joins her, clearly annoyed to be up so early. He seems so different, so unlike his usual mood, until he sees the coffee and sweets waiting for him and his entire face lights up into what might be the brightest smile she's ever seen. He's quick to join her now, sinking down into the chair on her left as his eyes dart over everything on the table. He reaches for his coffee first and after a long sip he turns to Wanda and smiles, suddenly more like the brother she knows and loves and less like a hungover zombie that he was for a moment there.

"Oh, sister. Sweet, sweet sister." he sighs. "You are so thoughtful, so kind. I think sometimes that I do not deserve you."

"Mm. I thought you could use some food." Wanda hums, pausing for a sip of coffee. "To help you feel better, after last night."

He nods eagerly, only quiet as he takes a large bite out of a pink donut. He takes two more bites, finishes it off, then sinks into his chair, happy. It pleases her to see him like this, to see his smile, his good mood. It puts her in an even better mood and soon she's smiling back at him, feeling much better than she did when she woke this morning.

"You look better."

"This is very, very good." Pietro beams. "Oh, we are lucky. So lucky to have you. Aren't we?"

Still smiling, she tears away another strip of her croissant and chews it. It's not that it doesn't taste nice, or that it isn't fresh, because it is. It's delicious, and warm, but it's just that she hasn't had much of an appetite lately. She keeps eating it anyway, trying to enjoy the taste between sips of her coffee. She knows she has to eat it, has to eat something, before her day begins.

"So, how are you feeling?" she asks soon, eager for a distraction. "You did not look so happy to be up this early. But I knew you were working today and I wanted to make sure you had something to eat first."

Pietro shrugs, a little distracted by all of the food and sweets on the table in front of him. For a minute he seems to think about it, what he wants next, what he will have after that, and then he reaches for his coffee, needing more. He turns back to her after two sips of the warm beverage, a bright smile still stretched across his lips, and she knows that he is thankful for this. That he is happy, and that is all she wants. She doesn't need his thanks, she just wants him to be happy and to take care of himself. Wanda knows that sometimes he forgets to do that, but so does she and that's why she always feels lucky to know that they have each other.

"I was not so good before, but I'm much better now." he grins. "Much better because of this. Because of you, my thoughtful sister. And yes, you're right. I am working, but only for a little while."

Wanda nods, thinking it over as she glances down to the coffee between her hands.

"And how is Clint? Is he taking the hangover as well as you?"

At first Pietro is quiet and then she looks up, catching a playful grin on his face, a subtle shift of his eyes to the door behind her, and she knows then that Clint is here now. The small creak she catches in the floorboards confirms that to her, that and her brother's smile lets her know that whatever he is about to say will be a joke meant to tease Clint. She quickly learns that she's right about all of it.

"Clint is old, it gets to him more." Pietro shrugs, failing to hide his grin. "He is, what? Almost fifty, isn't he? Close to sixty?"

"Hey," Clint chimes in, joining them. "I heard that."

The smile that Pietro gives her next lets her know again that she was right, that he always knew Clint was there, listening. He softens at the sight of Clint and they both watch as the still half-asleep man joins them, easing himself into the seat next to Pietro, there for a moment before he reaches for his coffee, desperate for it.

"If I'm remembering right, I wasn't the one up at 5, crying about how shitty I felt." Clint points out between sips of coffee. "I'm pretty sure that was you, babe. Right? You remember? Because I do, and I'm pretty sure it was you."

Pietro smirks, amused. "Mm, no. I don't think so. I think because you are so old, your memory—"

"Did you sleep well?" Wanda's quick to interrupt. "I thought after last night, this would help. There are more sweets in the bag for later."

There's a warm and thankful smile on Clint's face when he looks up from his coffee. He nods in her direction, a silent thanks, before he leaves to grab one of Pietro's sweaters from the couch. He tugs it on and then returns, scooping up his coffee and drinking at least half before he puts it down again, his smile wider, eyes much brighter now. It pleases her to see him happy now, to see them both like this, it's all she wants.

"Not really, not with this one waking me up to let me know how shitty he felt." Clint sighs, faintly smiling. "But the coffee's good. It helps. Let's hope it kicks in before I get to work today. Can't afford to be a zombie there."

"You are leaving so soon?" Pietro asks, clearly disappointed. "You said you were going to stay longer today. Remember?"

"Yeah, I know. But I got called in. I gotta go, babe." Clint sighs, turning towards him. "How 'bout I come over tonight? We can stay in, get pizza, watch bad movies. How's that sound?"

"Mm, okay. I need to go, to call work." he hums. "See where I am working, so I know when I will be done."

Then Pietro is up on his feet, stuffing what's left of his croissant into his mouth. He takes a slow step away, not going far, not at first. Instead he lingers by the table, throwing the two of them a warning look as he begins to back away from the food.

"I will be back soon and I am fast." he says, gaze close, playfully suspicious. "I know how much coffee I have left, and I know how much croissant is left. I will be back soon, so don't touch my food."

Wanda smiles, amused. "You are not that quick."

He shoots her back a smile, one that means I'm quicker than you, before he disappears into his bedroom to sort out his day and make plans for his night. Pietro's absence leaves the two of them to a new silence, as Wanda drinks what's left of her coffee and Clint digs into a donut. He catches her wandering gaze soon and lifts an eyebrow, curious, before giving her a look that is almost too easy to read.

"Right now really isn't the time for you to say you told me so, alright?" he sighs, faintly smiling. "I know how much you two love doing that. But now really isn't the time. And honestly, I'm not doing all that bad. I've had worse hangovers. So I'm okay. You don't have to say it. Not this time, kid."

"I wasn't going to say that."

Clint scoffs, not easily convinced. "Hmm. And why don't I believe that?" he asks, smiling more. "You're definitely the type that's always right and loves letting other people know it. I guess you were right about the coffee though. Coffee solves everything."

She smiles, thinking it over as other thoughts come to her. Wanda tries not to say it, to keep it to herself, because it doesn't feel like the right time. She's already burdened Clint with enough and that's why she wants to keep this to herself, because she's already told him too much, because it has nothing to do with him. But she knows that isn't entirely true. Clint knows something, he knows what happened to her. He knows more than her brother does and there's no escaping that. She thinks this must be why the words slip out, falling from her mouth before she can stop them.

"I spoke with Steve last night."

Clint chokes back coffee. "What? You two, uh? You sorted something out then? Or, what? Yes? Maybe?"

"Yes, I think so. Or maybe. I don't know." she pauses, pushing away her empty coffee cup. "I am going to text him, see if we can work something out. I will tell Pietro I am doing training, or something like this, so he knows. I don't want to lie to him about this, he should know. I don't want to lie to him anymore."

Guilt seeps into her now, at the memory of her brother and his concern for her bruises. Wanda thinks back to it now, thinks of Pietro's hands, his soft kisses to her forehead, and the way he held her in his arms, so desperate to hold her, to make it better and take her pain away. She recalls it clearly and this is why it's so hard for her to keep her truths from him. She doesn't want to lie, not anymore, not ever. Wanda longs to tell him her truths, to open up and share this with him, but it's something that she can't do right now. He deserves his happiness and she won't ruin that for him.

So for now she will keep it in, she will carry it alone, because it doesn't feel like there's any other choice.

"I'm not sure when we start, or where it will lead." Wanda says soon. "But I wanted you to know, since you were the one who gave me his number. I thought you should know."

Clint nods, smiling slowly. "I think it's great, sweetheart. I think it's a great idea, and it's great you're telling your brother. And hey, thank you for telling me. I'm glad you felt like you could. It's good to know that you can come to me with this stuff."

She smiles back, assuming that they're done now, with this conversation, with all of it, but she soon learns that she's wrong. It's only small, the look that hangs around on Clint's face, underneath his hangover and tired eyes. It's there and she can't ignore it, and so she sinks back down into her chair, frowning as she watches Clint's gaze flicker to Pietro's room and back to her, like he's trying to make sure they're alone.

"What is it?" she frowns.

"It's probably nothing." he tells her.

And then he drags his chair closer to her, like he really is making sure this stays between the two of them, and that concerns her. She can't stop it, can't hold back any of her fears. For some reason she can't believe Clint when he says that it's nothing. It doesn't reassure her, doesn't stop the fear from filling up in the pit of her stomach, so fast and so quickly that she feels like she might burst with it. She soon finds herself reaching for Clint, placing her hand on his forearm, not to reassure him but to urge him to go on with this.

"It's about Pietro, isn't it?" Wanda asks, throat tight. "What is it? What happened?"

"It's nothing. Not really. It's about last night. Sorta. I don't think he wanted me to say. Well, he didn't say that. But it's about you and—"

"I don't care." her voice is hard with worry. "If he told you not to say, I don't care. I need you to tell me if something is wrong. If something happened.."

Suddenly Clint comes closer, to reassure her, to place his hand on top of hers and give it a soft squeeze. But it doesn't comfort her, not like it should, and she knows that it isn't his fault. It's not that his touch isn't comforting, it's just that she can't let herself feel it. She is so deeply consumed with memories, and fears, and she can't fight it, can't stop the thoughts of Sokovia that come back to her in pieces. She sees visions of it, of rubble, and smoke, still thick in her throat.

Her hand slips from Clint's soon, falling into her lap where she curls it together with the other and tries to focus, to clear her head of thoughts of Sokovia. She finds that she can't, and that she can't really look at Clint. She can't take the weight of his gaze and all that lingers behind it, so she ignores it, while still fighting off the memories of Sokovia and the fire that burns fresh in her mind, smelling exactly like it did that day.

"Look, kid, it's okay. Calm down. I meant what I said, it's nothing. Really. Nothing happened, alright?" Clint promises, voice quiet but still warm. "It's just something he said. It's been on my mind since, and I can't get it out. He's just worried about you, that's all. After your accident that night, he's been concerned."

Wanda lifts her gaze, jaw tight, voice quiet.

"What exactly is he worried about?" she asks. "He knows nothing. He thinks it was an accident. Doesn't he? What would he have to worry about?"

"He's worried about you. That you're not okay, that you're not happy."

It hangs around in the air after, heavy and quiet between them. Wanda doesn't want to dwell on it but she can't get the words out of her head, can't stop herself from pulling them apart and then to pieces. Worried about you. That you're not happy. Not happy. She hears it over again, as the memories come back to her. She finds herself quickly lost in thoughts of their parents, their home, and those first years in the city. Flickers of Vision come back to her, fading quickly, and afterwards she's left with nothing, only pieces.

"Don't worry, it's fine. He thinks you're fine, he just wants you to be happy." Clint says, as if sensing her worry. "He thinks you're not happy. He just wants you to be okay, to be happy, and what happened that night made him worry that you weren't. That's all it was, I promise."

"What do I do? How do I show him?" she asks, lifting her gaze. "Do I tell him that I'm fine? That I'm happy, and I.."

She loses it, unsure of what to do next or what to say.

"Um, no. I probably wouldn't do that. I don't think that would work." Clint answers, voice soft again. "That would be too obvious. Just do something else, something more subtle. But still clear enough that he knows what you're trying to say, yeah?"

Suddenly weary, she lifts her hand to her face, dragging it back across her curls and sweeping them out of the way.

"That isn't helpful, Clint." she's quick to tell him. "I don't know how to do that, how to show him that I am happy."

He thinks about it for a few seconds then sits forward, eyes bright, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Don't worry, you're in luck. You're here with an ideas man. You couldn't be in better company, kid."

It amuses her, even almost makes her smile, when she was so sure that nothing could right now. She wonders if it was always his intention and she watches quietly as Clint comes closer, leaning forward and nudging her elbow playfully with his own.

"Hey, don't look at me like that. You know I run a company, right? Well, it's more like co-run. But whatever, that's not the point." he tells her, still smiling. "Point is, you want him to see you're okay. That you're happy. Well, you just have to show him. That's the key, Wanda. That's what you do. It's all you have to do."

"Wow, you are right." she says, an eyebrow raised. "You really are an ideas man. You are full of them."

"You wanna hear my idea or not?"

Wanda answers with a nod, watching Clint as he slips away into the kitchen to grab something off the bench. He returns with his phone, holding it out to her like it's his big idea, but she doesn't know what he's talking about or why he's showing her his phone. Then a minute later he turns the screen towards her, shoving it right into her face, and it takes a minute but eventually she reads it and finds herself even more confused by what she reads on the screen—a bright and bold party invitation, describing an exciting and unique evening for all, to a party hosted by Pepper Potts and Tony Stark.

A Stark Party.

She stares at the invitation for a few seconds before she begins to laugh, not even meaning to it just sort of happens. It must be a misunderstanding, she thinks, that or a bad joke, because she really can't see how going to one of Tony Stark's parties would fix any of this. She imagines it would only make it worse and that makes her smile, as she lifts her gaze back to Clint's to find that he is very serious about all of this.

"What is this? I think this is not what you meant. Because I don't understand what you are showing me. This is a joke, yes?"

Then she leaves him, walking to the kitchen to wash the dishes and pour water into the vases by the window. Clint's quick to follow her there, moving to lean against one of the benches while he watches her fill up a small jug with water and pour it over the flowers slowly growing near the small sink.

"It's called a party, Wanda. You have been to one before, right?" Clint says soon. "Or did they not program you to have fun when they made you at the Robot Factory?"

It's now that she turns back to him, smiling while also giving him a look that silently asks him if he really just said that.

"So today is one of the days you think you are funny?"

Clint fakes a laugh, overdoing it, then comes closer.

"This was actually my idea. It's a party. Sometimes people host them," he pauses, smiling more. "Sometimes people even go to them. I know, wild. Right? Parties can be fun, sometimes, you know. And this one could be alright if you just gave it a chance Might not be half as bad as you think it will be."

"You think a Stark party will show my brother that I am happy?"

"Yes, but well—no. But the thing is," Clint stops, pressing a hand to his jaw. "Well, I thought you could come with us. That's the fun part."

She blinks twice. "To a Stark party?"

"You can keep saying his name, sweetheart. Doesn't change what it is, it's still a Stark party."

"Mm, no. I don't think so." she hums, finished watering her flowers. "I don't think this will work, I don't think it is a good idea."

"I know what you're thinking, okay? I think it all the time. It's Stark. He's not your kinda guy, and I get that." Clint goes on, determined to convince her. "I respect it, and to be entirely honest with you he's not my favorite guy either. Not even close. But there's free alcohol and your brother wants to go. I thought it sounded like a good idea. We could get drunk together. You have to admit, that would be pretty fun."

Wanda hesitates, chewing on her lower lip as she begins to clean the dishes in the sink. She scrubs them gently then places them aside, while staying aware of Clint's gaze on her, how he lingers nearby, and the way his arms are now folded over his chest like he's deep in thought and trying to figure out how to convince her on this. He seems determined to do this, to show her that this could be fun, could be a good idea, but she still isn't convinced.

"I don't know, Clint. These parties, Pietro likes them. But I don't think that I will."

"If you just ignore Tony, it won't be so bad." he says, offering her a smile. "C'mon, kid. You've been working so much lately. You work more than I do. You barely get to see your brother. If you go to this thing, you can have some good quality time together. And booze. Lots of booze. It'll be fun, Wanda, and I know he'd love if you went with us."

She considers it for a minute, really lets herself think about it, as she finishes cleaning the dishes in the sink. Then she dries her hands, pretending not to be so aware of the scratches on the inside of her palm and how they still sting. When she's done she folds her arms over her chest and lifts her gaze to Clint, finding him still by her side, still waiting patiently for her answer.

"I will think about it, okay?"

"Come on, I know what that means. I use that one all the time." he smirks, coming closer. "Really, Wanda. Is it such a bad idea to go to a party and have fun for a night?"

She's quick to give him a look now, one that lets him know to stop pushing this, to give her time to make her decision. Clint seems to get this right away because he becomes serious again, his expression softening like he only now understands why she needs some time. He understands now that this needs to be her decision, that it has to be what she wants and not what he thinks is best.

"I will really think about it, okay?" she sighs. "Can't you just tell him that I'm okay? That I am not unhappy? Because I am not unhappy, I am just.."

Tired, she thinks, is how she feels most days.

Wanda doesn't share it, choosing to keep it to herself instead, but it's how she often feels. Lost, and tired, and too caught up in her head to let herself be happy. But then there are the days, the good moments, when she's never been happier in her life. In these moments things feel so beautiful, so bright and warm, and she never wants that feeling to end. It always does, but it always comes back again, and she thinks that this is her life, that it is a mix of both good and bad days. It's the way all of their lives are and it isn't strange at all that she can feel all of these things at once.

It's something Clint understands apparently, not because he says it but because of the look her offers her. Warm, and sympathetic, and clear. He lets her know that he gets it and then he reaches out, giving her shoulder a soft squeeze before he takes a half-step away, ready to give her the time she needs to think about this and make the decision that's right for her.

"I don't think that would work, kid. But maybe the party will." Clint answers with a smile. "I'll just tell him you're thinking about coming, okay? We could have a really good time, Wanda. It could turn out to be one of the best nights of your life."

She's smiling before she realizes it.

"I think you are maybe exaggerating. Just a little. Yes?"

Clint catches it right away, her flickering half-smile, and all that she can think is of course he notices it. He always does. He grins at her and takes a step away.

"I'm not exaggerating, not at all." he smiles, pleased. "You know, I'm a lot of fun when I'm drunk. I'm way more fun than sober me."

Wanda smiles, poking at his shoulder as she turns away to tend to the flowers on the bench.

"Oh, I know. Sober you is not so fun when he is hungover." she points out, hiding her smile from him. "He also thinks he is funny when he isn't. It can be embarrassing."

Clint snorts a quiet laugh before he leaves, giving her the time to make her decision while he returns to his breakfast, to all the plates scattered across the table that she reminds herself to clean up later. Wanda decides to leave it for much later and returns to her room, changing into her clothes for the day, for her meeting at the hall. She wiggles into her black jeans, pulls on a pair of small heeled boots, and then tugs a t-shirt on over her head, now ready to go. The fabric of the shirt is soft, a dark shade of purple, with long, tight sleeves. It feels nice against her still healing body and she likes that. She likes even more the way that the long sleeves cover the scratches on her palms.

By the time she returns to the kitchen she finds Pietro sitting back at the table with Clint next to him, both reading and enjoying their breakfast. At the sound of her footsteps Pietro looks up, smiles, and waves her off for the day. Wanda smiles back at him as she leaves, grabbing her bike from outside of the door and making her way downstairs, finding it much easier to walk down the stairs without the bags of sweets and coffee in her hands.

Once she's outside she climbs up on to her bike, clips on her helmet, and lets out a breath, ready for the rest of her day to begin.

* * * *

Every now and then Wanda stops by the meeting hall, whenever there is time or she feels like she needs to go, to sit and listen for a while. She doesn't always make it to the meetings but she tries when there is time and today feels like one of those days where there is time, where she wants to try and listen, maybe even talk. It's why she gets on her bike and pedals fast in the direction of the hall, confident that if she rides quickly enough she will get there before the meeting begins.

She knows that this feeling might change, that she might leave as soon as she gets there, but she still wants to try. She wants to believe that it's the kind of day where she might go in and do more than listen. It feels like it could be, or at least for a moment it does. It also feels like the kind of day where she wants to put her music in and play it loud, so loud that it blocks everyone and everything else in the city out. It's a beautiful place to live, so wild, so filled with life, and she's grown so much more familiar with it all in the last few years. But there's still a longing, quiet and buried deep inside her, that comes up every now and then. She feels it again today, feels it stronger than she has in a long time.

It isn't new, it's always been there. The feeling, a quiet need, to get out of the city for a while and go somewhere new, anywhere new that is open, and endless, and beautiful. She's been more aware of the feeling lately, more aware of how crammed the city is and how suffocating it can be. It's still her home, she can still find the beauty in it, and she knows that it's always been like this. It's not the city that's changed, it's always been this way. It's her, it's who she's become in these last few months, that has changed.

She doesn't let herself dwell on it any longer and forces herself to think of other things. And it works. Soon she drifts away from thoughts of the city to memories of her trips outside of the city, to the days they took trips to parks and beaches, just the two of them in wide open spaces. Wandering, and learning, and exploring their new lives together. It's been so long since they've done anything like that, months and months since they took a trip together, but she still looks back on the memories fondly, still remembers how good those trips were.

Her old memories stay on her mind, even after she arrives at the meeting hall and locks her bike up at the front of the building. Before she goes inside, she lets out a breath then begins to walk in, passing a small group on her way inside. Wanda goes into the building after they're gone and follows the familiar path down to the room where her group always meets, but when she gets there she stops, realizing that she's late again. They've already begun, and someone is talking, and she can't interrupt, can't make herself go inside.

So she stays outside for a minute, feeling torn because she doesn't want to walk away, and she came all this way, but she can't go in. She can't do this, she realizes, between sharp breaths of air. She can't go inside, she can't interrupt, and that's why she leaves. Wanda decides to go back outside instead, to find the first way out she can and burst out of it. She soon finds exactly what she's looking for and steps out into a small patch of concrete, empty, with no one around, only rows of cars parked nearby. It's now that she realizes it's for the people who come here, probably the ones who work here, but she doesn't care that she might not be allowed here.

Wanda doesn't care at all that she might not be allowed to smoke here. She needs it, and the space is secluded and quiet, so she stays. She pulls a cigarette from her bag, finds a place to sit on a nearby bench, and lights it, breathing it in slowly. The cigarette ends up resting between her lips as she inhales again, her eyes squeezed shut as she lets herself enjoy the taste.

It doesn't last.

Somewhere nearby, the sound of someone locking their car interrupts her quiet. A distinct beep, followed by footsteps, lets her know that she's not alone anymore. She doesn't open her eyes right away though and waits, listening as the footsteps come close, come over to her, and stop what she imagines is only a few steps away. That's when she opens her eyes, finding a man standing in front of her, with an expression on his face that she can only described as puzzled. It's like he's trying to work something out but he just can't.

"Can I help you?" Wanda asks, exhaling smoke.

"I'm pretty sure you don't work here." he hums, slowly smiling. "Or do you? Are you new?"

Wanda hesitates. "Why?"

His smile grows as he walks closer to her, still clearly puzzled and now a little more curious.

"So you don't work here. Well, this area is just for people who work here. I've never seen you here before, so." the man stops, glances around the space, then turns back to her. "If you don't work here then you can't be here. Can't put your car here, can't smoke here, can't fill up someone else's spot—"

"Does it look like I'm here for that? To put my car here?" Wanda asks, slipping the cigarette between her fingers. "Does it look like this is why I'm here?"

For a minute he hesitates, glancing between her, and the cars, and then back to her again. Then slowly he smiles, in a way that is both curious and warm. There's something else about it though, something she picks up on when he looks at her again. It's a kindness in his eyes that lets her know, without words, that he's more than just curious about what she's doing here. He's concerned about this, about her, and that's why he's still standing here.

"I don't know. Do you? And are you?"

"No."

He smiles. "Then can I ask why you're here?"

Wanda hesitates, torn between what she wants to say and walking away. She ends up settling on an entirely different answer, simply gesturing to the cigarette placed between her fingers. It's right after she does this that she notices how badly chipped her dark nail-polish is in places. If she cared she'd fix it, maybe she'd even stop picking at it, but she doesn't care. She just inhales on her cigarette again, watching the man in front of her take another step towards her.

"Okay, so you don't work here. Means you're here for a meeting, right?"

"No." she lies, because it's easier than the truth.

He seems convinced and stays, coming closer, with his arms now folded over his chest. There's still a softness to his face that lets her know that even though he clearly doesn't believe her that he isn't going to push this. He's probably been here before, probably done this dozens of times with people sitting exactly where she is now. That thought comforts her, even if she doesn't understand why.

"Just passing through then?"

"Yes, something like that." Wanda nods. "Is that all?"

"Well, it's just that I work here sometimes. I volunteer. This is a space for volunteers." he pauses, to think it over, to walk closer. "I care about the people who come here, that's why I'm asking. Just wanna make sure that you're alright, that's all."

"I thought you were asking about cars." she points out. "And I am not here for any of that, I am just here to smoke."

"You got a spare?"

For a moment after she thinks that he might understand that she didn't come here for company, that she wants to be alone, but he doesn't. He walks over to where she is and sits down on the bench next to her, offering her a smile while he waits for her answer. She sighs, lights a cigarette, then hands it over to him, hoping that he will leave, while a part of her (quiet, barely there) hopes that he won't go just yet.

"Thanks, I usually don't smoke. But it can get hard in there." he sighs. "Think my girl would kill me if she saw me with one of these, so I won't stay long. I just needed a minute to clear my head and it's a nice day today. Don't you think?"

"You work here?" she asks, curious. "You volunteer? To do what?"

"I talk to vets. The guys that have been over there. I guess I know what it's like, so I try to help where I can. What about you? What are you really doing here? Are you really just passing by?"

Wanda hesitates, thinking it over for a moment before her answer comes to her, another lie.

"Nothing. I am doing nothing here, and I am about to leave.."

The man smiles again. "You wanna know what I think?"

"Not really, no."

He tells her anyway, and she is surprised by how little she minds.

"I think you came here for a reason, to talk, maybe to listen, and you changed your mind." he says, so sure of himself. "That's how you got out here. I think that's what happened, and I think that I'm right. Let's just say you're not the first person I've run into out here, who changed their mind before walking into the room and wanted a way out."

Wanda observes the man by her side quietly, as he stubs out his mostly untouched cigarette on the ground. She finds herself soon questioning if he ever wanted it at all or if he was just looking for a reason to sit down and waste a perfectly fine cigarette. He barely touched it, she realizes now, all he did was twirl it between his fingers then stub it out.

"You had none of that." she points out, brows furrowed. "You wasted my cigarette."

"Good. Those things aren't good for you anyway." he smiles. "They'll kill you if you don't quit."

"Are you always this chatty with strangers?"

He smiles more, amused. "Yeah, I guess. I guess I'm just that kinda guy. My name's Sam, by the way."

"And I'm leaving soon."

By her side Sam smiles and lets out a small sigh, before he stands from the bench and takes a step away from her, understanding now that she isn't here for company, that she didn't come here to sit and be chatty with a stranger. Or at least she believes that he understands, but she soon learns again that he hasn't, that he has no intention of leaving just yet.

"It's cool, I get it. Some people just aren't chatty, I know. But I still feel like you're here for a reason today. If you are, you should do something about it. I can tell, you know, it's my thing. I'm good at seeing when people are having a hard time and I'm not the kinda guy who can just let it go or pretend I didn't notice. I can't let that kinda stuff go. It's not who I am."

Wanda is up on her feet in a second, crushing her cigarette out with her boot and then discarding it into the trash nearby. She doesn't want the rest of her cigarette, doesn't really want to be here anymore, having this conversation with a stranger. But there's something about it all, a quiet truth, that she feels like she can't escape from, even if she decides to go now.

"I don't think you know what you're talking about, Sam." she points out, turning to face him. "And I also think maybe you are too chatty with strangers who aren't looking to talk."

"Alright, I get it. Hint taken." he answers, smiling. "But you should know, there are a lot of good people who can give you the advice you might be looking for."

"I don't need that. I don't need advice."

The look he gives her next makes it clear he doesn't believe a word she's said to him so far.

"Then why are you here? To talk? To listen?"

She considers leaving him now, she really does. Something stops her, something she can't explain. It keeps her here with Sam, quiet until she finds the words to answer him. Wanda doesn't know why, doesn't know if it's being here that brings it out of her, or if it's something about Sam, but slowly the truth begins to seep out of her and she discovers that she can't stop it even if she wanted to.

"I came here to listen. I realize things when I listen."

"What things?" he pushes, curious.

"You are very—"

"Yeah, I know. I'm chatty." Sam answers, smile still there, softer now. "What things do you realize when you come here to listen?"

"I realize that I am not so unlucky." she replies, taking a step away. "Don't you have better things to do today? Better than this?"

"Right now? No. I'm just waiting for a friend. I've got some time if that's what you need. If you need to sit or talk, we can do that."

Wanda shakes her head, taking three steps back before she starts to turn away from Sam, from all of this. She doesn't want to talk about this, doesn't really want to be here, but before she leaves, before she can go far, the sound of his voice stops her from leaving. It's why she stops before she gets to the door, half-turned away from him as his voice fills the quiet space.

"You mind if I say what I think it is you came here looking for?"

She sighs, hesitant. "I feel like you are going to say it anyway."

"You don't have to run from it. I don't know what it is, why you're here, or what you're running from. But you don't have to run." he tells her, meaning every word. "If you stop and listen, if you talk to someone, then it makes it better. I think you know that already though. Maybe that's why you're afraid of staying here, because once it's out there, once you talk about it, then you have to face it. And there's no running away after that."

It stirs up something inside of her, something heavy and sharp, that she can't ignore. The feeling rises up slowly, twisting in the pit of her stomach, and she wants it to stop. She can't do anything about it though, she can only hear the words again, his words, playing over again in her head. There's nothing she can do to get them out so she gives up, focusing instead on Sam as he takes a step towards her.

"Just think about it, alright? It's not so scary just to think about what it means." he says gently. "Why you're here, what could come from it, or where it could take you. It's not scary when you think about all of the good that could come from it."

"How do you know?" she asks, the first question on her mind. "How do you know what comes from it? How do you know that it is good?"

"Maybe it's because I know what it's like to lose someone, to be stuck in that grief for what feels like forever. Maybe I've seen the worst things happen to my friends and I learned from that, too. I think that's why I'm so good at recognizing it. Because I saw it in myself first, and then in them, and maybe today I saw a little bit of it in you. That's how I know."

"You don't know me." Wanda answers, throat tight, words quiet. "You don't know anything about me."

"You're right, I don't. But I know grief. I know people who have turned into ghosts, who just move through life, not living at all." he says, sounding both tense and soft at the same time. "They don't live and I feel that. I get it. So that's all I'll say, because I know what it's like hearing something you're not ready for. I won't push it, I'm not that guy. I'm just honest and I care. What you do next, what you do with whatever you're here for, is on you to figure out. I really hope you do."

The words leave her stunned, quiet as she tries to answer, to work out what it is that she wants to say. How? she wants to know, to ask how he can recognize loss with only a look. Wanda tries to work it out for herself, to find the words, but in the end she can't string the words together into a sentence that works. So she doesn't ask. She lets it go, her eyes wandering briefly across a small patch of concrete as she wills herself to walk away.

Wanda doesn't know why she waits, why she can't walk away, or why something keeps her there. It's more than Sam's words, she thinks it might even what she sees in his eyes, for a flickering moment while it's there. She doesn't know what it is yet but it keeps her there and soon the words begin to spill out of her again. This time, she doesn't stop them.

"What did you lose?"

"A good friend. He was like family. He was brave, and good, and I—" Sam stops, sadness darting through his eyes. "I regret a lot of things in my life. But knowing him? I don't regret that. It's something I'll always be thankful for, even if his loss left me with a lot of pain and a hole I'll probably never fill."

His words echo in her mind after, sinking in deeply, and she knows that for hours after she leaves this place  that she will still think about them. It's because of what it means to her, what she's always felt there since Sokovia and all the years that came after. A hole, deep in her chest, that is always growing, always burning. It never fades, never fills, and she's never heard someone else talk about it until today.

"You still carry it?"

"Yeah, I do. I think I always will. You know, I don't know that there's recovery for everyone. Or if there is, I don't know if we ever really let go of what we've been through, what we've lost." Sam begins, stops to exhale, then goes on. "But we heal. We find happiness, we move on, even if what we've been through is always there. I don't think that's a bad thing. It shapes us, makes us stronger, makes us who we are."

"Then how do we do it?"  she asks, voice quiet, small again. "If we don't let it go, what do we do with it?"

"We try to grow, to live, without it impacting our new lives. That's what I do. That's what I encourage the people I talk with to do, too. Life isn't what it was, it can never be that again, but it can move forward. It can become your life again. It's just a new one and you just have to want it. You have to want it bad enough, and take it into your own hands, then it gets better. Day by day, it gets a little easier. That's what we do with it."

The silence lasts forever when Sam is done talking, because there is too much on Wanda's mind, too many thoughts bouncing back and forth. She gets so lost in it all, so deeply swept up in it, that she forgets where she is, forgets that there is someone else here with her, until the sound of the door clicking open nearby wakes her up and reminds her that she's not alone. It pulls her out of her thoughts and back to her reality, back to the noise behind her that leads her to a light-haired man by the door, dressed in dark jeans and a pale blue t-shirt. He looks past her, smiling at Sam from the moment he sees him, and that's when Wanda realizes this must be the friend that Sam was waiting for.

She decides to leave now, taking this as her chance to slip away unnoticed. Wanda leaves quietly through the still opened door, somehow finding her way outside again. It only takes her a few minutes to get outside, to read her bike and peddle away from the building. She's gone in seconds, far away from the hall and on her way to the park that she sometimes stops by to feed the ducks and sit for a while. She's always loved animals, always wanted to care for them, ever since they were little they wanted that.

Wanda remembers it fondly, their dreams, their old hopes. She still dreams of it sometimes, on the nights she can't sleep and needs something good to think about. She finds herself thinking about it now, as she stops by a store on the way to the park to pick up grains of wheat for the ducks. Then she peddles slowly to the park, arriving to find it mostly empty. The small space isn't busy, not today, and she feels immediately relieved that there aren't large crowds scattered through the park. It gives her a chance to sit on her own for a bit and not feel so crowded, and that calms her instantly.

She soon finds a bench to sit on near the pond and sinks down on to it, letting out a breath she feels like she's been holding in since she met Sam. But here it feels like she can let it go, like she can breathe. Here it is nice, with the water, and the ducks, and the cold air. It feels so nice that she doesn't even realize that she's smiling until minutes later when she pulls the grains of wheat out of her bag and begins to throw them out to the ducks. She likes it here, likes even more the way that it distracts her.

The little animals are loud and cute, floating on the top of the water, so unaware, so happy. It's now that she decides to stay here for a while. She has nowhere to be, no one to be with, and she likes being here, likes getting lost in the calm of the park. But even that doesn't last. She isn't surprised, it often doesn't last. Today she finds herself interrupted by the sound of her phone beeping from deep inside her bag. Wanda waits a minute then digs around for it, expecting it to be work calling her for a shift, or maybe Steve trying to organize their training schedule. But she soon learns that it isn't work or Steve.

It's Pietro.

[11:01 AM]:

we are going to the party next weekend with clint????!

[11:02 AM]:

also do you like pizza and candy with a movie tonight?

[11:05 AM]:

Maybe. And yes it sounds nice. What time do you work?