Archangel

Fourteen

Apparently, Wanda was making enough pies to feed the entire city of New York. She spun around the kitchen in a whirl, a red apron tied snugly around her waist as she hummed over several cookbooks. Angel rested comfortably in a recliner that Peter had drug into the corner of the kitchen, stirring together a wonderful combination of spices and pumpkin puree. Wanda had kicked Peter out shortly after he brought in the chair, declaring "no stinky boys were allowed in the kitchen". He left with a mock pout, promising to return once he showered.

The kitchen was beautiful, with high ceilings, dark wood cabinets, and marble countertops. Stainless steel appliances lined the sides and a huge double oven dominated the far corner. A wrap-around island stretched across the front of the kitchen, looking out into the bright living room. It was a far cry from the dingy kitchen in the Doctor's bunker. Angel relaxed in the chair, drinking in the extravagant sight and the scent of all the pies baking.

"Are you feeling ok?", Wanda asked from the counter, where she stood kneading out a batch of pie crust with a wood rolling pin. "Here, hand me the pumpkin".

Angel gratefully passed the bowl over, hoping Wanda hadn't noticed the slight tremor that ran down her arms. Her cheeks burned, embarrassed that the easy act of stirring a liquid had tired her so quickly.

"It is ok, Angel", Wanda said softly. "I remember what it was like when Pietro and I first got here- we were both so burnt out neither of us left the MedBay for a week. You do not have to be embarrassed".

The girl frowned, averting Wanda's gaze. Then it dawned on her and she quickly looked up.

"How did you know?", she gasped.

"Oh!", Wanda chuckled. "I did not mean to read your mind. You have very loud thoughts".

"You can read my thoughts?".

"Yep", Wanda replied, accentuating the "p" with a pop. She pounded into the dough with a bit more force, her brow furrowing as if she was deep in thought. "My brother and I have powers. That is why we came to live here with the Avengers a couple months ago- neither of us has complete control over them. And usually...", Wanda murmured, flexing her hand in a strange motion towards the bag of flour. Angel watched awkwardly as nothing happened and the redhead grunted when only a few red sparks jumped across her fingers

"Huh", she sighed, "usually I have telekinesis in companion to telepathy, but something is throwing it off. And I have been getting better at dampening people's thoughts, but it has been impossible lately". She delicately draped the pie crust over the top of a raw apple pie and slid it into the oven.

"Especially when they are as noisy as yours", she finished with a grin, wiping her hands on her apron.

"I'm sor-", Angel tried to apologize.

"Oh don't be sorry! You have not been able to think or speak for yourself in a long time. Be as loud as you want. Besides-", she shrugged, " being able to hear people's thoughts helps me learn English faster than Pietro". She cocked her head as if she heard something. "You'll be meeting him soon, actually".

Angel nodded, hoisting herself to her feet to help Wanda clean up.

"What else do we need to make for dinner?", she asked.

"Nothing else. Supposedly the team likes to order Chinese food instead of cooking for Thanksgiving. I had to beg to make the pies! I wanted to experience this American holiday because there was no "Thanksgiving" in Sokovia".

The winged girl nodded, scooting herself down the island to pick up a dirty glass bowl. "Where is Sokovia?", she asked.

"Where was Sokovia", Wanda corrected sadly. She seemed to draw inward as she turned her back to Angel, carefully placing the dirty dishes into the sink. "Sokovia...", she started, "was my home country- it was a small territory between Ukraine and Belarus. It was beautiful", she said wistfully. "Until the civil war broke out. What started as a few disagreements between the north and south grew into all-out violence. Pietro and I- Pietro and I lost our parents when southern rebels bombed our neighborhood. After that, we... we lost ourselves. We joined the northern radicals, hijacking shipments of weapons and supplies to the south and organizing riots. Our efforts were noticed, and they were pleased. They said Pietro and I could become the next "Captain Americas" for Sokovia", she said bitterly, before hopping up to sit on the counter.