Time After Time (Book 3)

Guilt and Grievin'

There are many different ways to communicate the death of a loved one. It could be via a tearful phone call, a visit, a letter, or even a text. When Betty received the call from Marielle she had to admit she'd been half-expecting it. Corporal Timothy Dugan had finally succumbed to the weight of his years and the tears that Betty shed were more in celebration of a life well-lived than grief for a friend departed. She attended his funeral to pay her respects, as did Steve, but they hung back, away from the crowd, with only a small wave and nod to Marielle. If Betty listened hard enough she could hear his booming laugh and see his giant red moustache twitch in amusement. The siblings toasted their old comrade with glasses of red wine, and shared stories until they were both too tired to speak.

She sat now, staring down at the letter in front of her, the thick paper trembling in her hand as she read the words over again for the hundredth time. Beautiful script, in stark contrast to the words it carried, informed her of the death of her mentor, Master Daniel Drumm, killed by one of his own, a sorcerer gone rogue. Master Wong, whose name resided at the bottom of the page, wrote kindly, letting her know that Daniel had held her in high regard. She wanted so much to pay the Sanctum a visit, to let them know how she shared in their grief, but the subtext in the letter was clear; the sorcerers were in the midst of a power struggle, and Betty didn't want to get caught up in something that she knew so little about. She sighed heavily, wiping her hand across her eyes, and stashed the letter in her desk drawer. Standing, she stretched out her neck and left her room in search of some company to temper the sadness she felt.

Betty headed towards the main common area, passing the large training room where Steve and Nat were putting some of the new operatives through their paces. She craved the solace of company but didn't want to interrupt their session so carried on past and into the living space of the compound. She found Wanda there, sat at the dining table playing solitaire, lifting, and placing cards using the swirling red energy that was at her command.

"I'm practicing precision," the young woman said, without looking up from her game.

"Looks like you're pretty good at it," Betty said, kindly. "I was gonna grab a coffee, would you like one?"

The cards stilled in the air, bobbing only slightly as Wanda finally looked up at Betty and smiled.

"Yes please. I take cream and one sugar."

"Coming right up." Betty smiled back as Wanda returned to her cards.

As Betty prepared their drinks she stole glances at Wanda, whose penetrating gaze was transfixed on the cards in front of her. Graceful hands moved in a delicate formation, almost like a dancer's, directing the crimson energy to bend to her will. Betty was fascinated. Shaking herself, she picked up their cups and sat in front of Wanda at the table, sliding one of the cups over to her and lifting the other to her lips for a sip, wincing and blowing on the drink when she burned her mouth.

"I can be a fuckin' liability sometimes," she chuckled dryly, shrugging at Wanda.

"You're distracted, it's understandable," Wanda replied.

"Yeah I guess I am a bit," Betty agreed. "How are you holdin' up?"

"I'm OK sometimes, other times I'm not so good, but I keep going."

"And that's all we really can do," agreed Betty, reaching out to the young Avenger.

"You understand," Wanda stated, grasping Betty's hand in return. "I'm sorry for your losses."

"Wait, how did you..."

"I didn't look if that's what you're worried about. Sometimes, when people feel emotions strongly enough, or have loud thoughts, I can hear them without even trying to listen. I would never intrude like that." Wanda looked a little hurt and sad, and started to withdraw her hand, but Betty grasped it even tighter.