•please appreciate the song choice, enjoy!•
The liquid hits the white surface. Splattering over the edges, dark red, and the smell is putrid. I grit my teeth together while I watch it get smeared around and try to maintain my composure. Not show any sign of weakness.
I swallow the lump in my throat that's formed from having not said anything in a little over an hour. "You're disgusting," I mumble and scrunch up my nose to show my distaste. My voice comes out hoarse and doesn't sound like it usually does at all.
Sam quirks an eyebrow at me from across the counter, chewing on a mouthful of scrambled eggs slathered in ketchup. Once he finally swallows the insane amount of eggs he shoveled into his mouth, he drops his fork into his plate, making me wince.
He wipes his mouth off with his napkin before speaking, thankfully. "It enhances the flavor, okay?" He gestures to the plate and my face contorts, seeing the mess of ketchup and egg that he's made. He's drowned the eggs so much so that it looks like he's eating brain matter smashed onto a plate.
"You're literally just eating ketchup!" I gesture to the disgusting dish in front of him and he smiles sarcastically. I shake my head as I draw in a deep breath. "It even smells disgusting," I tease as I bring my mug of coffee to my nose. "Not even my coffee can mask the smell, Sam."
He crosses his arms over his chest, now looking annoyed. "Alright, okay, hmm..." he hums and brings a finger to his face. He taps it to his chin a few times, mimicking deep thought. "What does Nadya do that's disgusting?"
"Nothing," I answer definitively for him.
"Aha!" Sam exclaims with a snap of his fingers. My eyes widen at him. He's very much a morning person. "Tea with milk. I mean, who does that?"
I narrow my eyes at him. Insulting a drink so dear to me and my heart. "You're not Russian. You don't understand, therefore, it doesn't count." I shrug and take a sip of my coffee. "Anything else you can think of?" I challenge him, enjoying the light banter this morning.
Sam and I have been a little rocky ever since he interrogated me, all things considered. But we've been working back to friends and this is the first time I don't feel like starting an argument. And the first time it hasn't felt like a forced conversation.
"The fact that you will only eat french fries if they're drenched in ranch," he brags as if he's won.
"That is a personal preference!" I defend myself.
"So is this!" He points to his plate.
I wag a finger at him, disagreeing with his point of view. "Eggs don't need a condiment, especially if they're scrambled." I pause, looking back down at his plate. "I could understand hot sauce or something but not ketchup."
"Well-" he cuts himself off as he shovels another forkful of scrambled egg ketchup soup into his mouth, making me scrunch my nose again. "I like it," he finishes his sentence as he's chewing and I sigh dramatically.
He chuckles, picking up a piece of toast that has some sort of strawberry jelly on it. I don't really see that as toast, but to each their own, I guess. "No breakfast today?" He asks, not looking up from his food.
I shake my head, though he can't see it. "Not very hungry this morning."
He's quiet for a moment, but I can hear the scraping of his fork on his plate. "Nervous?"
"Yes," I answer truthfully.
"We have a plan, and if we all play our parts, everything will work out. Nothing to be nervous about." I hear him say, but I'm too busy staring out the window at the landscape surrounding the compound. "Okay?"
My eyes dart back to him, and I nod my head. "Yeah," I say, trying to smile through gritted teeth. I clear my throat and bring my mug over to the sink, rinse it out and place it in the dishwasher. "I'm gonna go back upstairs. Let me know if you need anything," I say awkwardly. A shrinking feeling consumes my chest. It's back to the usual hostility in the air between us that I so badly want to get rid of.
"Hey." I hear him say as I reach the door. I turn on my heel and smile with my brows raised. "Can I be honest?" He asks.
I clear my throat and nod. "Yeah, of course."
He leans over the island a bit as if he's going to tell me a secret. "Ketchup was the only thing I could find in the fridge." He shrugs and shovels another fork full of eggs into his mouth.
I chuckle slightly as I open the door to the foyer. "Whatever you say, Sam."
I watch the blue slither in and out of my wingers like waves on a beach. As it makes its way up to the tips of my fingers, the blackened color disappears like it was never there in the first place. It's been a few days since my last nightmare. But it's also been a few days since I've been able to sleep without fear of a nightmare.
Damned if I do and damned if I don't.
The bell in the elevator sounds, and I close my hand as I exit it. I pull my phone from my pocket as I walk, seeing missed calls all from the same number. There have to be at least ten of them that I've missed. I shove it back into my pocket, telling myself I'll call it back later as I open the door. I poke my head inside the door, looking around at the disheveled state of the room.
"Bucky?" I call out as I step inside, closing the door behind me. I chew on my lip while my eyes continue to roam about his bedroom.
I wander over to his window and gasp as I almost stumble into the small pile of books he's gathered on the floor. I smile to myself and pick one up, one that I haven't read before. The Beautiful and The Damned by F. Scott Fitsgerald. I plop down onto his bed as I open the book, seeing the annotations on the sides and the notes he has written inside of it. It's very interesting to see that someone like Bucky annotates the books he reads. One line is underlined within the first couple of pages. It reads;
'-a man who was aware that there could be no honor and yet had honor, who knew the sophistry of courage and yet was brave.'
A slight smile breaks itself through my lips. I'm not sure if Bucky either related to this passage or just liked how it was written. But it tells me more about him.
"Hey." The book drops from my hands, and I whip around to see Bucky coming out of his bathroom. He smirks at me as he finishes wrapping a towel around his waist. "Sorry, I was in the shower," he says, "and for scaring you." He gestures to the fallen book.
How did I not hear the water running?
I shake my head, trying to clear it of adrenaline. "It's okay," I say as I stand from his bed. I walk over to him, and my chest begins to heat up. I brush the sopping wet hair out of his face and do my best not to glance downward though every part of me wants to.
His eyes soften, and I smile, gently pressing my lips to his. I begin to pull away, but he stops me. His hands pull my arms around his neck and squeeze gently, bringing me in for a deeper kiss. He sighs as if coming up for a breath of fresh air, and I feel just the same. His hands grip my waist and walk me backward towards his bed, never breaking the kiss. The back of my legs hit the bed, and I fall down onto it, bringing him with me.
He breaks his lips away from mine but drags them down my neck, inhaling as he kisses all the way down to my collar bone, giving me goosebumps. "I've missed you," he whispers.
I feel the same as he does, though, almost every night we're together. But with, my nightmares, it's been making me feel guilty. And with guilt comes avoidance. "I've missed you, too," I breathe, wrapping my legs around his torso.
He pulls away slowly, and I open my eyes to look at him. He brushes the hair away from my face gently and smiles lightly. "How are you feeling?" He asks while his thumb begins stroking my cheek.
If I'm being completely honest, tears come to my eyes. No one in my entire life has looked at me the way he does. Has cared for me the way he does. I find myself saddened by the thought but also eternally grateful that I get to experience this kind of love. The love you read in romance novels. That's the best way I can describe it. "I'm okay," I say, nodding my head to affirm my answer.
"You sure?" He asks, still caressing my cheek.
"Yes, I'm feeling much-" My words leave me when I hear a voice. Not mine, not Sam's, and definitely not Bucky's. It didn't even sound like English or Russian, for that matter. It echoes in my head again, louder. I grit my teeth, and my eyes slam shut, trying to force whatever is coming in to leave.
"What's going on?" I hear him ask, but the voice is just getting louder. The only word I can make out from the chant is 'Chavez'.
Suddenly, it stops. I open my eyes, finding Bucky still above me, still in his bedroom. "Did you hear that?" I ask, my voice suddenly alert.
"Hear what?"
"That-That voice," I answer, trying to think of a way to describe it.
"Nadya, I didn't hear anything," he says quietly, looking more than concerned.
I bring my hand to my forehead. Maybe I'm finally going crazy. Maybe it's all coming down to just me being psychotic. It would make sense, actually. I hear voices all the time unless I tune them out. I run my hand down my face and gasp when Bucky grabs my wrist.
"Nadya, what the hell is that?" He asks, a stern tone in his voice that makes my eyes go wide.
My brows come together in confusion. "What the hell is what?" I ask, but my question is answered when I look down at my hand, my fingers blackened like a decaying body.
A nervous chuckle escapes my lips but gets caught in my throat when I see the color work its way down to the middle of my fingers. Panic quickly encroaches my chest, making me want to run and never stop. I stand up quickly, trying not to push him over in the process, with the voice still whispering in my head. "I-I can explain later," I say, staring at my hand with such confusion you'd think it wasn't mine.
He shakes his head, saying, "No, you can explain now."
I groan as the whispering grows a bit louder, clouding my vision as it does. My eyes close on their own accord, and I feel myself being pulled somewhere, though I have no control over where. "Nadya!" Bucky's voice is distant and echoes. All I feel are his fingertips grazing mine before I'm pulled away.
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I grunt when my knees hit some kind of wet stone, and my palms smack concrete. I shake my head a bit, feeling disoriented. A groan escapes me as I try to stand. I wipe my hands on my pants to try and rid them of the moisture and pieces of concrete indented into them. I turn around when I hear a rush of air. I swallow the lump of anxiety in my throat when I see I'm not exactly alone. "Stephen," I mumble, clearing my throat.
He glares at me, a surprised glare, but still a glare. Both of his palms are facing me, holding protective magic. Wong stands next to him with someone I've never seen before. "Nadya, what are you doing here?" He asks, slightly backing away.
I notice the gesture and furrow my brows. "I honestly don't know," I mutter, my eyes roaming around the room. "What's going on?" I cover my head as dust falls on my head. It sounded as if an explosion went off above me.
"How did you get in here?" He asks in a more stern tone, and I fumble with my words, not having an explanation for him, let alone myself. Before I have the chance to answer, he tilts his head to the side. His brows coming together, looking like he's gathering information. "She's using the reflections!" He exclaims, grabbing a blanket and covering a mirror. "Cover the water!"
I watch Strange, Wong, and the girl run around like mad men trying to cover every surface. "What's going on?" I repeat my question, stalking up to Strange as he covers what looks like the last reflective surface. "I heard this weird whispering, and next thing I know, I'm here." I gesture heavily with my hands, and I catch Strange eyeing my gestures. More like eyeing my specific hand.
"Have you had any contact with the darkhold?" He asks as if he's accusing me of something.
"The what?"
A spiteful laugh escapes him, and my head jolts back. "Don't act like you don't know what that is. You obviously-"
A high-pitched shriek breaks us out of our conversation. I ball up my hands at my sides but feel my mouth drop when I see what, more exactly, who was trying to come through the reflections. She was successful. The girl runs to Stephen as, who I can only guess is Wanda, twists and turns her body back into shape, almost like something you'd see in a horror movie.
I take slow steps toward her as the gash on her face heals almost instantly. "Wanda?" She tilts her head at me as she acknowledges me.
"Nadya, I suggest you back away. Now." I hear Strange say, and strangely, I obey.
"What the hell is going on?" I mumble when I reach him.
He tilts his head toward the young girl with dark brown hair and wearing a denim jacket with a star on it. "This is America Chavez. She has the power to travel through the multiverse, which Wanda would like to take from her." He looks at me, and I let my breath out. "Essentially killing her."
"Is that all?" I mutter, eyeing the girl for a moment. I shake my head a few times, remembering the last time I saw Wanda. She was so content and happy living in her little bubble. "But why would she-"
"I want to see my children again, Nadya." She says, and my eyes whip around to her standing a mere six feet away from us. I examine her. She's nothing like I saw her before. Her eyes are darkened and sunken in. Her fingers black and decayed.
"Children?" I whisper to Strange.
"Wanda, your children, aren't real," he responds to Wanda, "you created them using magic."
My ears begin to ring as I try to absorb all the information that has been given to me. My eyes stare at my fingers until I see a flash of red coming toward us. Whatever Strange has said has angered Wanda greatly. I gasp and step in front of the group and produce a shield, holding back whatever she's throwing at them until they can get out of here. "Go!" I yell.
I grunt, falling to my knees as the shield behind me shrinks. She's more powerful than the last time I came into contact with her. Wong disappears behind it. I lock eyes with Strange before America screams. She's terrified as one of the creatures Wanda has conjured lurked its way around the shield. Before it has the chance to grab her, her eyes turn a burning white, and a portal opens up behind her in the shape of a star. Strange, and the girl get sucked through before it seals itself shut. I let my breath out as the shield falls behind me.
"It would be wise of you to stay out of my way, Nadya." I hear Wanda say as I continue trying to catch my breath.
I turn to face her. She's furious that I've helped them. "Wanda, what you're doing is wrong," I say, trying to avoid Wong's unconscious body. I have no right to be here, to intervene where I wasn't needed. I know that.
"Is it?" She tilts her head at me. She walks a circle around me, her heels echoing off the walls, only seeming to get louder with each step.
"She's a child," I respond, "who's life you'd be taking just for the benefit of your own."
A smile appears on her face, not quite reaching her eyes. Showing me that she understood what I said but doesn't agree. She gestures to me as she continues to walk. "What if I told you there was a world where your family was still alive and well?"
I glare at her, holding my stance. Disbelief clouds my face. It's evident in the way she sighs when she makes eye contact with me.
"No Winter Soldier, no HYDRA. Just peace," she continues, "with America's power, I could send you there." She smiles, and I shake my head.
"That's not possible," I mutter, my eyes following her every step. "My father was with HYDRA. That's who he'll always be." My eyes trail her hands as she walks, seeing the same darkened color on the tips of her fingers. As if she dipped them in black paint.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Nadya." My eyes snap back up to hers, and she's smiling. "I do know what you are," she mutters as a thick book appears in her hands. "And if you don't believe me..." she trails off as she sets the book down on the ground. "I'll show you." She presses her hand to the book and brings it up. Instinctively, I bring my arms up to cover my face for fear of her power.
I bring my arms down slowly, and my eyes widen when I see the red orbs of energy surrounding me, all connected by thin lines. They grow and shrink as she looks through them. "What is this?" I ask, almost in awe.
"A fraction of the multiverse," she answers as she pokes and prods each of them. "Take a look," she says, gesturing to a glowing ball of energy.
I take a deep breath and take slow steps toward it. My mouth falls open a bit when I do see it, my family alive and well. Playing in the snow and laughing loudly. My brows come together when I see myself. My powers are still with me in that universe. I press my mouth into a thin line and back away, holding back tears. Having seen enough of what could have been. I've tortured myself enough with what could have been. What if I had been able to save them? What if my father never wanted me dead?
"Help me get America, and then we both get what we want."
I shake my head a few times. "What makes you think I'd want to go back?"
She shrugs. "Everyone needs their family," she chuckles a bit.
"This isn't going to end well for you, Wanda."
"You think so?" She questions me with an edge in her voice.
I nod a few times, fear creeping up my spine. "Vision would have never wanted this for you," I scoff, almost wishing I could take the words back. I know the effect that that kind of statement can have on someone. Especially someone grieving.
This brings a smile to her face. "We'll just have to see about that, won't we?" Her voice is barely above a whisper. I glare at her until her eyes begin to glow an eerie red.
I throw my fist out, watching the energy leave my hand, and hit her in the shoulder. She cries out as she hits the far wall. I watch her stand, feeling my eyes burn and twisting and turning my fingers to make sure I can keep up. She laughs, making my brows come together and my breathing quicken. "I thought you'd help me." She brushes the debris off of her clothing before looking back at me, her eyes still deep red. "We are the same after all."
"No, we're not," I argue, "not right now at least."
She pushes her hand out, barely moving an inch as I fly off of the ground, making my stomach drop. My hands grip my neck, feeling my breath leave me. I kick and thrash at nothing but air. I grunt, trying to get the oxygen back into my body. "The darkhold showed me the truth, Nadya. Maybe you should try it." I hear her say.
The darkhold.
I take one of my hands away from my neck, watching her intently as she brings the darkhold out. A large piece of debris lifts off of the ground. I quickly move my eyes back to Wanda, and the debris slams into her. Knocking her down and allowing me to breathe again.
I keep myself afloat, filling my lungs with air that was much needed. She looks up at me. I've only seemed to anger her more. "Don't kill that child, Wanda," I say, and I slam my eyes shut, pulling myself from wherever I was and back to the compound.
I hit the ground in my bedroom with terror filling my chest. I back up against the wall and force myself to breathe. I hold my hands out in front of me and grow incredibly confused when I see my right hand glowing red. No, I got out of there before she had the chance to hit me directly. I know I did. I watch the hue die down to my correct skin color, and relief floods my chest. Not only because the red is gone, but so is the black tint on my fingers.
She helped me.
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