Three Years Ago
After Wanda had left and I'm sure she was out of ear shot, everything flowed through my body. I pressed my head against the wall... baby blue, so innocent... I am anything but innocent. I'm trembling. I can't stop. Even as I press my hand against the wall it shakes, it trembles. It's raw, everything, raw tears, raw emotions. I can't stop... I can't stop.
Why can I not stop crying? I did this to her, to myself. I wasn't the one who was getting their heart stepped on and ripped into millions of pieces but like Wanda, I was falling apart. More than I'd like to admit, everyone who were my rocks in a hard place were over 12 hours away. Wanda was my first one, one that would comfort me after a mission where I couldn't save everyone.
Tony, he was the best one. I went to him if I couldn't find Wanda. He was an expert in what it felt like to be expendable, to be unwanted. This man had experienced both good and bad. So when it came to consoling someone who needed it, who was losing their sanity and breathing like their breath had been knocked out, he'd be the man.
Steve had experienced loss, too much for a nice man. He lost his best friend right in front of him. Maybe Steve couldn't see it happen but he knew it happened. He watched Bucky fall hundreds of feet to an assumed death. The worst part about it is when his heart broke as Bucky asked, 'Who the hell is Bucky...?' He knows a thing or two about loss.
Hours later, my throat was too raw to speak. Perfect... I had a presentation tomorrow to the council on how to deal with a new foe. With a voice this quiet and eyes so bloodshot, there was no way I'd be able to survive the severe scrutiny of my coworkers.
Present Day
"But... How long will you be out?" I fidgeted with a loose string in my shirt before bringing my coffee cup to my lips and conceal the uneasiness in the air.
"I'm leaving in a few hours, it should be two or three days tops." Steve answers with a shrug. "Easy peazy," he smiled, shoving an impressive forkful on pancakes into his mouth.
"If it's so easy, why do you have to go?" I set my cup down again with a little more questionable force behind it, ignoring the concerned eyes of Mr. Steve Rogers, continuing to question the man in front of me, "You can send anyone, instead. I can go. Why not send me?"
"Well, the fact I consider it easy, doesn't mean it is to other people." There's not a trace of arrogance in his tone, only honesty and even a little bit of humility only Steve Rogers can pull off, which makes me sigh in defeat. "Besides, you've been here for what? One week after over three years away and already wanna leave again? What's this really about, Y/n?" He points and shakes his fork at me, frowning questioningly.
"What, I can't be worried about my workaholic and overloaded Captain who deserves a break every once in a while?" I lie, cutting a piece of pancake from his plate, hoping this would grab his attention and diverge it elsewhere.
He looking nothing but unconvinced, eyeing me suspiciously, "Not when I'm talking to the most workaholic person—" before he could inquiry me further, the door opened and caught the attention of us two. I hold my tongue upon hearing the voice of who interrupted us.
"Hey, Stevie, you're still here—" I didn't need to turn around to feel the look of discomfort on her face, knowing I was there, too.
At the eery silence following her entrance, I glance at Steve and return his apologetic look with a sad smile. Standing up, the chair scratches the floor, "Stay safe, Steve." I dismiss the responsibility of washing off my dishes in benefit of leaving the situation as soon as possible.
Wanda stepped aside so I could squeeze through the doorway, whispering a good morning with a nod as I passed. The door was inches away from hitting me in the ass on my way to no idea where. It's been like this ever since I returned. Awkward, uncomfortable... silent, painful... I thought being away for three years would make it better, would make a clean slate on everything that had devastated our life together, or the life I thought we had together and we could, at least, have some cordial or a friendly relationship.
But it hasn't been that way, there is still the same, if not more, sorrow, anger, resentment. It is all there, the words exchanged, the emotions knocked to the ground, growing thicker each day, creating a great barrier between us, refusing to let go and tricking us into replaying that day on loop.
All of it still wasn't enough to stop my thoughts from turning to her when Steve mentioned he had a solo mission. Who would be there for Wanda when her nightmares came? The dismissal, the cold shoulder, my snappiness, the three and a half years away was not enough to stop me from caring about her.
I knew they were back, it wasn't hard to see in the brief glances I stole in the last week, grimacing at the hellish bags under her ocean eyes. They had stopped, when I was the one to come down and comfort her, rub a comforting hand over her chest, calm her down and whisper sweet nothings in her ear, until, eventually, they stopped completely.
The end...
I end up speeding towards my new room. On a new floor. Whoever's idea it was to relocate my room was some smart person, that's for sure and certain. Which lead me to my current concern. With Steve away on a mission, with Wanda's floor completely deserted, who would comfort her in her time of need?
I fell face down on my bed, staying like that for a a while before flipping over and resting my hand on my forehead.
I know what to do. And it was a risky decision but one for the better.
"Friday," I listened to the prompt of the AI. "Would you please wake me up if— I mean, when you notice any type of distress in Wanda's sleep?"
I frowned, finding the unusually delayed response from the always efficient AI,"Are you sure, Miss Y/N? Considering your history with her..." A few curses slipped from lips aimed at the one and only Tony Stark for inventing such an intelligent program. Even if she was just that, a program, "I am," I sigh, curling into a more comfortable position, "Just don't tell anyone, please."
~~~
"Miss—"
"I got it, thanks, Friday." I'm still awake, not a blink of sleep from 10:30 pm to 2:15 am, rolling around in my sheets at the first warning of the night.
Barefoot and in my pyjama set, I don't think twice about taking the elevator up to her floor. The overwhelming anxiety were a betoken of my sweaty palms and clenched jaw. It's been so long, too long, since I've strolled up here after a midnight snack.
I find her door locked. "Friday?" I call and wait patiently as I hear the faint unlocking sounds before the door gives in to my push. The whole apartment is pitch dark as I cross the small living room to her bedroom. When I get there, the sight pulls a deep gasp from my lungs. Her sheets are a complete mess, the borders already out of the mattress as she tosses and turns. Small whimpers slip out of her lips and, as I cautiously walk over to her, I see the desperation seeping into her bones.
For a split second, my mind drives back to the very first days. Ironically enough, this is how we started getting closer in what felt like millenniums ago, with me not being able to stay quiet and sleep peacefully with the sounds of deep, deep mind torment next to my room.
A particularly loud cry blots my memories in blue, pulling me back into reality. I wasn't exactly sure what I was doing when I asked Friday to wake me up, but now that I'm here, it was nature when I drove myself closer to her. When I climb into her bed, I do it slowly and carefully, cautious of what a sudden awakening could cause, including to my physical health.
I lay down facing her side, taking in, really taking in, the way her nose is scrunched up and her jaw jutting out as it clenched. Wanda's chest heaved in deep, unpredictable breathes, her hands white-knuckling the sheets and her feet kicking aimlessly at the sheets. Aware of my own unpredictable breathing, it's like I'm a spectator of my own actions. I place a timid hand over her heart and the familiar warmth rushes through my veins. She's still as warm as I remember and it's taking all my will and strength not to relax and envelope her in my arms.
The single touch is enough to make the movements of her limbs and chest calmer, although the anguish is still evident in the nonsensical mumbling and beads of sweat slipping off her cheeks, which only pushed me further.
"Hey," I whisper, leaning forward, closer to her ear, hoping that it wasn't enough to wake Wanda up, but just enough to rescue her from whatever terror it was this time, "It's okay. You're okay. You're safe..." At this point I'm so focused on Wanda's well being that I don't realize I've bounced back to my old habit of drawing small patterns on her chest, "It's not real, it's just a dream. I'm here, I..." this was the part where I would normally go on and on about how much I love her, "I... missed you." I gulp, forcefully holding back the tears that threatened to overflow their threshold as I continued to speak softly to her, recognising the rushed heartbeats only Wanda was ever able to awaken in me.
I smile when her expression becomes less antagonised, a little bit at least. Her breathing is fully back to normal and her muscles are finally relaxed. I wasn't sure that after everything I put her through, that her body would ever want to succumb to me but... I was glad I was able to do something. The one thing I am almost 100 percent sure about is that Wanda doesn't deserve that kind of pain, that kind of suffering, no matter what position she holds on the matter.
She's cut her hair, which is odd to my eyes, I've longed for her longer locks, even if I was an unwilling patient to admitting the truth of that. Under the touch of my hand, it doesn't take an expert in anatomy to know that she's bulked up a little, pondering the question: how many hours had she spent in the gym?
Deciding to leave before she could wake up and catch me in this unexplainable situation, I remove my hand slowly from her chest, already missing the warmth it held. Risking one last glance at her peaceful features, I quietly turn to leave the bed and let my feet fall to the floor.
"Y/N."
That word, my name, is enough to make me freeze. I do my utter best to ignore the thumping in my chest from my heartbeats, the trembling of my hands gripping the sheets, I open my eyes and tilt my head to look behind me.
She's still peacefully sleeping, unmoved, except for her hand which was touching where I was touching moments ago. I let out a relieved sigh.
"Y/N... Y/N..."
Nothing but careless whispers, sufficient enough to make my heart beat erratically again. Is she dreaming of me? Can she sense my presence? I want to move and leave Wanda to her privacy but something is blocking the commands from my brain to my legs, otherwise I would go. The next whisper she utters is what unclogs my cells, my transmitters, my everything.
"I'm sorry, baby... I'm sorry."
The simple and unconscious words are enough to pull a torrent of tears and sobs from me as I rush out of her room, allowing myself to cry in the comfort of my own bed.
[ part 2/? ]