Chapter Text
Beads of sweat drip from my forehead. My ponytail has come loose, and strands of hair stick to my cheeks. The only light comes from the emergency exits, casting eerie looming shadows across the room. The metal that had been suspended in the air begins to fall.
I dive forward to try and get the right angle, trying to catch it all before it comes crashing down. It balances centimeters from my face. One sharp corner points directly at my nose. The tile is cold against my arms. I try to remember to breathe. It is easy to get an item up, but much harder to stop it once the free fall begins. I am fairly certain Peter would explain it as having to do with kinetic and potential energy, in addition to physics. It is why I am a humanities major. This is the first time I have been able to complete the feat without any of the shelves hitting the ground. Then my music cuts off.
“Call from Mom,” Siri reads out.
“Shit,” I throw the metal shelves to the side and run over to the speaker, unplugging my phone. “Hi Mom,” I answer, out of breath.
“Hi Love, how are you? You sound out of breath.”
“Just finishing up a run.”
“Alone, at night?”
“I can protect myself.” I assure her.
“Mhm,” She clearly doesn’t believe me. “I just wanted to check in. See how everything is going?”
“Same as it was yesterday,” I reply cheekily, “I miss you.”
“I miss you too, Little Witch. Saturday isn’t far away.” I hear Steve in the background, saying something about having to go. “That’s my cue. Whatever you’re up to, be safe. Okay? And give Yelena and Peter my best at dinner tonight. I love you.”
“Love you too.” I hang up and look around at the mess I made. The metal shelves are dented from my hasty throw. I put them all right side up again, more, or less in their proper place. There are still promotional signs on the wall for same day delivery and printer repair. It is a good spot for training, though Nat would probably blow a gasket if she knew what I was doing. Unsupervised training is dangerous, even in an abandoned office supply superstore. But I can’t exactly do this in Cambridge. There is also a certain pressure that goes away when no one else is around. It seems impossible that a few months ago I was struggling to make a house of cards.
I shove the speaker into my backpack and head out the back exit I had propped open and unlock my car. There are only two hours until my dinner with Yelena and Peter. The drive from Somerville back to school doesn’t take long at this hour, most people are heading away from the city. I roll back my shoulders, beginning to feel sore, I shouldn’t have gone so hard.
Campus is fairly quiet as I hurry through, my hoodie obscuring my face. I take the elevator up to my dorm and think of how Steve would comment that these used to play music. The sun has completely set by the time I get into my room, and the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling are the only source of light as I fumble for the switch.
My room is a mess. Natasha would be horrified. Sheets are pushed onto the floor, tossed from my bed. Clothes cover every surface. Notebooks and textbooks are scattered. I sigh at the sight. The thought of putting it all away is a daunting task. And definitely not on for tonight. I pull off my leg and change into my bathrobe, grab my crutches, and head to the communal showers. Showering is now a conscious effort. I have to use my powers to help balance as I wash my hair. They are wheelchair accessible, but I haven’t touched my wheelchair since I got here, and I have no intention of doing so.
I arrive back to the mess of my room. I will have to sort through the notebooks, but I can at least use my powers to put all the clothes in a pile. It also makes it easier to find what I am wearing tonight. I put black jeans and a blouse, grabbing my favorite red leather jacket, and head out the door, locking it behind me. The Uber is waiting for me downstairs to take me to tonight’s restaurant, Yelena’s turn to pick. The past two times it has been her turn, we have ended up at five-star dining establishments, while Peter has picked places like Shake Shack. However, that doesn’t appear to be the case with this restaurant.
The car pulls into the North End. The narrow streets and short brick buildings are synonymous with the best Italian food in the city. A crowd is forever gathered outside Mike’s Pastries trying to get cannolis. I head down an alleyway and open a squat wooden door. Inside, hushed conversation melts with classical music. I spy them both in a back corner, Yelena waving me over. The old hardwood floors shift underfoot as I walk between the tightly laid out tables.
“Took you long enough,” Yelena huffs.
“Good to see you too.” I roll my eyes. The restaurant is dimly lit with candles on each table, providing more light than those on the wall. I strain to read the menu.
“How are classes?” Peter asks, reaching for dinner roll.
“Fine, working on a group project right now. We have assigned partners.”
“The worst,” Yelena frowns, while Peter says the opposite. “I am bored in my classes, nothing challenging yet.”
“You already know it all,” Peter points out.
“Yes, but I’d like to have the official qualifications. Unfortunately, the Red Room is not an accredited university.”
If Nat were here, she would probably scold Yelena for being so blasé about the Red Room. On the same token, she’d also be impressed by her little sister’s English. Though still thickly accented, her conversational language skills have improved since we started school.
“MJ is coming to tour on Veteran’s Day, right?” I look up from the menu. Peter beams.
“Yep! She is going to stay in my room. My roommate is going to be going home that weekend. You’re still up for giving the tour of Harvard?”
“Of course.”
“I talked to Tasha earlier. She asked if I knew where you were training.” I choke on my ice water.
“How did she know?”
“I think is sweet that she pretends she couldn’t just track your location.”
“Mr. Stark reminds me all the time that my suit has a tracker.” Peter adds, trying not to pout.
“I didn’t tell her I was training.”
“You are very bad at keeping secrets from her,” Yelena puts down her menu, seeming to have settled on what she wants.
“Thank you, I had no idea.”
Yelena and I each order a glass of wine while Peter sticks to his Coke. The two of them talk about a professor they share and an event on campus this week. I try to hold back a yawn as we wait for the check. Next time, I will train after dinner.
“What are you and Nat going to do when she comes up this weekend?” Peter grabs a peppermint as we head out the door.
“I think we’re going to go shopping. Get dinner.” I zip my coat up.
“I will keep Captain America company.” Yelena swears. I walk with them to the subway station, clicking to order my car. “I will ride with you to your stop,” She offers, hesitating.
“No, it’s fine. I don’t like taking the T. Me in a metal tube with a few hundred strangers? We tried that,” I nod to Peter.
“We wait then.” Yelena sits down on a bench, stretching out her legs. Peter is jittery as he begins to explain how excited he is to put back on the suit this weekend, and to be home. I try not to think about home. About our apartment and Liho. Of sitting in the library reading books until dawn. How is perpetually smells of chamomile and clean laundry.
“I don’t miss hearing sound of weights being thrown above me at all hours.”
“Sometimes it’s not weights, sometimes it is Steve.” I point out, rejoining the conversation. A car backfires and I flinch, my fingertips lighting up. They hardly miss a beat, just pausing to see if I am okay, before continuing the conversation. This time, about Boot Camp 2.0, taking place the weekend after Thanksgiving.
“Manhunt is going to be amazing,” Peter gushes, “I want Wanda on my team.”
“Nat and Steve are team captains, they will get to pick.”
“They are so competitive, going to come down to the two of them.” Yelena scoffs.
“The two of you can scale trees like monkeys,” I point out.
“Hold on tight, spider monkey.” Peter laughs.
“I don’t get it,” Yelena looks between the two of us.
“It is from an old movie,” I explain. My Uber pulls up to the sidewalk. “I’ll see you around,”
“Text us when,”
“I get back.” I finish. I’m careful not to call my dorm home. It is where I am staying, but most definitely not home.
In the morning, I get dressed and head to class. The leaves have started to change, and it looks like the set of a movie. Of Legally Blonde. I had watched that with Peter when Natasha,
I pull myself out of that destructive train of thought. Instead, I take a photo of the campus and send it to Peter with a note, “What? Like it’s hard?”
In the classroom, I take my usual seat in the back, trying to remain as invisible as possible. If only my powers could do that. I take a sip of my coffee. No one tries to strike up a conversation with me, but perhaps that is for the best. For my ethics and civics gen ed, I had wanted to take Moral Inquiry in the Novels of Tolstoy and Dostoevsky. But Natasha said that is cheating. The purpose of college is to learn and get outside my comfort zone. Which is how I ended up siting in Human Trafficking, Slavery, and Abolition in the Modern World. The professor begins to lecture on the reading about Somali child soldiers, which I actually did do. I take notes, trying to pay attention. Then someone in the front raises their hand.
“What if a kid chooses to join the army? Because it beats the alternative. Are they still a victim?”
“Everything is circumstantial, but I would say yes,” Another person speaks up.
“But isn’t it their own choice? Isn’t it kind of like an age of consent?” I feel the grip on my pencil tighten. “Doesn’t it become their choice?”
“Is it a choice when there isn’t another option?”
“What if it is the only way to survive?”
“Does it justify killing people?” I don’t like the way this conversation is devolving. The professor clears his throat, and I relax.
“Someone told me that last spring, you showed an interview from a former child soldier.”
“I didn’t schedule time for it this semester.” He explains, trying to redirect the conversation.
“I think we should watch it.” The first kid speaks up. “We can just do more reading tonight.” There are a few groans at the offer of extra homework.
“I don’t think everyone in the class would be comfortable watching this.”
“Can you at least provide the link? And then we can discuss it next week?” Another person offers, “Like for extra credit?”
“Is it the interview of Scarlett Witch on 60 Minutes?” A girl asks, raising her hand. This is my largest class, one of the larger ones on campus as well. As a gen ed, there are over a hundred people in here. There is no group work, just lecture. Attendance is taken through a clicker, and the professor lets me wear a hood. No one has really noticed me. I don’t know if anyone even knows I am in the class. Just that I am on campus. But hearing this, my stomach plummets.
“I don’t think this is an appropriate topic for discussion.”
“Why? Because she goes here now? Wouldn’t it be even better? She could even tell us directly.” I slump lower in my seat, trying even harder to disappear.
“We are moving on.”
“She committed war crimes too. Doesn’t that make it worse? And that she was like fifteen?”
“But she was only thirteen when she was recruited.” I want to get up and leave. But that would only draw attention to myself. I feel someone’s eyes on me. I look over and see a guy give me a sympathetic smile. At least he hasn’t said anything to expose me. That would be worse.
“We are changing units next week. I expect you all to stay up to date on the reading, even with the long weekend. Now, back to my presentation, which I know you all want to see the slides for,”
When class ends, I know the professor will want me to stay and chat. That is the last thing I want, however. Instead, I flee as soon as class is over. Shame has settled on my chest like a weight. I skip my afternoon class, opting instead to huddle under the blankets in my room, watching The Office on my phone.
“Wanda, are you in here?” I poke my head up, alarmed, pausing the show as Bandit the cat is thrown in the air.
“Vision?”
“Was it not the plan to meet today? You were not at the restaurant for lunch. I wanted to check on you.” He looks around, “Your room is quite messy.”
“I know.” I crawl out of the blankets and use my powers to bring my leg up onto the bed so I can pull it on. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
“Are you alright?”
“Rough day, that’s all. It is good to see you.” I jump off the bed and wrap my arms around him.
“Perhaps I can help you clean?” I pull back, hands on my hips. “That is what you want to do?” I sigh and instead use my powers to put everything into neat piles, along with folding my clean clothes and putting them in their drawers. “Better?”
“Less distracting,” he assures me. This had been unexpected. Him. Us. Two weeks ago, he flew out here to check on something Avengers related and popped by to say hello.
I haven’t told anyone, even Nat. It is something that is mine. I can also just imagine the lecture about making sure I am staying focused on school. About not letting my heart getting broken again. But things are different now, I am older. There is no reason for us not to be together, aside from the discomfort of making out in a twin XL bed. We lie back together on the bed, sheets once again on the floor.
“That was,” he begins.
“Distracting?” I finish.
“This is nice, Wanda.” I look into his unnaturally blue eyes. Unmistakably him.
“It is,” I agree, trying not to think of how everything else is not. Of how I wake up thrashing and crying. However at the end of each day, my leg aches from running around campus. How Peter and Yelena seem to be getting closer, with me off to the side. How I can’t make any friends. How the public still sees me as a threat. My own classmates debate me like a concept. How I haven’t seen Natasha’s face in weeks as she has been unable to FaceTime, instead calling and texting. How even surrounded by thousands of people, I still feel alone. “This is nice,” I echo back, lying to myself.