Look What You Made Me Do (Wanda-SI/OC)

Despite my initial excitement at being invited, I had never really been a big party person, especially ones where I barely knew any of the people there. Pietro and I had strategically retreated to the corner of the lounge, tucked away next to a standing lamp under the balcony, where we could observe the other attendees. Everyone was well-dressed and seemingly effortlessly made up… It was the first real time that I had felt actively self-conscious about my appearance in ages. I imagined that Pietro probably felt as awkward and out of place as I did—it wasn’t like he’d had had much opportunity to attend the personal parties of the rich and famous before, either.

“What have you got there?” I asked, indicating the red cocktail that had made it into Pietro’s hand at some point.

“I don’t know. Something fruity. I didn’t get the name of it.”

“Is it good?”

“Yeah, really good,” he said, offering me the glass.

I tasted it and pulled a face. Whatever it was, it was blisteringly sweet, more like liquid candy than a cocktail. “You have the palate of a twelve-year-old,” I said as he smirked at my reaction. Shaking my head, I tipped my scotch glass toward him, offering him a taste in return. He shrugged and accepted, taking a small sip, and I chuckled as he immediately spluttered and coughed.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, thrusting the glass back toward me and wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Spotted a bottle of Laphroaig 25-year cask strength on the top shelf. Stark has good taste.”

“I don’t know how you can drink that. Tastes like something burned down in a swamp,” Pietro muttered sullenly.

“Yeah,” I said happily, lifting the glass to my nose and inhaling deeply, savouring the aroma for a few seconds before enjoying another sip. I intended to take full advantage of Tony Stark’s fully-equipped wet bar this evening—I hadn’t actually had any alcohol since… well, I couldn’t remember drinking in this body, at least.

My smile faltered a bit. I wasn’t really sure who I was anymore. Every time I thought back, I started questioning my memories—I’d been so sure for so long that I was just isekai’ed or transmigrated into Wanda’s body, but it was really starting to feel like the situation was a lot more complicated than that. Shaking my head, I pushed the thoughts away. There was a lot for me to think about, but not tonight. Tonight, I was going to enjoy myself, properly, for the first real time in at least a year.

“What are you still doing here hanging out with me, anyway?” I asked, nudging Pietro’s shoulder with mine. “Don’t let me stop you from having some fun.”

He snorted. “You think I’m going to have fun? I didn’t want to be here in the first place.”

“It’s been too long since we’ve been able to just relax. I don’t want to waste this. Plus, it’s a good opportunity. Go and mingle a bit,” I told him, frowning when he rolled his eyes at me. “Look, just… stay away from Stark, have a few drinks and charm the pretty girls with your accent. I never thought I’d have to tell you to flirt.”

“Fine, fine,” Pietro sighed airily. “I suppose there are some beautiful women here who could use some company.”

“These people are all Avengers-adjacent—they’re hungry for it. When they realise you have powers and are staying in the Tower, I’ll have to pry them off you with a crowbar.”

“…you know, it might be fun to tell people about how you beat up Stark in New Delhi. With a few embellishments, of course.”

I shot him a warning look. “Pietro, don’t… aaand he’s already gone,” I said to myself as he disappeared into the crowd.

Sighing softly, I took the opportunity to scan the lounge and pick out my own targets for social engagement. The place was utterly packed with guests, most of whom I didn’t recognise at all—a variety of rich and attractive people, some of whom I suspected were Tony’s usual party entourage and hangers on, about a half-dozen elderly World War 2 veterans that I guessed were friends of Steve, and an assortment of other mystery guests. A small handful of hired waitstaff attended the bar and threaded through the crowd.

Dotted among the crowd were the people I was actually interested in—the Avengers and a handful of recognisable members of their supporting casts. I spotted Tony and Thor near a bar table speaking with a well-dressed black man I recognised as Rhodey: War Machine. Some of the furniture had been moved around to accommodate more intimate clusters of seating and a pool table had been brought in—Steve was currently playing a friendly game of doubles, laughing and smiling alongside Bucky, one of the elderly vets and someone who could only be Sam Wilson: Falcon. I couldn’t see Nat or Bruce on my initial glance around, but remembering how the similar party in the original timeline played out, they were probably tucked away somewhere flirting with each other. I hadn’t noticed Dr Helen Cho around, either, but that made sense given that none of the Avengers had been seriously injured in Sokovia or New Delhi so they’d had no reason to call her in this time around.

At the far end of the bar, past a small group of happily chatting guests with their backs to her, sat Jessica Jones. She was nursing a drink of some kind in a tumbler, a sour expression on her face as she surveyed the space. Pietro may have been resistant to enjoying himself this evening, but the private investigator very clearly had his attitude beat—it looked like she was seconds away from deciding to just get up and walk out. Honestly, I was a little surprised she’d turned up in the first place.

I sidled up to her. “Jessica, hi.” Looking around, I frowned at the lack of free bar stools and settled for standing somewhat awkwardly at the very end of the bar.

Jessica paused as though biting back her initial response. “What?” she asked tersely.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you, actually,” I said. She looked extremely tense for some reason but, then again, she was an irritable, prickly person in general and it didn’t seem like she was happy to be here. “Nothing bad, I just… I was honestly really surprised to see you here. With the Avengers.”

She shot me a hard look. “Not something you saw in your visions?”

“No, actually, it wasn’t. I’ve seen some of your life, but nothing with you and the Avengers.”

“…Romanov came to my office, wanting to know why you’d looked me up on a laptop they’d found. I was with her when she got the news that you’d taken Rogers and she asked for my help.”

A look of dawning realisation spread across my face as she spoke and I nodded slowly to myself. “Huh, okay. My fault. That explains it, I guess. It’s been… weird. It’s starting to feel like everything’s changing faster than I can predict. Even little things seem to have big consequences.” I held my drink up to the light for a moment before draining the rest of the glass, then noticed that Jessica’s was also almost empty. “What are you drinking? Scotch?”

“…yeah.”

The sole member of waitstaff currently behind the bar was preoccupied mixing fancy-looking cocktails for a couple of people at the opposite end, so I peered up at the shelves of liquor. “I’ve been having the Laphroaig, but I know it’s not to everyone’s taste. What’s your poison? Teacher’s? Winston’s? Johnny Walker?”

Jess sighed. “Teacher’s.”

Surreptitiously gesturing with a hand, I levitated the bottle down to us and helped myself to what was probably a triple, then offered her the bottle. She hesitated a moment before taking it and doing the same, though her glass ended up even fuller than mine.

I raised my glass and she stared at it for a moment before begrudgingly clinking it with hers. “To new friends,” I toasted quietly.

“I’m not a friend,” she said, almost immediately. “I was asked here for a job. That’s all.”

I snorted. “Job’s over though, right? Steve’s back, safe and sound. No missing persons, nothing for a PI to do. Might be a place for another superhero, though? Another member of the team?”

She shook her head, a frown on her face. “No chance. This isn’t me.”

“I…” I paused a moment, thinking through what to say. “Okay, listen. These sorts of conversations are difficult for me, because I got a lot of insight into personal, private stuff that I shouldn’t actually know and I honestly don’t know exactly when things have happened in relation to each other, or if they’ve even happened anymore, or what.”

“Just say what you want to say.”

“Is he dead yet?”

She hesitated, her jaw working for a moment. “Yes.”

“Good. He was a fucking monster. If he wasn’t already dead, I’d go and kill him myself.”

Jessica sighed sharply. “What do you want?”

“I don’t want anything. I just… I know what you’ve had to deal with. Better than probably anyone else does. Your family, Dorothy, Trish, Luke, Reva, Hope, Malcolm, Hogarth… everything,” I said, looking at her. She was quiet. “There’s some stuff that might happen that I want to warn you about, but I don’t really know how to talk about this stuff without pissing you off.”

“No, you really don’t, do you?” There was a hint of anger in her voice, though she was controlling it well.

I downed my glass. It wasn’t the smartest thing to do—I didn’t want to get too drunk too quickly, but I needed at least a bit of a buzz to have this conversation. “Sorry, but I think it’s maybe more important for you to know some things than it is for you to like me.”

“I don’t want to hear anything you think you know about me,” Jessica said, her tone harsh. “Just leave me alone, okay? We’re done here.” Getting off the bar stool, she turned her back to me and started to walk away.

“Your mother’s alive,” I said quietly. She froze mid-step. “She’s being held by a secret experimental research lab called IGH. They’re responsible for your powers. Trish has been looking into them, ask her. Also, keep an eye on her—she’s had a taste of the power that those drugs gave her and she’s right on the precipice. If you don’t do anything…”

Jessica walked away without a word, shouldering her way past a small group of other guests. Well, that hadn’t gone great, but there was never going to be an appropriate time for that conversation. Jessica Jones was just that sort of person. I sighed, wishing that there was more I could do for her. Jessica was such a broken person, but she couldn’t be helped if she didn’t want help.

Something that had been nagging at the back of my mind suddenly came into sharp focus. I wasn’t feeling anything yet. A slight sense of unease crept over me and I hastily poured myself more scotch from the bottle, filling the tumbler almost to the brim. I chugged the whole thing in five seconds flat, then stared at the empty glass in my hand with slowly dawning horror. I vaguely remembered that Captain America couldn’t normally get drunk—there was a whole scene about it in his first movie—did that mean that I couldn’t, either? Did the Heart-Shaped Herb give a similar enhancement to my metabolism? That was… extremely disappointing, if so. I mean, it wasn’t like I planned to get drunk often, but at least let me get buzzed, please. I needed it after the last few weeks.

I straightened up and looked around the party, eyes searching for a particular target. There. Steve had finished up his game of pool and was now standing with Bucky, Thor and some of the elderly veterans. Abandoning the bottle of Teacher’s, I took my glass with me and hurried over to them.

 

--

 

Nat stood on the upper balcony, watching her target out of the corner of her eye. One of Tony’s friends was talking at her… She made appropriate mouth noises every so often as the man happily droned away, her attention focused almost entirely elsewhere. Below, after Jones had stalked away from the bar, Wanda had—rather alarmingly—knocked back an entire glass of scotch and then made a beeline toward Steve, Bucky and Thor, moving with clear purpose.

She was chatting to them animatedly now, with a few of Steve’s old war buddies chiming into the conversation. Thor retrieved a flask of something from his pocket and Wanda’s eyes lit up. The thunder god smiled indulgently as he added some of whatever ridiculously strong liquor was inside to their glasses. While Nat wasn’t too worried about the super soldiers’ metabolisms, whatever it was would almost certainly knock Wanda on her ass. One of Steve’s elderly friends, rather unwisely, insisted on trying it as well.

Natasha only hoped that the Asgardian liquor didn’t take Wanda out completely—she wanted her tipsy or drunk before she made her approach, not unconscious.

She had been steadily putting together psychological profiles of the twins. Pietro was closed off and volatile, potentially dangerous, and was currently feeling isolated from his sister, if she even was his sister. Any friendly approach would be a difficult, uphill battle and it’d be easy to accidentally provoke him and make him lash out, especially given his obvious hatred toward Tony.

Wanda, on the other hand, presented an opportunity. After New Delhi, Steve’s debrief of what had happened in Bucharest and Kathmandu, and Wanda’s interactions with the team over the last few days, what Nat had ended up with was a picture of an extremely isolated, lonely girl, seemingly in the midst of an identity crisis, reaching out for connections and desperately trying to do the right thing.

There was also something more there. Wanda was extremely invested in building a relationship with the Avengers, despite the difficulties they’d had so far. The way she spoke to and about them was overly familiar, as if she was talking to people she’d known for years. Nat’s theory so far was linked to the visions of the past and future that Wanda claimed to have had—if Wanda actually had seen significant portions of each of their lives, there might be a parasocial aspect to their relationship that everyone else was overlooking. Nat didn’t think Wanda just wanted to be allies because they were the good guys. Rather, she’d seen them during their most vulnerable or intimate moments and developed some strong, one‑sided emotional bonds with them. As far as Nat could tell from their brief interactions, Wanda genuinely seemed to like all of them—even Tony, though she was trying to hide it rather poorly with a standoffish false front.

Above all else, Wanda was dangerous. Even discounting whatever she might know about the past and future, she had potent abilities at her disposal, including mind control. Her time with HYDRA had left her with emotional trauma that she was bottling up and she tended to lash out without thinking when she felt trapped. She needed to be managed carefully, and Nat was nothing if not an expert in managing people. They needed to tie Wanda closer to them, make her more compliant and willing to compromise. When it came right down to it, she was an easy target—she was already eager to build a relationship with the team and had been flirting rather openly with Steve and Barnes. There was also the comment she’d made in New Delhi… If Nat’s assumptions were right, Wanda would be very receptive to her tried and tested approach.

Nat continued to watch the small group. It didn’t take long for the vet to need some assistance from Tony’s hired help in order to stagger away, but Wanda seemed strangely tolerant of the Asgardian brew and, once she was finished, Thor obligingly poured her another measure. Nat frowned to herself.

The files they’d gotten from HYDRA had indicated that Wanda was average, physiologically speaking. During the debrief, Steve had noted that Wanda had successfully tackled and pinned Barnes, which, looking at the size of the woman, seemed improbable without something else going on. Since leaving HYDRA, Wanda had already managed to surprise them with the portals she conjured, linked to the odd two-fingered ring she carried. Had she obtained some degree of physical enhancement as well, or was it another manifestation of her nebulous ‘magic’? From her posture, Wanda was starting to feel some of the effects of the alcohol but—at least from a distance—she still seemed remarkably sober considering the sheer amount she’d had to drink so far.

Nat excused herself from the conversation she’d been ignoring and glided down the stairs, drawing more than a few lingering glances from people as she passed them by. As she walked, she saw Wanda wiggling her empty glass at Thor and hitting him with an exaggerated set of puppy dog eyes. The thunder god blinked in surprise at the request, smiling uncertainly before acceding the contents of the flask for a third time. Tony appeared at his shoulder a few moments later, asking a question, and the two of them wandered away, leaving Steve, Barnes, and Wanda alone at the table.

As Nat approached her from behind, she heard Wanda lower her voice conspiratorially. “So uh, guys, have the two of you ever wanted to visit the Eiffel Tower…?”

Barnes immediately choked on his drink, eyes wide, looking for all the world like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. Steve, on the other hand, just looked puzzled. “I did back in the day, but I hadn’t really thought about it recently. Oh, we could, couldn’t we? We could just duck out for five minutes and you could—”

Barnes’ head whipped around to stare at him, a suitably mortified expression on his face as he stumbled over his words. “Uh, Steve, I don’t think she means… I mean… uh.”

Unable to help the smile of amusement on her face, Nat chose to be merciful and step in. “Hey guys, having a good night?”

Wanda’s brow creased irritably at the interruption, but almost instantly smoothed again as she turned and caught sight of Natasha. “Holy shit, Nat,” she murmured to herself, reddening slightly when she realised that she’d spoken aloud. “Sorry, you just… you look amazing.”

Natasha smirked coyly. “You scrub up pretty well yourself,” she teased, and was rewarded with another slight flush rising in Wanda’s cheeks. From the other side of the table, Barnes shot her a grateful look and she gave him a slight, almost imperceptible nod. “Mind if I steal Wanda for a bit?” she asked Steve.

He smiled faintly, unsure of her intentions, but made a ‘she’s all yours’ gesture with a hand. Nat slipped her arm into Wanda’s, using the crook of her elbow to guide her away. Though the other woman tried to hide it, Nat noticed Wanda’s small, sharp intake of breath as the bare skin of their arms touched.

Their destination was one of several tall, round bar-style tables scattered around the periphery of the room, with a pair of high stools beside it. “You know, you shouldn’t tease Steve like that,” Nat scolded lightly as she smoothly deposited Wanda in one chair and moved to her own. “He’s been frozen for seventy years; he’s still catching up.”

Wanda let out an amused snort, but averted her eyes, looking slightly embarrassed. “Who’s teasing? You know what they say—you don’t ask, you don’t get.”

“Behave,” Nat said warningly, the corner of her mouth quirking upward in a mischievous smile. “Or I might have to tie you up again.”

Wanda blinked and looked at her, slightly surprised. “I can’t tell if that’s a threat or a promise,” she said, tracing the rim of her glass with a finger as she tilted her head questioningly. “Getting some mixed signals here.”

Nat laughed. “You’re having a good night, then?”

“It’s been fantastic. Pietro’s off causing trouble somewhere, which is concerning, and I think I’ve permanently been taken off Jessica’s Christmas card list but apart from that… yeah, it’s been really nice. I haven’t had a chance to relax like this in a while.”

“I know what you mean. Everything’s been pretty hectic since SHIELD fell; there were all those congressional hearings, then we were chasing our tails looking for the sceptre, raiding HYDRA base after HYDRA base… I know we’ve got some other things on the horizon, but it’s good to be able to just take a breather.”

“Yeah… and at least I didn’t fuck everything up this time.”

“It sounds like you’ve just been trying to do what you thought was right,” Nat reassured her.

“I have, but I’ve been making stupid mistakes. Some of them haven’t been completely my fault—I couldn’t have predicted the way the Ancient One would react to me—but others, like Wakanda, were just…” Wanda let out a long sigh, her shoulders drooping.

Nat reached across the table and touched her hand, letting her fingers linger there. “I get it. I know what it’s like to have done things you aren’t proud of.”

A pang of guilt flashed across Wanda’s features as she looked at Natasha. “No, Nat… I… it’s not the same. I’ve had a rough time lately, but compared to everything you’ve been through? It’s basically nothing.” Nat felt Wanda’s hand twitch under her fingers. “Ugh, I hate this. I’m sorry. It must feel so invasive, knowing I’ve seen parts of your life.”

“I’ve gotten used to people knowing private things about me. Everyone’s read my SHIELD files these days. I am the one who leaked them, after all.”

Wanda shook her head, her brow furrowed. “There’s a massive difference between reading your file and actually seeing… ugh. I wish I could explain it in a way that didn’t sound crazy.”

Simple, easy. A little bit of sympathy, a little bit of interest, and Nat didn’t even really need to try to get Wanda to open up. “But that makes it worse, doesn’t it?” she asked softly.

“What do you mean?”

“If you’ve seen it, then you know what sort of person I am,” Nat said as she looked down and to the side, letting a little bit of sadness and self-loathing leak into her voice. It was a calculated choice, yes, but she didn’t need to feign those emotions—genuine ones would always ring truer in any case. “The things I’ve done.”

“Most of what happened to you was done to you, not something that was your fault. And everything you’ve done, that you’ve chosen to do, you’ve done because you had to.” There was a fierce edge underlying Wanda’s tone. She believed what she was saying. “You’re a phenomenal, incredible person and no one else would have made it as far as you have in the same circumstances.”

“Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?” Nat asked, but she was smiling. She still wasn’t sure if Wanda was telling the truth when she talked about having seen their pasts and futures, but she would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that it was nice to hear that. Steve and the others would say the same things, but they didn’t have the perspective that Wanda claimed to have.

“Maybe,” Wanda hedged. “But it’s true.”

Natasha held her gaze for a few moments, idly tracing a slow pattern with the tip of a finger on the back of Wanda’s hand. “It must be lonely, having seen so much but not being able to reach out to people without worrying you’ll drive them away.”

“…yeah, it has been.”

“Is that why you’re such an incorrigible flirt?” Nat teased.

Wanda flushed and broke eye contact, looking down. “Maybe. Hey, it’s not my fault that there are a lot of extremely attractive Avengers and Avengers-adjacent people.”

“Heh, true enough I suppose.”

“I mean, Steve, Bucky, Thor, Sam… Bruce isn’t my type, but it’s not like I’d kick him out of bed. His cousin, though, the lawyer? Oof, she’s pretty. She’s in LA though. Jessica scrubs up nice, though the alcoholism’s an issue. Clint, well… you know Clint’s situation, Auntie Nat.” Nat schooled her face carefully, hiding her reaction at the other woman’s careless revelation that she knew about Clint’s family. Wanda looked back up at her shyly. “Then there’s you.”

“Me, huh?”

“I mean…” Wanda paused, eyed her appreciatively and bit her bottom lip. “…I’d apologise for staring but I am not looking respectfully.”

Nat grinned and shook her head. “Romantic entanglements can be tricky in our line of work. For someone from outside our world, outside of… all this,” she said, gesturing around the room. “It can be difficult for someone to really understand you. But getting involved with someone you work with can get really messy.”

“I don’t think I mind getting a little messy.”

“No.” Nat chuckled warmly. “I suppose I don’t, either.” She held Wanda’s gaze again as she deliberately crossed her legs under the table, letting the side of her foot rest against the inside of the other woman’s ankle.

Wanda’s breath quickened, her eyes flicking downward for a fraction of a second, as though she thought for a moment that she’d be able to see through the table. “God, you…” she trailed off, unable to articulate whatever she wanted to say.

“Me what?” Nat asked, dropping her voice into a huskier, more sultry register.

It’d been a little while since Natasha had flirted with another woman—even while working for SHIELD, almost all of her targets were men and she hadn’t really been truly interested in anyone since she defected. All that aside, this was refreshingly fun. Wanda was actually rather cute when she was flustered. Under the table, Nat’s foot moved upwards slowly, tracing its way up to the inside of the younger woman’s knee.

“You… you.” Wanda grabbed the edge of the table with her free hand and inhaled sharply as the toe of Nat’s black stiletto reached her inner thigh.

Nat shot her a questioning look, another teasing smile playing across her lips as she suddenly withdrew her foot and straightened up into a more ‘proper’ posture. “What? Is something wrong?” she asked innocently.

Wanda shot her an incredulous look, her cheeks flushed and eyes wide. “And you called me incorrigible.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Wanda chuckled, smiling widely, then stopped suddenly and sighed, a conflicted expression passing across her face. “There are so many things I want to tell you about, but I need to be careful. And I,” she paused for dramatic effect, “am drunk—finally—and I don’t want to fuck things up by saying stuff without thinking it through.”

“I’m here if you need to talk. Doesn’t need to be about your visions stuff… if you just want to chat, we can.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Wanda’s expression became brittle and she shot Nat a rueful smile. “I know what you’re doing, by the way. This… it’s nice. I’m enjoying it. But I know why you’re doing it.”

“I know. You’re not silly. But it’s not just that,” Nat said, smiling faintly as she shook her head. “I’m enjoying it, too.”

 

--

 

I peered up at Natasha through sleepily-lidded eyes, trying not to make any unseemly noises as she absently massaged my scalp with one hand, her fingertips tracing electric trails through my hair. It was hours later—I had no idea exactly how long, having completely lost track of time somewhere between my second and third dram of the Asgardian thousand-year-old liquor—and the guests had slowly filtered out until only the Avengers, Maria, Bucky, Rhodey and Pietro and I remained.

The group lounged on and around a central set of couches around a pair of low coffee tables, chatting amiably. Mjolnir rested on one of the tables, nestled between discarded drinks and other party detritus. When Nat and I had first relocated to talk to the others, I’d sat down on the couch next to her, then slowly and not-at-all-subtly snuggled into her, seeing how far I could get before she gave me any indication I was pushing my luck. Natasha, however, seemed to take this as a challenge and I had somehow ended up sprawled in a probably-inappropriate, definitely-undignified puddle, my head resting comfortably in her lap—she almost seemed smug, somehow, like she was the one who’d won.

I couldn’t think of a time I’d been happier than I was right now. This was it, wasn’t it? The fantasy. The best-case scenario. I’d finally made it. I turned my head slightly so I could track the conversation a bit better.

“‘Whosoever be he worthy shall haveth the power!’ Whatever man! It's a trick,” Clint said dismissively.

Oh, they were having this discussion. I tuned them out a bit as Thor offered to let the other man try to lift Mjolnir, focusing instead on looking over at where Pietro was sitting, slightly back from the others, perched on a stool that had been dragged over from the bar.

Though he seemed a lot more relaxed than he had been at the start of the evening, I was relatively sure that the only reason Pietro was still here was because he was keeping an eye on me. He caught me looking at him and frowned slightly when I smiled at him. Spoilsport. Just because he wasn’t ending the night cradled in the lap of a beautiful woman and I was.

“Clint, you’ve had a tough week,” Tony verbally prodded him. “We won't hold it against you if you can't get it up.”

I watched idly as Hawkeye tried and failed to lift the hammer before Stark stood up to have his turn. “Oh, here we go,” Nat murmured above me.

Stark, of course, failed as well. As did Rhodey—the two of them working together with their armoured hands not enough to even budge the weapon. Bruce was up next, but instead of making a seriously attempt he settled for jokingly acting like he was changing into the Hulk. I opened my eyes more fully, turning my head more to watch Mjolnir closely as Steve stepped up. There. Just a fraction, but it did move.

Thor clocked it as well, his face breaking out into relief when it did not move any further. “Nothing,” he laughed.

“And?” Tony asked.

Bruce turned to look toward Nat and I. “Widow?”

“Oh, no. No,” she chuckled. “That’s not a question I need answered.”

“Pietro?”

He looked at me before answering, nodding when I shrugged. “Sure.” Stepping gingerly over to the coffee table, he grabbed the hammer’s hilt with both hands.

With great effort, I hefted myself out of Nat’s lap and into a sitting position, shooting her a shy smile before focusing on Pietro’s efforts. When a smooth, sustained force didn’t work, he tried yanking it as hard and quickly as he could, using his enhanced speed.

“You’re going to dislocate your shoulder, jerking it like that,” I warned him, to a round of sniggering laughter.

“Fine,” he grunted and gestured to it. “You do it, then.”

“You dare me?” I asked, eyes flashing mischievously.

“By all means.”

I pulled myself to my feet a little unsteadily and took a step toward the table. “Remember that time, when I was still learning how to safely cushion my landings when boosting myself, and you dared me to jump off the top of the castle?” I asked.

Pietro rolled his eyes, a hint of a smile on his face. “No, I said ‘Wanda, don’t jump off the roof of the castle’ and you said ‘Don’t tell me what to do, Pietro’ and then you jumped off the roof of the castle.” There was another round of laughter from the onlookers.

Leaning forward, I wrapped one hand around the hilt of Mjolnir, supple leather wrapped around a rock-solid, immoveable object. I didn’t hold any illusions about my worthiness and a small tug confirmed that it wasn’t going to budge for me. Instead, I seized hold of the magic within me and sent wispy red tendrils of power down to wrap around the weapon. “Woah,” I breathed as I felt out the enchantment that was on it. “This is…”

By now, I was intimately familiar with the ongoing enchantments Mordo had placed on us. I’d even learned to tie off my own, though I was still learning the best way to optimise my enchantments so that they didn’t run out of power too quickly. This though… There was a wall of some kind, a shining barrier placed around the Asgardian enchantment, presumably to prevent anyone from examining it too closely. But I could still sense enough through it to be utterly floored by the level of power and complexity on display. It was almost mesmerising and actually reminded me somewhat of my so-far surface-level uses of the Mind Stone.

I’d been a bit curious about how powerful the Asgardian’s sufficiently-advanced magic was, but this was clearly orders of magnitude beyond anything else I’d seen so far. The sorcerers were still playing with the equivalent of LEGOs while Odin was over here building skyscrapers. I let go of the weapon, looking at it almost reverentially as I quietly returned to my seat. The magic of the gods was not to be messed with, it seemed.

“All deference to the man who wouldn’t be king,” Stark said dismissively, “but it's rigged.”

“You bet your ass,” said Clint.

“The handle’s imprinted, right? Like a security code. ‘Whosoever is carrying Thor’s fingerprints’ is, I think, the literal translation?”

Thor smirked at him as he rose to his feet. “Yes, well, that’s a very, very interesting theory. I have a simpler one.” Casually, he reached out and plucked Mjolnir from its resting place as though it were the easiest thing in the world, tossing it in the air and catching it again. “You’re all not worthy.” The room erupted into a chorus of disagreements, boos, and laughter.

 

--

 

Sometime later, the last few stragglers were saying goodnight and shuffling off for the evening.

Nat nudged me. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep. Come on, I’ll walk you down to your room.”

I nodded, said my goodnights to the others, and let myself be guided downstairs toward the cramped bunk that I had been staying in. As we reached the door, I gently brushed Nat’s arm with my fingertips and was rewarded with seeing her shiver slightly at my touch, goosebumps raised on her skin.

“You know, my bed here is pretty small and cramped. Not a lot of elbow room,” I said casually. “I bet you’ve got a nice big comfortable bed waiting for you… a big, empty, lonely bed?” It wasn’t even intended as a lewd suggestion—mostly, anyway—I’d be perfectly happy just being able to fall asleep in her arms.

Natasha smiled and looked at me for a moment before responding. “It is a little lonely,” she sighed, faux dramatically. “Such a shame.”

I took a step in closer, well inside her personal space—she didn’t flinch back or move, meeting my gaze and looking deeply into my eyes instead. We both had green eyes. That was interesting. I’d never noticed that before. I was a couple of inches taller than her, too. Leaning forward slightly, I touched her forehead with mine. A handful of charged seconds crawled past, only disturbed by the low sounds of our breathing.

“You have no idea how badly I want you right now,” I murmured, breaking the silence, my tone low and hungry.

She bit her lip coyly, holding my gaze for a few moments longer, before she blinked and looked away. The corner of her mouth quirked up into a small smile. “I think I have a pretty good idea, actually, but… no. Not tonight, at least,” she said gently. “At least buy me dinner first, yeah?” My heart leapt into my throat as she tilted her head just enough to graze my lips with hers for a fraction of a second before extricating herself with a swift, practiced motion and tapping the access panel for my room. “Goodnight, Wanda.”

I swallowed hard. “Goodnight.” She grinned at me and turned away, walking back the way we’d come. She glanced back over her shoulder at me as she reached the end of the corridor, shooting me another smile, then vanished out of view.

Stepping into my room, I closed the door behind me then exhaled in a long, loud sigh. I took a few deep breaths to try to steady the pounding in my chest, then collapsed onto my bed without bothering to undress. Grabbing my pillow, I pressed my faced into it and let out a happy, muffled squeal.