( clint has always been open with her, through everything she's lived through with the avengers ever since she was relocated to america from sokovia. even when all stark wanted to do was lock her away so she could cause no harm, clint had been the one who came looking for him, the one who always, from the start, had made her learn to trust herselfβto believe in herself.
which is why it's so easy for her to catch the tendrils of a deep-seated sadness settling in him; how unlike him, and it forces more questions to the forefront of her mind than anything else.
he had been in the raft, too, but that's just something she assumed, having not really seen him after they were marched into its confined halls. coming here, arriving hereβ wanda didn't expect to see anyone familiar, anyone who cared. she starts shaking her head, before abruptly nodding, eyes fixed on the hand he holds up. there's scarring on her wrists from scorch marks, from she assumes the bindings that had kept her hands and arms useless; a single one around her neck, from the collar they put on her, to stop her from using her dangerous, ugly powers.
it seems stupid, this small space between them, keeping them from one another. which is why wanda ignores his hand, but goes around the desk, and finds herself feeling all over again like the wanda she had been, when losing pietro, helpless and alone.
is it a surprise at all that she presses to him, arms circling around his middle? )
I got here a few days ago. ( her words are mumbled, face pressed to his shoulder. and, with her next words, she answers something that maybe hadn't even crossed his mind to wonder aboutβjust where she had been, last. ) I made it out of the Raft. I don't know β how.
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which is why it's so easy for her to catch the tendrils of a deep-seated sadness settling in him; how unlike him, and it forces more questions to the forefront of her mind than anything else.
he had been in the raft, too, but that's just something she assumed, having not really seen him after they were marched into its confined halls. coming here, arriving hereβ wanda didn't expect to see anyone familiar, anyone who cared. she starts shaking her head, before abruptly nodding, eyes fixed on the hand he holds up. there's scarring on her wrists from scorch marks, from she assumes the bindings that had kept her hands and arms useless; a single one around her neck, from the collar they put on her, to stop her from using her dangerous, ugly powers.
it seems stupid, this small space between them, keeping them from one another. which is why wanda ignores his hand, but goes around the desk, and finds herself feeling all over again like the wanda she had been, when losing pietro, helpless and alone.
is it a surprise at all that she presses to him, arms circling around his middle? )
I got here a few days ago. ( her words are mumbled, face pressed to his shoulder. and, with her next words, she answers something that maybe hadn't even crossed his mind to wonder aboutβjust where she had been, last. ) I made it out of the Raft. I don't know β how.