[ her gaze stops him cold and her touch pins him in place. he’s long since understood that she’s cast a spell on him without any magic at all. she’ll feel his breath quiver out beneath her touch as she finally looks at him. it completely disarms him, washes over him like a riptide, pulling him under the wave of longing, sorrow, of missing her so bad. ]
I know. [ dark, quiet. ] They used you to get to me. [ his next inhale is shaky, as if it physically pains him to admit it. the situation is so much more complicated than that, and his heart’s torn, parts stuck with her, parts stuck on the battlefield. his hand lifts to envelop her smaller one at his chest. the other finds her cheek again after tucking away dirty, red strands. ]
Wanda, believe me, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. [ he stands close to her, dark eyes pleading, trying to get through to her. ] You weren’t supposed to get hurt like this. I tried to stay away from you. [ he starts shaking his head. ] But I didn't want to.
( brows are still pulled into a tuft, gaze sifting between each of his eyes as if she might find some level of understanding, as if it might make it all fit a little more. there hasn’t been any flare up of the organization in years — even throughout her stint in sokovia, even when she’d been tucked away and unresponsive, someone would have told her. to get to him … )
But why would they want—?
( her thoughts are flustered, incoherent and tangled — she can’t think clearly. it’s all she can do to distinguish between the pain wringing throughout her figure and everything that was him. back, here, why? her eyes flutter something slow, hiding in an exhale as he takes hold of her cheek again. the heat beckons to her, again and again, emanating from him, his touch, masking over the frigid tile beneath her feet, the silent, aching privacy around them.
there’s so much welling inside of her that she doesn’t know where to put it, where to hide it, and finally tears prick at her gaze. )
I don’t need you to protect me. ( her head shakes into his palm, fingers curling tighter into his shirt. ) If that’s why you’re here, if that’s the only reason, please—for me, don’t. I can’t. ( the brief syllables splinter. do this again, let you in just to have you leave. )
[ useless, all of it, her question of why, as if there was ever a good answer to why she was hurt in his place, why they were ever betrayed, why hydra needs to hurt so many people, who he couldn’t have better prevented it.
he shakes his head as she does, heart wrenching with the wetness dotting her tearline. no, no more crying for him. ]
I am here because of you, Wanda, for you, why else— [ he clamps down on the emotion bubbling up, hot and stinging. his hand on hers lifts to cradle her nape, unable to stop the way his voice frays. how can he explain? the words are so elusive. his lips part and an inhale sticks in his throat. ] I’m sorry, [ he repeats, ] I thought I could do something to stop them from knowing about us, but now— [ now, maybe there is no us. ]
( but she isn't crying for him. it's an angry swell, it's confusion, frustration that she doesn't have all of the answers in front of her like she wants them, why she can't ever seem to have anything good without it being torn from her. he'd left and they'd still gone after her, gone after them, as if they'd only made themselves easier targets by finding something that meant anything at all. doesn't he see? she comes with everything he's trying to hide her from. )
They will always know about me. ( if it wasn't HYDRA, it would be someone else, something else. they were better together, stronger together — she wasn't any semblance of a normal girl with a normal life, wasn't someone he had to explain this life to. rubble and running was all she knew. to run from her would just be running from himself. )
About you, what we do— ( what they've done, together or apart, the names they've made for themselves whether they want them or not. )
I've lost everything. ( the words are a low tremble, a hint of her accent grazing tiredly from her tongue. the tears betray her, no matter how she wills them away, no matter how long she's tried to convince herself she's actually healed, stumbling hot across her cheek. ) They can't take anything else. ( a beat, a sound that can only be ascribed to exhaustion, defeat shaking unsteadily from her with a breath. )
[ he brushes away her tears, calloused fingers leaving her cheeks wet and hot, blotchy. ]
You haven't lost me, [ and refuses to accept that they'll always know. he won't let it happen that way. it has to be changed, because there's no way in hell he'd ever let something like this happen again. he was there in the month stretching between them, present in all his silence, keeping every tab he could on her. ]
I was always here, Wanda. [ and it's his fault she didn't know it.
but she's trembling, undoubtedly exhausted, drained, hurt, cold. boldly, yet unsurely, he presses forward, arms wrapping gently around her as his lips find the top of her head.
the situation is far from ideal, but feeling her in his arms again feels right.]
And they won't take me away from you. [ and he sees how cowardly it was for him to let them influence his actions that way in the first place.]
( it was no different to his recognizing her at the event for the orphanage, her stark red hair and the dozens of articles she’d been written into, from national security interest to an avenger. there wasn’t anywhere for her to hide, only if she was on her own. away from the bustle of the city, from the thousands of gazes and prying eyes.
she wants to trust him, but how can she know that he isn’t just here on the heels of guilt? that when she healed, when her powers weren’t afflicted by whatever they’d put into her system, he wouldn’t have that same itch to run again? she wasn’t in the proper frame of mind to make that call, to know even her own instincts wouldn’t betray her.
so when he ravels her in she allows her frame to give against his chest, to fold into him and press the muffled cloud of thoughts away, the fear, the not knowing—just for tonight.
when she shifts this time it isn’t to shrug out of his touch, but to find the buttons of his shirt, fiddling one free. )
[ it’s far from acceptance, but who would he be to expect it when he’s far from untangling the mess that got them here? he still doesn’t know what happened to her, or traced back the path it would’ve taken for anyone to know about their relationship at all. until they figure it out and put an end to this, his words are just that—words.
as much as he means them, as much as he plans to make good on the promise. ]
Yeah, [ he nods, the whirr of strategies, of next steps, of fear pausing for a brief second as his gaze drops to her fingers on the button of his shirt. cautiously, his gaze lifts to her face, taking in her downcast eyes, lashes still wet with tears, the tip of her chin, shadowed by the darkening bruise.
this is her, her bravery, her heart, allowing herself to reach out to him after all that’s happened. he forces away the nagging desire to pull away, to deny them of this. there's not enough that's been done. his team's still out there, the rescue efforts are still underway. half the city's still burned down and the loose leads are all out there.
but another breath, and he doesn’t say word. only lets a hand reach down to join hers. ]
( she can feel him watching her as if his gaze were a phantom touch, drifting along the slope of her nose, the brim of her mouth, down across the ugly, marred looking color splotching her throat. it’s intimate without her meaning it to be, how nimbly she moves to the next button, taking her time with each of them. even when his palm comes to join her own, it doesn’t stop her. how many times has she done this before? all of those late nights he’d come to her and she’d seek his skin to sleep against.
she knows she shouldn’t. miss it, crave it, let him so close so soon— but she feels as if she’s been stripped down to nothing but fragile bones, and she’s in no condition to be out there. no good to anyone like this.
she manages the layer over his shoulders, but not without a slight, pained twinge to her features from the stretch. and she notices it then, the bruised painted across his own torso, some deeper shades than others, all at various stages of healing. her thumb delicately traces around one of their edges blurred into watercolors, and when her gaze flits upward in search of his it’s pained with everything she wants to ask, but doesn’t.
tomorrow. tomorrow was better. and so she’s careful when she turns in place, pulling scarlet locks off to one side of her neck so he can find the clasp of her bra. )
[ the quiet is foreign, but it holds the unsaid between them at bay. when her eyes lift to find his, he allows the corner of his mouth to soften, a small reassurance. yes, it hurts. no, it doesn’t bother him. despite everything, her delicate touch still soothes, more than ever in its absence. he shrugs off the shirt and drops it to the tile with the rest of their soiled clothing.
when she turns in place, he reaches and unclasps her bra, pushing its straps down her shoulders, eyes narrowing at the colours smeared across the back of her neck, along the sharp points at her spine. he presses a kiss to one, soft and lingering, apologizing when his words continue to fail him. he’s never been good with them, much better with his actions.
he loses track of time and falls into the warm lull of her presence. he doesn’t know how many stretched beats it takes to peel away every layer, or to map out all the mars on her skin. the task continues into the shower, where the twin rain heads cover them in warm, steaming water.
grime clings to both of them, but even knowing the water will carry it away isn’t enough for him to feel cleansed. there’s still too much to untangle, too much murkiness to clear, but for now, just tonight, this is okay. even like this, bruised and barely whole in his shower, she’s beautiful. ]
( the quiet is something she’s grown used to living in.
it acts as a balm here between them when words cost too much, mean too little. he guides her beneath the water and for a long moment it’s all she can do to let it pour over her, soothe and bite at aching limbs, prick at the sensitive swell of color across her midsection. it’s all she can hear, all she can feel — the rhythmic pattering soaking her hair, raising her hands up to brush it back along her crown, a mixture of dirt and blood swirling between their toes. he steps gently into her, letting her rest against his chest as he begins to lather into knotted strands, working his way through each tangle slowly, carefully.
she helps him where she can, and he wordlessly takes care of everything she can’t, guiding her with silent touch. there’s a part of her thats tempted to simply stand there beneath the water with him, against him — to do nothing but close her eyes until the water ran cold, but she can’t trust her limbs to keep her up that long.
he’s the first to step out, wrapping a towel around his waist and another around her shoulders, an attempt to trap the warmth in as they make their way back into his bedroom, the city glittering in the distance. it doesn’t take long for the cold to find her once he leaves her side, returning with one of his henleys to slip into, teasing her thighs. when they make it to the edge of the mattress once more she finds his wrist, searching up for his gaze in the dark. )
[ at least he can be thankful for her patience and her cooperation, for turning when he guides her, for easing her head back when he tips her chin up, for letting herself stand against him as he washes her to his satisfaction. he doesn’t stop until her hair’s been rinsed through multiple times and he’s sure every speck of dirt and blood that doesn’t belong is gone, washed down the drain, erased from its existence on her body.
sometimes, he wishes everything could be as easily mediated. he’s lifting up the soft sheets and duvet when her fingers on his wrist gives him pause for just a beat, his mouth pressing flat before he rises, a corner of the bedspread folded back for her. he guides her to it, hands holding on to hers, wanting her to sit.
her words barely drift along the dark, tired and foggy. sour guilt rises in him as he thinks about leaving, washes over him as he thinks about staying.
hydra knows his weaknesses. they’ve managed to wrench him away from his team, they’ve managed to find the one person who’d gotten so close to him and used her to weaken their fight. sure, the titans are stronger together when they each slot into a piece of a whole, but if he’s being truthful, he hasn’t been whole for a long time now. ever since he tried to protect her from them. and that he can’t blame on anyone else.
the moment he stepped away from the burning city centre, he had already made his choice. he thinks about conner, who reassured him, about gar, who’s so capable now, and rachel, who reminded him of what’s truly important. it’s one night, and one night his team can handle without him.
he nods, before an inhale attempts to loosen the constriction around his chest. ] Yeah, [ he answers lowly, as a hand finds her jaw, thumb soothing along the soft slant of it. ] Yeah, I’ll stay. At least until tomorrow.
Edited (oh mY GOD the formatting) 2023-01-25 13:21 (UTC)
( there's a brief moments hesitation where she feels as if she knows the answer, one she's read written across his features time and time again. she'd never wanted to be a thing that needs, but with her powers muffled and the wildfire that stokes with each breath at her side, for the first time in a long time, she feels utterly defenseless. in foreign surroundings, disconnected from the rest of the world. the scarlet witch, brimming with her chaos magic, capable of controlling an entire city's limits with nothing other than grief — she hadn't expected them, she'd let her guard down. for him, for everything — and it'd cost her.
he agrees, and the single syllable sounds like relief when it's timed with her exhale, the subtlest furrow caught between her brows as she nuzzles in to his palm at her jaw (a place it so often found home.) she understands what it is he's sacrificing, staying with her, knows that it goes against every bit of his nature not to be out there with his team, to sit in the quiet when the fight was far from over. )
They'll be okay, Dick.
( a whispered bit of reassurance, of some semblance of comfort — it isn't missed on her that their insistence likely played a hand in his willingness to stay back, but something of this magnitude assured the titans wouldn't be on their own. their respective teams had a multitude of things in common — not boding well to threatening one of theirs being at the top of that list.
gaze lingers long enough that she knows he's heard her, and then she's drifting from his hold to crawl up into buttery soft sheets, shuffling the duvet down on the opposite side of the bed for him to join her. )
[ he's nodding before he feels himself doing it, then stops as soon as he realizes it. he reflexively knows she's right--that his team will be okay, okay to be on their own and okay without him watching their every move. they have each other and they know what they're doing. he reminds himself again, echoing her words in his mind: they'll be okay. ]
Yeah, [ he reminds himself again as she shuffles down the covers for him, and the beckoning of bed, rest, and warmth tugs at his every defense. perhaps, just this once, those very defenses aren't so necessary. his chest expands with the deep breath he takes as he rounds the foot of the bed and catches the light switch with a hand. the lights dim to darkness, the sheers draw the city out, and the room is bathed in what is left of the night save for the dull night glow sifting in from the curtains.
he doesn't want to be the one that leaves. not them, not her. not anyone. the mattress dips under his weight as he slides under the sheets in black boxer briefs, an arm reaching out for her as he shuffles close. right now, in this moment, his presence is best used here, by her side, righting the wrongs he had so easily fallen into. he never meant to leave, but in the face of his own fear, he'd done it to her.
I'm sorry [ he says, voice low, barely above a whisper and the quiet hum of the tower. ] You don't need me to protect you, you've told me that before. [ he rolls onto his side to face her, one arm folded under the pillow so he can look at her, the other finding her hand under the sheets. ] I tried to anyway, and look what happened.
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no subject
I know. [ dark, quiet. ] They used you to get to me. [ his next inhale is shaky, as if it physically pains him to admit it. the situation is so much more complicated than that, and his heart’s torn, parts stuck with her, parts stuck on the battlefield. his hand lifts to envelop her smaller one at his chest. the other finds her cheek again after tucking away dirty, red strands. ]
Wanda, believe me, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. [ he stands close to her, dark eyes pleading, trying to get through to her. ] You weren’t supposed to get hurt like this. I tried to stay away from you. [ he starts shaking his head. ] But I didn't want to.
no subject
But why would they want—?
( her thoughts are flustered, incoherent and tangled — she can’t think clearly. it’s all she can do to distinguish between the pain wringing throughout her figure and everything that was him. back, here, why? her eyes flutter something slow, hiding in an exhale as he takes hold of her cheek again. the heat beckons to her, again and again, emanating from him, his touch, masking over the frigid tile beneath her feet, the silent, aching privacy around them.
there’s so much welling inside of her that she doesn’t know where to put it, where to hide it, and finally tears prick at her gaze. )
I don’t need you to protect me. ( her head shakes into his palm, fingers curling tighter into his shirt. ) If that’s why you’re here, if that’s the only reason, please—for me, don’t. I can’t. ( the brief syllables splinter. do this again, let you in just to have you leave. )
no subject
he shakes his head as she does, heart wrenching with the wetness dotting her tearline. no, no more crying for him. ]
I am here because of you, Wanda, for you, why else— [ he clamps down on the emotion bubbling up, hot and stinging. his hand on hers lifts to cradle her nape, unable to stop the way his voice frays. how can he explain? the words are so elusive. his lips part and an inhale sticks in his throat. ] I’m sorry, [ he repeats, ] I thought I could do something to stop them from knowing about us, but now— [ now, maybe there is no us. ]
You mean so much to me.
no subject
They will always know about me. ( if it wasn't HYDRA, it would be someone else, something else. they were better together, stronger together — she wasn't any semblance of a normal girl with a normal life, wasn't someone he had to explain this life to. rubble and running was all she knew. to run from her would just be running from himself. )
About you, what we do— ( what they've done, together or apart, the names they've made for themselves whether they want them or not. )
I've lost everything. ( the words are a low tremble, a hint of her accent grazing tiredly from her tongue. the tears betray her, no matter how she wills them away, no matter how long she's tried to convince herself she's actually healed, stumbling hot across her cheek. ) They can't take anything else. ( a beat, a sound that can only be ascribed to exhaustion, defeat shaking unsteadily from her with a breath. )
Only you.
no subject
You haven't lost me, [ and refuses to accept that they'll always know. he won't let it happen that way. it has to be changed, because there's no way in hell he'd ever let something like this happen again. he was there in the month stretching between them, present in all his silence, keeping every tab he could on her. ]
I was always here, Wanda. [ and it's his fault she didn't know it.
but she's trembling, undoubtedly exhausted, drained, hurt, cold. boldly, yet unsurely, he presses forward, arms wrapping gently around her as his lips find the top of her head.
the situation is far from ideal, but feeling her in his arms again feels right.]
And they won't take me away from you. [ and he sees how cowardly it was for him to let them influence his actions that way in the first place.]
no subject
she wants to trust him, but how can she know that he isn’t just here on the heels of guilt? that when she healed, when her powers weren’t afflicted by whatever they’d put into her system, he wouldn’t have that same itch to run again? she wasn’t in the proper frame of mind to make that call, to know even her own instincts wouldn’t betray her.
so when he ravels her in she allows her frame to give against his chest, to fold into him and press the muffled cloud of thoughts away, the fear, the not knowing—just for tonight.
when she shifts this time it isn’t to shrug out of his touch, but to find the buttons of his shirt, fiddling one free. )
Tomorrow might be better for promises.
no subject
as much as he means them, as much as he plans to make good on the promise. ]
Yeah, [ he nods, the whirr of strategies, of next steps, of fear pausing for a brief second as his gaze drops to her fingers on the button of his shirt. cautiously, his gaze lifts to her face, taking in her downcast eyes, lashes still wet with tears, the tip of her chin, shadowed by the darkening bruise.
this is her, her bravery, her heart, allowing herself to reach out to him after all that’s happened. he forces away the nagging desire to pull away, to deny them of this. there's not enough that's been done. his team's still out there, the rescue efforts are still underway. half the city's still burned down and the loose leads are all out there.
but another breath, and he doesn’t say word. only lets a hand reach down to join hers. ]
no subject
she knows she shouldn’t. miss it, crave it, let him so close so soon— but she feels as if she’s been stripped down to nothing but fragile bones, and she’s in no condition to be out there. no good to anyone like this.
she manages the layer over his shoulders, but not without a slight, pained twinge to her features from the stretch. and she notices it then, the bruised painted across his own torso, some deeper shades than others, all at various stages of healing. her thumb delicately traces around one of their edges blurred into watercolors, and when her gaze flits upward in search of his it’s pained with everything she wants to ask, but doesn’t.
tomorrow. tomorrow was better. and so she’s careful when she turns in place, pulling scarlet locks off to one side of her neck so he can find the clasp of her bra. )
no subject
when she turns in place, he reaches and unclasps her bra, pushing its straps down her shoulders, eyes narrowing at the colours smeared across the back of her neck, along the sharp points at her spine. he presses a kiss to one, soft and lingering, apologizing when his words continue to fail him. he’s never been good with them, much better with his actions.
he loses track of time and falls into the warm lull of her presence. he doesn’t know how many stretched beats it takes to peel away every layer, or to map out all the mars on her skin. the task continues into the shower, where the twin rain heads cover them in warm, steaming water.
grime clings to both of them, but even knowing the water will carry it away isn’t enough for him to feel cleansed. there’s still too much to untangle, too much murkiness to clear, but for now, just tonight, this is okay. even like this, bruised and barely whole in his shower, she’s beautiful. ]
no subject
it acts as a balm here between them when words cost too much, mean too little. he guides her beneath the water and for a long moment it’s all she can do to let it pour over her, soothe and bite at aching limbs, prick at the sensitive swell of color across her midsection. it’s all she can hear, all she can feel — the rhythmic pattering soaking her hair, raising her hands up to brush it back along her crown, a mixture of dirt and blood swirling between their toes. he steps gently into her, letting her rest against his chest as he begins to lather into knotted strands, working his way through each tangle slowly, carefully.
she helps him where she can, and he wordlessly takes care of everything she can’t, guiding her with silent touch. there’s a part of her thats tempted to simply stand there beneath the water with him, against him — to do nothing but close her eyes until the water ran cold, but she can’t trust her limbs to keep her up that long.
he’s the first to step out, wrapping a towel around his waist and another around her shoulders, an attempt to trap the warmth in as they make their way back into his bedroom, the city glittering in the distance. it doesn’t take long for the cold to find her once he leaves her side, returning with one of his henleys to slip into, teasing her thighs. when they make it to the edge of the mattress once more she finds his wrist, searching up for his gaze in the dark. )
Will you stay?
no subject
sometimes, he wishes everything could be as easily mediated. he’s lifting up the soft sheets and duvet when her fingers on his wrist gives him pause for just a beat, his mouth pressing flat before he rises, a corner of the bedspread folded back for her. he guides her to it, hands holding on to hers, wanting her to sit.
her words barely drift along the dark, tired and foggy. sour guilt rises in him as he thinks about leaving, washes over him as he thinks about staying.
hydra knows his weaknesses. they’ve managed to wrench him away from his team, they’ve managed to find the one person who’d gotten so close to him and used her to weaken their fight. sure, the titans are stronger together when they each slot into a piece of a whole, but if he’s being truthful, he hasn’t been whole for a long time now. ever since he tried to protect her from them. and that he can’t blame on anyone else.
the moment he stepped away from the burning city centre, he had already made his choice. he thinks about conner, who reassured him, about gar, who’s so capable now, and rachel, who reminded him of what’s truly important. it’s one night, and one night his team can handle without him.
he nods, before an inhale attempts to loosen the constriction around his chest. ] Yeah, [ he answers lowly, as a hand finds her jaw, thumb soothing along the soft slant of it. ] Yeah, I’ll stay. At least until tomorrow.
no subject
he agrees, and the single syllable sounds like relief when it's timed with her exhale, the subtlest furrow caught between her brows as she nuzzles in to his palm at her jaw (a place it so often found home.) she understands what it is he's sacrificing, staying with her, knows that it goes against every bit of his nature not to be out there with his team, to sit in the quiet when the fight was far from over. )
They'll be okay, Dick.
( a whispered bit of reassurance, of some semblance of comfort — it isn't missed on her that their insistence likely played a hand in his willingness to stay back, but something of this magnitude assured the titans wouldn't be on their own. their respective teams had a multitude of things in common — not boding well to threatening one of theirs being at the top of that list.
gaze lingers long enough that she knows he's heard her, and then she's drifting from his hold to crawl up into buttery soft sheets, shuffling the duvet down on the opposite side of the bed for him to join her. )
no subject
Yeah, [ he reminds himself again as she shuffles down the covers for him, and the beckoning of bed, rest, and warmth tugs at his every defense. perhaps, just this once, those very defenses aren't so necessary. his chest expands with the deep breath he takes as he rounds the foot of the bed and catches the light switch with a hand. the lights dim to darkness, the sheers draw the city out, and the room is bathed in what is left of the night save for the dull night glow sifting in from the curtains.
he doesn't want to be the one that leaves. not them, not her. not anyone. the mattress dips under his weight as he slides under the sheets in black boxer briefs, an arm reaching out for her as he shuffles close. right now, in this moment, his presence is best used here, by her side, righting the wrongs he had so easily fallen into. he never meant to leave, but in the face of his own fear, he'd done it to her.
I'm sorry [ he says, voice low, barely above a whisper and the quiet hum of the tower. ] You don't need me to protect you, you've told me that before. [ he rolls onto his side to face her, one arm folded under the pillow so he can look at her, the other finding her hand under the sheets. ] I tried to anyway, and look what happened.