Baby witch (avengers edition)

Revelations and Reprieves

**Wanda's POV**

I sit at the kitchen counter on a Monday afternoon while Nat prepares lunch. I'm still not very hungry, but I guess I'll eat a bit to avoid the inevitable questions.

This morning, I had combat training, and then Tony and I worked on math. He said I did so well that he took the band off my wrist, giving me my powers back. I was so proud that I ran to show Steve and then Nat, but that led Nat to start English class, and I immediately regretted walking into the kitchen.

"Let's set a goal for you," Nat suggests, tapping her finger to her lip thoughtfully. "Ten? I think we can get ten down pat before you turn eighteen." I nod in agreement, taking a bite of my sandwich, then walk over to the couch and click on the TV. A commercial for the Nutcracker in New York City plays, and I cringe.

"Have you ever been to the Nutcracker?" I ask, glancing over my shoulder to see Natasha's eyes glued to the TV. She's so still she isn't even breathing. Her grip on her plate is so tight it looks like it might crack.

"Natasha?" I get off the couch.

"Clint!" I dash out of the room and head towards the weapons room where he mentioned he'd be taking inventory. "Clint," I call out anxiously.

"Hey," he looks up, his smile fading when he sees my worried expression. When we return to the living room, Nat is on the ground, staring blankly at the back of the couch, the plate shattered beside her. "What happened?"

"I turned on the TV and she just..." I trail off.

"What was on the TV?" Clint asks sharply.

"An advertisement for the Nutcracker," I reply, my voice shaky. He curses under his breath.

"Nat, hey," he sits down in front of her, snapping his fingers in an attempt to get her attention, but there's no recognition in her eyes. It's like she isn't even there. My heart sinks.

"Were we attacked? Through the TV?" I ask, turning off the TV with the remote.

"Something like that," Clint says, scooping Nat into his arms. I follow them to the room next to mine, which I now know belongs to Natasha.

The room is meticulously clean, with photos everywhere—of her with the team and some individuals I don't recognize. On her desk, pencils are lined up perfectly, everything at right angles. There are two photos on her desk: one of the original Avengers looking battle-torn and eating fast food, and another of her and Barton outside a farm with three others.

"Nat, can you hear me?" She's shivering on her bed. I hover off to the side, feeling helpless.

"Can I do anything to help?" I ask timidly.

"You've done enough," Clint snaps, immediately regretting his harsh tone. "I'm sorry, that wasn't fair. Can you make some chamomile tea?" I nod and quickly leave the room, my mind racing. How is this my fault? I didn't know the Nutcracker would upset Nat. It was her nightmare last night; now I know. I've done enough already.

Oh my God. This is my fault. I rush in with the cup of tea. Natasha looks up as I enter, but it's almost like she's looking through me. I hand the cup to Clint, who places it in her hands. She blinks, looking down at the steaming mug. "Come on, drink some. You'll feel better."

"I'd prefer vodka," she mutters, but she raises the mug to her lips. "You added honey?" she asks, looking over at Clint.

"Sorry, no. I did," I say meekly from the corner, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm going to go," I add, trying to leave the room.

"You told her?" Clint asks, defending himself. "I didn't mean to, it slipped."

"Come back in here," he calls as I stand in the doorway.