Fire and Smoke - Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Chapter 68

I slowly turn back around, still feeling incredibly confused by my interaction with Strucker. My eyes automatically land on Maximoff, who is leaning against the wall furthest away from the door. She doesn't meet my eyes, her brows furrowed, deep in thought. No doubt she heard what Strucker told me. I sigh, glancing down at the two trays that have been unceremoniously left next to the door. As if on cue, my stomach growls loudly. Might as well eat. What else am I supposed to do? I'm clearly not being let out of here anytime soon. me walking out of that door within the next fifteen minutes seems as unlikely as Maximoff starting to yodel.

I grab one of the gray trays and settle by the wall on Maximoff's left, making sure to keep a significant amount of space between us. Well, as much space as the small cell can afford to give up. I look down at the tray. There's a plastic cup filled with water, a green apple, and a piece of unbuttered bread. I nod, quite impressed by how unimpressive my meal looks. I quickly down my glass of water, hesitantly moving onto the apple. I hate green apples, but beggars can't be choosers, can they? and my stomach definitely feels like it's begging at this point.

As I struggle with getting the pieces of apple down my throat I glance over at Maximoff again. Wouldn't want to be jumped or anything like that by the witch. But my fears prove to be unjustified. Maximoff is still standing leaning against the wall, her face pale, staring off straight ahead. She seems to have forgotten about my existence entirely. I frown briefly, wondering what's got her in such a state. Sure, what Strucker said was cryptic -I cannot even properly remember any magical powers ever being expressed by me, but if Hydra says so then so it is. The red witch is probably only scared for her own skin, wondering how she'll cheat Hydra out of getting what is rightfully theirs again. At least I pray that's what's keeping her so occupied. Not the thought of what just happened between us.

I swallow a particularly unwilling piece of apple. Bleh. I stare at the plain toast. It even looks boring. I can't imagine it'll taste any better than it looks. I bring it to my lips, trying to focus on the task at hand and not the turmoil inside of me. Toast. Why did I not want to push her away? No, no. Toast. Crunchy. Unlike her lips, soft. Toast!

I quickly sneak a look at Maximoff, but she's still staring, unmoving. At least she's not listening in on my thoughts. For that, I am grateful. I allow myself to stare at her a little while longer, maybe I'm hoping that I'm just suddenly going to be clear on everything. She frowns, her head slightly tilting to the side and it makes a faint stirring appear in the back of my head. The witch looks sad. I unconsciously tilt my head slightly just like she has, wondering what the source of her sadness is. Somehow I don't think it has anything to do with her own imprisonment. Perhaps she's unhappy about the Strucker woman?

As I watch Maximoff, I allow my thoughts to scramble about freely. However much I try to let my thoughts be free, it feels like there are high walls down every turn they make. Walls I know I haven't built. They seem unnatural. They don't belong to me. There are huge gaps in my memory, gaps I cannot understand nor explain away. Why can't I remember anything between Stark's tower and Agatha? Why is Maximoff acting like she knows me- knows, knows me? All this grasping at memories makes the ones I do have only feel unnatural and I squeeze my eyes shut, afraid of getting lost in the treacherous minefield that exists inside of me.

Instead, I choose to focus on another thing I can add to the list of not understanding. That magic; that mist Strucker was speaking about. Again, I don't even know where to begin. I can't remember when I got it -the only thing that comes out of trying to recall is a white-hot headache. Maybe Strucker was bluffing. Why would I be able to do any magic? Magic feels as foreign to me as it would feel to join a trapeze club.

Giving up on my memories I decide to try another, much more hands-on approach. My face scrunches up in concentration as I try to do whatever it is that I'm supposed to do in order to make magic or do magic -or whatever. However much I strain, I can't seem to make any magic appear. Nothing happens. All that happens is that something in me churns in a way that makes me feel slightly sick. Like I'm on a boat. Fuck me.