OUR LIFETIME « Pietro Maximoff

31 /| don't wait up

•.* [chapter thirty-one]

*•*.*•.

2022

THERE WAS A STORM the day Pietro realized he was ready to move on. The sun had been hidden behind clouds and wind and rain for too long, and he could barely hear himself over the sound of relentless thunder. It'd been four years. Four years. By that time, the idea that Savannah was lost forever had begun to feel less like an idea and more like reality. It'd just been so long since he'd seen her.

So long.

Sometimes it felt like their time together was merely a figment of his imagination—like he'd never known her at all. The saddest part was that they'd been apart longer than they'd been together. When he realized as much, no one heard from him for weeks. And when he reappeared on a cold Tuesday morning, his hair was as dark as night and his skin was like gold. He never told anyone where he'd gone, but his eyes were noticeably less hollow than they'd been in years.

And when he was ready to move on, it poured, but he didn't cry. He'd been done crying for a long time.

It wasn't as if he didn't love her anymore—he always would. He was in love with her, even then, but he didn't know how much more bruising his emotional health could take. His therapist would tell him that it wasn't good to put a timeline on his grief, but he felt ready.

He also felt like he was sorely contradicting himself, which was hardly anything new.

"Steve and I are going out tonight," Natasha had said that day. She'd looked to the window Pietro had been staring out of and frowned a bit. "When the rain stops."

She hadn't sounded particularly happy about it at the time but at least she was making an effort, and taking a break from debriefing duty, where she took information from their friends all around the world and galaxy, hoping—always hoping— for something. 

Pietro had decided to tease her a bit. "You two finally decided give it a try?"

Nat had only rolled her eyes. "I've sworn off dating my teammates."

"Who've you dated on this team?" He'd spoken with incredulity and as if their team was still whole or as if it was the team she'd always known.

She'd smiled a lopsided smile, but it was sad, subdued. "Doesn't matter. I only came to ask if you'd like to join us."

"What's the occasion?"

Natasha had almost looked like she would evade the question with some sarcastic remark, but she regarded him for a moment and told him what could only be the truth. "Celebrating an old friend's birthday."

"Without them?"

"Without them."

"Why?" Pietro asked only because he simply didn't understand.

"Because, Maximoff, it's all I've got now."

Pietro watched her for a second then took a moment to think. He didn't know if he could ever be as brave as Natasha and maybe he ought to try to be. He hadn't been able to celebrate his own birthday because he shared it with his sister and maybe he should've been celebrating for the both of them instead of pretending it didn't exist. And he realized he could do the same for Savannah, and it would hurt—perhaps some times more than others— but he would be okay.

He'd taken Natasha up on her offer, and, that night, the skies were clear.

They'd laughed at each other's expenses and laughed together and there weren't any tears and Pietro was still ready to move on when the sun rose the next morning.

Pietro had only wanted peace by this time in his life. Seven years ago, he'd been clouded by vengeance. He'd allowed himself to go against everything he'd ever believed in for something as unfulfilling as revenge, and he'd needed, for one moment in his life, to not feel powerless. He and his sister had been desperate. Then they were prized possessions, and they didn't blink an eye when the man who deemed them so was killed, and his organization fell to dust.

And even though Pietro regretted it, he was better because of it.

He'd lost his country, his love, and his family and somehow he could still say those words when it came to a decision he'd made when he was young and afraid.

The person he was then would've held onto his losses until he no longer had feeling in his hands and  could no longer function correctly. And maybe if Thanos was alive, he would be the object of Pietro's newfound vengeance, but with his death, that feeling died too.

He would always hold hope—no matter how deep down— that the monster's doings could be undone, but he could no longer wait for that day to come.

For five months after that storm, Pietro was set in his efforts to move on and he was succeeding. He was doing more living than he had in years.

He was moving on.

And then.

And then.

It rained again, and the last five months began to mean very little.

It rained again—poured really—and Savannah Martin had come home.

It'd been four years, and Savannah had come home.

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