Trial and Triumph (A winterwitch story)

The Morning After

She tugged on some clothes and tossed the pyjamas behind the pillows of her untouched bed. The clock showed 6:30. Good, she thought, just enough time to have a quiet morning. Steve and Sam were usually out jogging and didn't come in until 7:00. Nat and Clint were both late sleepers but came out at about 8:00. Banner would be up at 7:00 but she rarely ever saw him and the Winter Soldier, what was his name? Bucky? Well, she never saw him at all. She slid down the stairs. Funny, she mused, once upon a time her whole house was as big as what was now her room and now she lived in this mansion of a facility that Stark had built on a whim. She frowned at that thought, Stark, he bothered her. She really was trying to get over it but there was just too much to get over so forgiveness had been postponed. When she reached to bottom she slid into the kitchen. When she first arrived in this house and opened the fridge she thought there was more food in this fridge than a whole family could eat, it turns out that Sam, Steve and Nat could take it down in one meal. The thought made her smile. She pulled out an apple from the fridge, poured herself a glass of water and grabbed a piece of toast. She wasn't used to rich foods and usually didn't like them, especially in the mornings. Except, of course, pancakes which she had discovered in month into her time here. She sat down and started to eat, staring out the window as she munched.

He woke up, and turned to check the clock, 6:30. He had memorized most of the schedule memorized and realized this was most likely the time when the girl, Wanda, would be waking up. He opened up his closet and grabbed some clothes and cleaned up a bit. He then stuck his head out the door, just a bit, to see if she was up and saw her walking down the stairs. This mystery girl is graceful, he thought, her long dark poured down like a river from her head, it was a direct contrast to her milky, pale skin. He snuck out the door and started down the stairs. He paused in the doorway to the kitchen. For the first time he saw her face. She had soft features. Dark eyelashes hid sullen, weepy eyes which glimmered like black stars. He soft lips suddenly curved into a smile as if replaying a happy memory. She was stunning, this sorrowful girl. She pulled out a meager and modest breakfast and sat down. He walked into the kitchen and quietly reached for a frying pan. In his effort to be subtle he accidentally knocked a mug to the ground. 

CRASH

She whirled around and jumped up, arms raised and a hex at the ready. What she saw was no what she expected. The soldier was standing there holding a frying pan in a metal hand. She had met him before only once, in the middle of a battle and hadn't really processed him. He was tall, but not towering like Steve. He was very bulky with large muscles. He had long, shaggy dark hair which fell around face. He had upset dark eyes which looked liked they'd seen their fair share of trauma. "Whoah" he said, his voice was deep and sort of husky, "I'm just getting a frying pan. You can put your arm down." He spoke softly, calmly. "Its ok. I'm part of the team." She didn't know why he was reassuring her until he looked down and saw her hands were shaking. She immediately grabbed the uneaten apple and started to fidget with it to keep them busy. "You're the soldier?" She asked. "Bucky." He grimaced. "Not the soldier." All she could do was nod in response. "Who are you?" He asked. He really didn't know? She couldn't believe it. "Wanda Maximoff." She had started saying Wanda Maximoff instead of just Wanda after Pietro died, just to remind people that she was half of a whole. She wasn't Wanda she was Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. But with Pietro gone all she had was the Maximoff.  "Right," he nodded. "Mind if I get some breakfast?" he asked. "No, please go ahead." She fumbled, she didn't know why she was struggling to talk. He made some eggs and walked over. "May I?" He asked, nodding to the seat next to her. "Of course," She smiled, she liked that he had asked. Too many people assumed the answer was yes when really it was no, so when people asked it made her feel better. "Sorry about your brother." He said. "Sorry about your arm" She said, harsher than she expected. Its just that it had been a while since Pietro's death and she had heard enough sorrys for a lifetime. "Right, not a good way to start a conversation." He acknowledged, "How about his, Mornin' Doll." His smile was blinding. "Morning." She smiled in return, and it was the first smile she had really meant in a long time.