Skies Clearing (Maximoff Twins fanfic)

Chapter Fifteen

"We do not remember days, we remember moments."

BLUE

Steve stops me on the way to my room. "Quicksilver," he says.

"Captain?" I have to look up at him.

"Do you prefer paints or pencils? Or markers, or pastels, I don't know...."

"What?"

"Art supplies. You want any?"

"Um." My fingers tap blue on my leg. "I like pencils, I think. But colors are nice."

"Okay." He smiles, nods, and turns to go. "See you tomorrow, Quicksilver."

"Yeah."

*

Despite staying up late, I can't seem to sleep in past the sun. I sit on the edge of my bed and open my black notebook again, clicking the pen. A new scene starts to appear on the blank white page.

When it's bright enough that the sunlight filters through the edges of the open curtain, I hear two firm knocks on my door.

"Yeah?"

It swings open and Steve is in the doorway. "Wanda said she heard you awake," he says. He holds up a slim box. "Colored pencils?"

I put down my pen. "Thank you."

He sets them on the empty bookshelf by my door and nods. "You're welcome."

When he's gone, I put the notebook aside and take the pencils in a flash of blue. The box opens with a neat click. The pencils are lined up smooth and parallel and they roll under my fingers. I brush the light blue, the blood red, the bullet gold, but pass them by.

I pick up the playing-card red, the old, faded playing card red. And I set to coloring in my last drawing.

*

The smooth black book becomes almost magnetized to my hand over the next few days; with a pencil in the other hand, the blank pages fill with bright and with darker pictures. Clothes stolen off of clotheslines; soldiers' dirty boots; running in the streets late at night; a pain that is bright red. Some are unfinished, just the edges or the colors of partial memories.

And when I can't remember, I fill the blank spaces with other things. Sam's pancakes or Clint polishing his arrows or Steve and Bucky watching a movie. The book changes from a blank responsibility to a story. My story.

"What are you drawing?" Natasha asks, feet up on the table, sipping her tea.

I hold up the page. "A pattern. I think it's from a dress or something."

"Cool. Maybe one of Wanda's?"

"Yeah, maybe." I tilt my head at the stitches I've drawn.

Just then, Wanda walks in. "Nat, I'm ready."

"Should we go, then?" Natasha's feet hit the floor and she sets her tea aside.

"Where are you going?" I ask.

"The mall," says Wanda. "Tony's having another rich-people party tonight and we wanted to get more formal wear."

"Wanna come?" Natasha asks. "We can get you something to wear too."

"Come?" I put down my pencil. "I don't want to get in your way."

"You won't. Come on." Wanda beckons with a smile.

"Um. Okay."

An hour later I'm standing in front of the mirror in a full three-piece suit and tie, regretting my decision.

"You look great!" Wanda says. "You'll fit right in with the billionaires."

The salesman nods emphatically. "Very handsome."

"I don't know," I say. Somehow I look too fancy, too grown up, and I don't like that.

Natasha picks another. "Try this one."

I take it. "Just because I can try on ten suits in as many minutes, that doesn't mean I should," I say.

"Yes, it does," Natasha says, her mouth twitching up into a smile. "Now go."

I shake my head but smile and walk back to the dressing room. This suit is blue and a little less formal. It fits to my shoulders and torso comfortably. I like the color and the material.

I step out again.

Natasha nods. "Yes. Absolutely."

"Wait," says Wanda. She quickly unties my necktie, taking it away, and unbuttons the top button of my shirt. Stepping back, she smiles. "That's better."

"Really brings out his eyes, doesn't it?" Natasha remarks.

"It does." Wanda nods, folding her arms and looking the outfit up and down.

"Are we done, then?" I ask.

"Yeah, we'll get that one." Nat pulls out her Stark Industries card.

The salesman's eyes widen. "Of course, of course, miss!" he says with a slight bow, and hurries to take it and finish the sale.

Wanda hides a snicker.

Then we're walking back out of the place, purchase in hand.

"Dress shoes?" Wanda asks me.

"No way," I say, "I can't run in shiny, black, expensive shoes. I'll wear Nikes or nothing."

She grins. "I knew you'd say that."

Natasha gestures east. "I saw a red dress in the window a few stores back. It looked perfect for you, Red."

"Let's go," she says.

I follow them to the place and Wanda gasps when she sees the model in the window. She goes to find an employee to help her.

I trail after Natasha as she wanders through rows of black dresses.

Then she pauses, and sighs. "You're an artist," she says. "The butterfly sleeves or the off-the-shoulder?"

"You- you want my opinion?"

She shrugs. "Yeah, that's what I'm asking for."

I tilt my head, but I already know my answer. "Uh, neither? Sleeveless with a jacket over it."

"Huh." She drops the fabric from her fingers. "You're right."

"Nat?" Wanda calls. "Quicksilver?"

We find her standing in front of a mirror, red dress on. It's light and sheer, the threads a deep color that almost matches her magic. Its sleeves and hem are patterned with gold embroidery.

"Red, it's perfect."

I fold my arms the same way Wanda did, inspecting the dress. "Hm. Really brings out her sorcery, doesn't it?"

Natasha grins. "It does."

We laugh.

A/N guess Pietro's an artist now huh. sorry to be so late, kinda struggling to get anything done. 

I love you guys, have a fantabulous day