[if she thinks about it, it's a little funny how nero has become one of the few individuals wanda can truly be herself with. she doesn't care that he sees her cry, angry, nor does she fear that he will grow upset at her teasing and meaner-sounding jokes. as she sits here amidst the rubble of her own making, arms tired, magic draining her of energy, frantically apologizing, wanda does not care that nero gets to witness her at her weakest.
he seems to get it, anyway; posits that whatever the hell happened, she can tell him later. not a demand for answers, just concern. he jokes, even, like he always does, trying to bring levity to the situation.
wanda raises her eyes to look at him, at his hand.]
I'm sorry.
[she whispers her final apology, taking his words to heart. quit it. he doesn't need apologies from herβhe never asks for her to be anyone but herself. she should know this by now, shouldn't she?]
βI've always known your hand was weird. [echoing back to the memory they had seen before of him getting his arm ripped right off; of it growing back. she has questions, but she can't formulate them right now. instead, as he pulls away, she leans forward, her forehead against his shoulder.] Stay a moment.
[her plea is muttered, reaching with her hand to hold onto his. just like with pietro, whose hand she would hold to ground herself. just for a moment she can pretend that this is her brother, a quiet, stalwart presence in her life, giving her a place of respite.
the explanation for what happened will come as soon as she has taken a moment to gather her thoughts.]
no subject
he seems to get it, anyway; posits that whatever the hell happened, she can tell him later. not a demand for answers, just concern. he jokes, even, like he always does, trying to bring levity to the situation.
wanda raises her eyes to look at him, at his hand.]
I'm sorry.
[she whispers her final apology, taking his words to heart. quit it. he doesn't need apologies from herβhe never asks for her to be anyone but herself. she should know this by now, shouldn't she?]
βI've always known your hand was weird. [echoing back to the memory they had seen before of him getting his arm ripped right off; of it growing back. she has questions, but she can't formulate them right now. instead, as he pulls away, she leans forward, her forehead against his shoulder.] Stay a moment.
[her plea is muttered, reaching with her hand to hold onto his. just like with pietro, whose hand she would hold to ground herself. just for a moment she can pretend that this is her brother, a quiet, stalwart presence in her life, giving her a place of respite.
the explanation for what happened will come as soon as she has taken a moment to gather her thoughts.]
Please.