Operation: Teenage Wasteland - Trying to live up to yourself

[x-scarletwitch.livejournal.com]

The job description never stated Remy would need to counsel 'teenagers' but that's exactly what he finds himself doing when he finds Wanda trying to come to terms what what's going on.



The bathroom door was closec and it helped to drown out the noise coming from the rest of the building. It didn't help with Wanda's on-going confusion or rising level of panic, though.

She stared at her reflection in disbelief at the face that peered back out at her. It was old. Not ancient, not like her Dàki dej, but it was startling to see so much of her mother in the mirror. Especially with that pinched expression on Wanda's face.

Tearing her gaze away from the mirror, she tried to think of less worrying things. Like if her body was older, perhaps other things had matured as well? She couldn't help but to pull up her shirt so she could look at everything properly but Wanda froze with the shirt rucked up around her armpits. It wasn't her breasts that caused her eyes to widen but the various marks around her ribcage and stomach that told their own tales.

Painful tales.

Remy knocked on the door, waiting only a moment before walking in. It was turning out to be easier stop them from running than observing the niceties of personal space.

"Wanda?"

She didn't seem all that phased by the intrusion. After all, she shared communal spaces with a number of family and clan members. Modesty wasn't something that she needed to have and she'd lost that at an early age.

The hand that wasn't holding her shirt was ghosting slightly over healed areas and tightly wound muscles. She'd grown into a powerful body but ... to her, these were scars she had yet to endure and suddenly she was terrified.

Wanda looked at Remy and, in a small voice, asked "Will it hurt?"

Remy paused, looking at her questioningly. "Will what hurt?"

"These." She waved her hand quickly in front of her stomaching as she pointed to the various scars Wanda had picked up over the years. Wanda bit her lip hard. "Not will, that is wrong. Did I hurt badly getting these?"

"Most of dem." Remy nodded, finally getting her meaning. "And usually, de stakes were well worth it."

She sat down hard on the edge of the toilet as she finally let the shirt drop back down. "I was supposed to be a historian, maybe a professor," Wanda replied. She was lost and excited and frightened and she didn't know how to process any of this.

"Den you should know dat history has a way of making its own demands, Wanda." Remy said, leaning back against the wall. Counselling teenagers was not high on his list of skills, but they were still his people. "You put aside what you want to do in order to do what you had to do. And Remy tell you something. Dats meant de lives of thousands - maybe even millions. Instead of just studying history, you made it."

She briefly folded herself over, pressing her torso against her legs so she could stare at the floor. The idea that she'd grown up to be the type of person who could save anyone was such a large idea that Wanda had trouble evening thinking it through. All she'd wanted to do was have fun, go to college, and enjoy herself.

She'd ended up on a completely different path and she had no idea how she'd gotten there. Wanda straightened and looked at Remy again. "How do I live up to that until this is fixed?"

"You don't. It would be unfair to ask you to." He said. "So I what I need you to do is just be you, do what I ask, and trust me dat anything dat I ask you to do is something dat you're able to."

"Mama always taught us to not trust outsiders. But she also tried to teach me not to curse or drink, which, well." She shrugged. "But, yes, I can be me and I can trust you and do what I need to do. And I just hope that this makes more sense soon."

"You are not de only one who wants dat, Wanda. Trust me on dis." Remy said ruefully.