Wanda and Stephen Strange (slightly backdated)

[x-scarletwitch.livejournal.com]

After Strange unsuccessfully tries to gently wake Wanda, she talks about what their next steps will be in their search for Agatha. It's not what he expects.




For the first time in months, the apartment Wanda had taken up all those years ago looked somewhat lived in. A few dishes sat drying next to the sink, a book on her favorite chair and a pair of shoes kicked off in front of the door. It still bore a feeling of neglect but tiny signs of life had started to appear, even if she hadn't intended them to. The biggest sign of life, however, had actually taken herself to bed a little over an hour ago. The healer might have healed the physical effects of Genosha but exhaustion dogged her steps and she'd given up trying to catch up on e-mail in favor of slipping under the covers. She'd been asleep in under five minutes.

There was the quiet rattle of a key at the door and then the soft squeak of the door itself opening, revealing the tired and worn figure of a certain magic user of Wanda's acquaintance. Stephen Strange set his bag - a beaten up leather carry-all - down near the closet and closed and locked the door behind him. As he did, his shoulders slumped somewhat in relaxation, the lines on his face easing somewhat, and he quietly headed for the bedroom. A combination of knowing the way very well and being used to working in dark places meant he didn't bother with the lights, possibly, in afterthought, a mistake.

He did at least have the sense, when he approached the sleeping Wanda, to cautiously tap her on the shoulder, keeping out of range of any sharp, pointy things.

For a brief, confusing moment, everything was fuzzy and uncertain. Then Wanda blinked and pulled back, releasing her almost painful grip on Stephen's wrist. And then immediately looked slightly sheepish because she found herself straddling the now prone Stephen Strange across her bed; she'd assumed she must have grabbed the hand he'd used to try and wake her and reacted instantly, yanking him sideways as she rolled over him. And ... ah, yes, of course. Wanda tossed the sharp knife she'd held to his throat towards the nearest nightstand and sat back slightly on her knees without actually moving off of him.

"Hello, sweetheart," she said ruefully.

He blinked up at her, looking like a somewhat disshevelled, startled owl. "Do you think there will ever be a time I can wake you without you trying to kill me?" he asked, sounding more wryly amused than anything. "Because the next step is getting a long stick and poking you from the doorway."

"Perhaps when I have grown old and far less paranoid? And creaky. When I grow creaky." She smiled and the act suddenly made her look less tired and strained. "We could always see what fun thins arise from poking me with sticks? ... hm, alright, that sounded far more playful and less creepy in my head than it did out of it." Wanda planted her hands next to his head and leaned forward. "Besides, I do not try to kill you when you wake me up when you're in bed with me."

As she finished speaking, something subtle flickered over her face when she thought about the fact that Stephen hadn't been next to her in bed that night because she'd been dragging him around the world chasing after a ghost. Wanda's hands clenched the sheets as she leaned down suddenly to give him a kiss.

Whatever he had been able to say in response completely left his mind at the kiss, which he returned with equal passion. "What happened?" he asked instead as they broke apart, eyes intent on her face. "Something went wrong, didn't it?"

Wanda gave a brief bitter laugh before rolling sideways to allow him to actually move again. She didn't go far though, simply scooted back up to where she'd be laying little earlier and held out her hands to him. "You could say that," she said softly. "I suppose I should tell you the worst, first, and build from there." And as she told him about Rachel, her voice broke a little. She hadn't processed the little girl's death, not really, had mostly kept it deep inside from the moment someone had told her.

Stephen said nothing, but his face spoke volumes and he held Wanda tightly. "Oh, love," he managed, his own voice breaking at the thought of his friends' pain, the loss of a child. So much hurt. "I am so sorry."

Breathing in his familiar scent, Wanda allowed herself to be held as tightly as she held onto him. Often a physical person, both in her romantic relationships and friendships, she didn't often reach out for her own comfort. But she held onto him now as if she were drowning and couldn't figure out how to let go. She told him the whole tale from start to finish now that the worst was over. "Thanks to the healer," she finished, "my broken ribs and concussion were healed. But my powers are still in a snit."

"I am relieved your ribs are healed, or I would not be able to hold you like this," he said, wry humour returning briefly to his voice before he turned serious again. "I wish I had known. To be able to help you, to be able to do something."

"No, not this time." Wanda pulled back far enough away so she could actually see his face. "I have dragged you through enough grief these past few months. Knowing you had gone to ground and were safe from the Genoshan government helped me more than you know." Groaning slightly, she leaned back against pillows and stared at the ceiling. "What have I been doing to you these past few months?" she asked the ceiling. "To me?"

He rolled to his side, propping his head up on his hand so he could see her face. "What have we been doing? We've been looking for Agatha."

Her hands fluttered slightly over her stomach. "Yes. Chasing after threads that turn into nothing. Wearing us down until all that is left are plane tickets and exhausted contacts who so desperately want to help us but cannot. I promised myself, Stephen, that I would tear apart the world to find her. Because I miss her and I love her and I'm so angry with her that all I want to do is shake her until some sense comes out." Her words became muffled as she covered her face. "The world is stronger than I am and it hurts to admit - we need to stop."

"What? No!" Stephen reached over to pull her hands away from her face. "We'll find her, Wanda, we will." But his words sounded hollow even to him - he'd said them more than once before now.

"I said that wrong," she said, slipping her fingers in-between. "We need to come home and regroup. If she is out there, we won't find her by tearing from point to point only to be steps behind Harkness. If she ..." Wanda shuddered. "If she's dead, then I need to figure out the best way to find her son so I can end it once and for all. I'm so sorry, Stephen, I've been letting my emotions rule when I should have been letting my head have a say."

"I won't argue with that, love," he said, again with that slight edge of wry humour despite the seriousness of the topic. "I've been worried about you, how much this has been wearing you out. Perhaps it's time to pool our resources and see what else others can come up with as well."

Wanda couldn't bring herself to ask for absolution from him, didn't want to put him in the position of hearing her ask (beg) if she was doing the right thing. It wasn't fair and, ultimately, there was no true right or wrong here.

Agatha Harkness was either alive and Wanda was coming for her or she was dead and all Wanda would have left would be the pieces of a relationship and the knowledge that she'd make Nicholas Harkness choke on them.

"Welcome back to New York City, Dr. Strange," she murmured, winding her arms around his neck to tug him down against.