I stepped out into a torrential downpour, my portal dissipating into nothing behind me. My dress was instantly and thoroughly soaked through, the sudden shock of icy coldness drawing an involuntary gasp out of me, but I didn’t move or try to run for cover. If I had wanted to avoid the rain, it would have been as easy as opening my portal in a different spot, after all.
Thunder rumbled above as I turned my face skyward, closing my eyes and smiling at the little stabs of sensation from each raindrop as they hit my skin. Spreading my arms wide, I took a deep breath in and called a little bit of magic to my hands—pretending, for a brief moment, that I was Thor, calling forth thunder and lightning, or maybe Storm, the wind and lashing rain bowing to my command.
“Wanda!” I wasn’t quite sure how long I’d been standing there when a familiar voice called out over the rain.
Disturbed from my reverie, I looked over to see Bucky standing under the eaves of the main building, dressed down in plain, grey casual clothes and keeping well clear of the wet. He was looking at me like I was crazy, though he had a small smile on his face. Gesturing first at me, then at the cover he was standing under, he mouthed ‘what are you doing?’.
“I have successfully made contact with the Prime Minister of Kamino!” I yelled at him over the dull roar. “They are using a bounty hunter named Jango Fett to create a clone army!”
His brow furrowed, looking slightly concerned, and it took me a moment to realise—with some degree of horror—that he didn’t get the reference.
I dropped my arms to my sides and hurried over to him, moving fast enough that he made a face and flinched back a little bit to avoid me getting water all over him. “God, Bucky, are you serious?” I asked, my expression utterly flabbergasted. I wrapped my soggy arms around myself and shivered, my teeth actually chattering a little bit as I spoke. “I mean, I know you’ve only been free of HYDRA for like a year and a half, but have you really not seen all of the Star Wars movies yet?”
Bucky opened his mouth as if to say something, hesitated, then sighed. “Your lips are turning blue. Come on, let’s get you inside and warmed up.” Stepping aside, he gestured toward the building’s main entrance.
I didn’t move. I wasn’t sure why, really. I was in a bit of a strange mood.
After a couple of seconds, Bucky rolled his eyes and took a step toward me, reaching around to my back with his non-vibranium hand. His palm on the base of my spine, he pushed gently, trying to direct me inside.
In response, I set my legs into a slightly wider stance, preventing him from moving me. “You’re not the boss of me,” I said, my stubborn tone undercut a little by the shiver in my voice.
“You’re going to catch a cold,” he said patiently.
“Actually, I don’t think I can catch a cold,” I argued, staring at him challengingly and raising my chin a little.
He hesitated, a vaguely exasperated expression on his face. I honestly wasn’t really sure what had made me want to resist but, at this point, I was invested and curious to see what he’d do next—would he continue to try to make me see reason, or would he give up and walk away?
Instead, Bucky chose a secret third option. When it became clear that I was intent on making this a stand-off, he sighed, feigning like he was going to turn away, then ducked low and darted in at me. The manoeuvre caught me completely off-guard—I let out an involuntary squawk of indignation and surprise as he braced his shoulder against the top of my pelvis, his arm going around my waist, before easily flipping me up onto his shoulder. Without missing a beat, he turned and started toward the entrance to the building, his arm firmed clamped around my waist to stop me from wiggling free.
“This is highly undignified!” I complained loudly, thumping his back once with my fist to communicate my displeasure.
“Since when have you ever worried about having any dignity?” he responded, amusement in his voice. As he spoke, the door slid open and he stepped inside, casually heading toward the stairs up to the main common area, a trail of water dripping from me in our wake.
I made a vaguely offended noise in the back of my throat. “That’s no way to speak to a lady.”
With his free hand, Bucky reached up and lightly smacked me on the bottom. He hadn’t done it hard, but it was—once again—completely unexpected and I let out a yelp of surprise. “Bucky?!” He didn’t respond, just chuckling quietly to himself as he started up the stairs. “Okay, you better be taking me straight to your bedroom after that.”
He wasn’t. Once we reached the top of the stairs, walked me over to the breakfast bar and dumped me unceremoniously on a stool. Natasha and Pietro were sitting nearby on a couch, watching us, the both of them grinning in amusement.
“Stay,” Bucky said firmly, one finger raised.
I glared at him, gripping the edges of the stool below me with both hands, very maturely resisting the sudden urge to lunge forward and bite his finger.
When he was satisfied that I was going to stay put, Bucky turned and walked over to the corridor leading toward the living quarters. I sat, quietly annoyed and still dripping onto the floor as I glared at him—both his back and the shoulder he’d carried me on were soaked through. After a few seconds, I turned my glare toward Nat and Pietro.
“Everything okay?” Nat asked me mildly, a glimmer of humour in her tone. My brother just shook his head.
“No,” I snapped. “He spanked me. And then he just left me here.”
As I said that, Bucky returned carrying a large, fluffy towel. As he moved to put it over my shoulders, Nat lifted her chin and caught his attention. “You spanked her?”
“…Just once,” he said with a small shrug. “She was being a brat.”
Natasha clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “I hate to say it, Bucky, but I’m going to have to side with Wanda on this one. That was a little cruel. Don’t rev the engine if you’re not going for a ride.”
Pietro made a face as I gestured emphatically toward Natasha, feeling vindicated. “Exactly! Thank you!”
Bucky dropped the towel over my head, obscuring my vision, and gave it a few firm scrubs with his hand, mussing my hair and wobbling my head from side to side with the motion. I reached up with both hands, yanking the towel off my head so I could scowl at him resentfully—the impact of my expression might have been greater if my hair wasn’t now an absolute mess. “Go get changed,” he said, a smile on his face. “And clean up the floor once you’re done dripping on it.”
“This is bullshit,” I said, trying and failing not to sound petulant. “It’s your fault there’s water on the floor, not mine.”
Bucky let out a small snort of exasperated amusement, then shook his head and walked away. I continued to scowl at the back of his head until he disappeared down the corridor to the living quarters.
“Why are you wet?” Pietro asked from the couch.
“You shouldn’t ask your sister those sorts of questions,” I said primly.
He made a disgusted noise. “You know what I meant.”
Turning to look at him, I raised an eyebrow and gestured toward the windows at the far end of the room. “Because it’s raining?”
“Yeah, but—never mind. You’re in a mood.”
“I’m not in a mood,” I said, moodily.
Looking down at the towel I was holding, a thought occurred to me. I’d seen Loki use magic to dry himself off that one time. It seemed like a simple trick that hadn’t required much effort so, surely, I should be able to replicate it? If I was remembering correctly, he’d just sort of shrugged and a small wave of magical energy passed over him and, after it passed, he was dry.
I was gently pulled from my thoughts by Natasha getting up and walking over to me. “Stop moping,” she said, a gentle tease in her voice.
“I’m not moping,” I responded. “I’m thinking.”
“Did you bring us lunch again?” Pietro asked from the couch.
I was still wearing my sling ring, so I focused for a moment and gestured, calling up a small portal just above the counter. Two small bundles wrapped nicely in greaseproof paper dropped out. Pietro was immediately there, opening one and hoeing into the contents.
This was the third day in a row I’d made lunch for them and come by to drop it off. I’d warned Pietro not to get used to it, but I’d kept on doing it anyway. If I was feeling a bit better about everything, I might have joked that I was inadvertently morphing back into a housewife.
I drew on my magic, letting wisps of red coalesce across my body. The energy rippled, moving from the top of my head down to my feet, but it didn’t actually accomplish anything. I couldn’t work out what Loki had actually done to dry himself. The water didn’t fall to the floor, so it probably wasn’t a telekinetic thing, there wasn’t any steam, so it hadn’t evaporated… where did the water go? It wasn’t reality alteration, either—as well as being utter overkill, it just wasn’t part of Loki’s magical toolkit, as far as I was aware. So how had he done it? Had he sent it elsewhere, somehow? Hm.
“What are you doing?” Nat asked, an almost-imperceptible note of concern in her voice.
“Failing to use magic to dry myself,” I said with a sigh, giving up for now. I was about to get ready to head back to Nat’s apartment when it suddenly occurred to me that it was Saturday—without a job or set schedule it was actually pretty easy to lose track of what day of the week it was. “Oh, is Peter around today?”
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“He is,” Nat confirmed, retrieving her own lunch package. “He’s should be with Steve and Clint this afternoon, doing some training drills.”
I hadn’t seen Peter in a little bit—it might be nice to stick around and see how he was doing. It was a little annoying that I was still wet, though. I probably should have thought this through a little better. Glancing around to confirm that it was just the three of us in the common area, I stood up and shucked off my dress, tucking it into a careful bundle to minimise further dripping and leaving me standing there in just a sports bra and bike shorts for a moment.
Pietro made an annoyed noise around a mouthful of food, making a ‘what are you doing?!’ gesture with his hand, but I ignored him. I spun up another portal and dropped the soggy dress through before towelling off as best I could. The towel then went on the floor to soak up the water I’d dripped everywhere, while I reached through another portal and retrieved a replacement dress. As I was putting it on, Pietro swallowed and sighed. “You could have just stepped through a portal, gotten changed, and come back.”
I shrugged. “It’s fine. No one’s here.” My underwear and hair were still damp, but it was good enough. Glancing back across the room, toward the windows, I noted that it looked as though the rain was easing up a bit. “I was thinking I might hang around, say hi to Peter and stuff. You two wanna hang out for a bit?”
Nat gave me an apologetic smile. “I can for a little while, but Rhodey and I have a meeting in an hour.” She nodded toward the open briefing room on the other side of the common area. “A couple of advisors from the State Department are going to be conferencing in.”
“Bleugh. I will gladly not be here when you do that. Pietro?”
“Uh… I actually have plans already, sorry,” he said, looking down at the counter, avoiding my gaze.
Well. That was suspicious. I cocked my head to the side. “Plans?”
“Yeah. Plans.”
“…What kind of plans?” I prodded.
“Just plans. Nothing important.”
“Oh, that reminds me, Pietro,” Nat said, casually interrupting. She reached into her pocked and pulled out a small leather case—it looked like something you might keep a small, fancy pocket knife in, with a clip keeping it closed on one side and a belt loop on the other. “Can you give that to Yelena? She knows what it’s for.”
It took a second for it to click as to why she’d ask Pietro to do it, rather than me, given I was the one currently living with her sister. My forehead creased. “Yelena? You’re going to see Yelena?”
“Oh, is that the time?” he said hurriedly, glancing at a non-existent watch on his wrist. “I really have to go, talk to you later—bye!”
“Pietro!” I didn’t even have time to finish saying his name before he’d exited the room, his super speed rendering my words pointless. I turned and shot Natasha a questioning look instead. “Did… is he… Yelena?”
“Who knows?” Nat said, but her tone was smug and she was grinning to herself like the fucking Cheshire Cat.
“Huh.” I sat back down on the stool. That was… unexpected. I started to comb out my wet, tangled hair with my fingers. After a few moments of relative silence, while Natasha continued to eat, I narrowed my eyes. “Alright. I’m going to have to have a conversation with Yelena tonight when she gets home. Turn the lights off and sit there, ominously, waiting for her to come in. Like Nick Fury.”
“I mean, you could, but what will you do if she doesn’t actually go back to the apartment tonight?”
“Where else would she go?” My voice rose an octave as I spoke, drumming my fingers on the counter. “No. Wait. Don’t answer that.”
“It’s nothing to stress about.”
“It’s weird, though,” I whined. “You don’t think it’s weird? He’s my brother and she’s your sister.”
“I think it’s cute,” she said, chuckling at me. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“If you say so,” I grumbled.
The two of us hung out for a good forty minutes, until Rhodey showed up and they had to get ready for their meeting. Nat gave me a little kiss, told me not to get into any trouble, and I wandered away. Eventually, I made my way over to the large converted warehouse that served as a combination Quinjet hanger and training facility. The rain had eased, but it was still spitting and the path to the warehouse wasn’t covered, so I absently used a shield of chaos magic as a makeshift umbrella to make it over without getting wet again.
As I headed inside, I immediately caught a glimpse of Peter swinging through the air, near the roof, and smiled to myself—he was wearing a real Spider-Man suit. Finally. I knew that Tony had been planning on sorting one out for him, but seeing him in the proper red and blue for the first time still felt really good. As I circled around the Quinjet service bay toward the training area, Peter dodged through the air, narrowly avoiding a barrage of blue bolts of energy, using a line of webbing to instantly switch directions and swing himself in a wide parabolic arc.
The part of the warehouse that had been set aside for full contact training exercises and sparring was relatively spacious, with several raised platforms and steel barricades that could be used as cover. Shuri was leaning over a railing at the top of the platform nearest me—the Wakandan princess had a holographic interface projected over her hand, her eyes glued to the training exercise. Collecting data? Maybe she was monitoring the performance of the suit? Steeling myself a little bit, I hopped up onto the platform with her. She glanced in my direction, her body language tensing slightly, then she turned back to the action, pointedly ignoring me as I came over. I left a good five feet of space between us and leant over the railing as well.
Steve was leading Peter through a training exercise with some support from Bucky and Clint. Dodging and disarm drills, it looked like. Peter easily had the best reaction time and speed of any of the heroes currently on the Avengers’ roster—barring Pietro, of course—so this type of training was not only helping him get more confidence and build on his own strengths, but it also gave the other guys a chance to get a good bit of target practice in.
Personally, I found this sort of training so boring. I did come in occasionally to participate in some joint training exercises, but mostly I felt like ‘missing out’ on them was one of the few perks that came with not being a full member of the Avengers. Don’t get me wrong, I saw the value in becoming a better fighter, it was just that any actual progress felt so slow. I’d never been blessed with an abundance of patience when it came to things I didn’t learn quickly.
Even though HYDRA’s training had been focused more on using my powers, I was already at a pretty solid baseline when it came to combat; I already knew how to throw and take a punch, and seeking out tiny, incremental progress beyond that just wasn’t something I found very motivating. It was hard, too, because I was so strong. When Thor got back, I’d happily spar with him, or with Carol when she was visiting. Sparring with Steve or Bucky just meant I had to handicap myself by not using magic at all, and magic was just such a fundamental, intrinsic part of my fighting style it felt like that made me learn even slower. Natasha and I had spoken about it a little and she’d just shrugged and said that getting better at fighting was something that required constant practice and work—years of it. I knew that. I just didn’t like it.
All three of the adult men were in their normal full field loadouts, with Bucky’s standard gun swapped out for a sleek-looking rifle, and Steve’s shield strapped to his back while he two-handed a pistol—both were a particular model I’d seen them use in training before that shot non-lethal energy bolts. Clint was using his bow, as normal, though he’d only be using non-lethal arrows as well.
As I watched, Bucky sent a burst of fire Peter’s way. The kid let go of his web and dropped to the ground, planting a hand on the concrete and using it to flip gracefully over a barricade, two bolts crackling as they dissipated against the steel barrier. Steve and Clint were circling around though—Steve fired the moment he got a relatively clear shot, but Peter was already ducking and rolling away, the rounds sizzling past him.
His roll took him into Clint’s firing line and the archer swiftly loosed two arrows at him in rapid succession. Peter twisted, dodging one arrow while a glob of webbing swatted the other out of the air. Clint tried to sidestep, but Peter had already snared the top of his bow with another web, yanking it out of his hands.
Bucky was back in play now, repositioned behind a barricade as he fired and forced Peter to scramble across the sloped portion of the floor. Peter flicked a web at a higher platform and yanked himself up onto it, getting clear, but Steve had unclipped his shield and hurled it at him—he dodged at the last second, flipping backward off the platform. The vibranium disc rebounded three times before returning to Steve’s waiting hand.
Peter landed smoothly and launched a line of webbing at Bucky’s rifle, yanking it free and flinging it clear across the arena, then sprang toward Steve. He twisted in midair, already trying to course correct before I’d even realised he’d misjudged, but it was too late. Steve fired—just once—and the blue bolt of energy hit Peter in the shoulder. He let out a loud grunt and landed off-balance, stumbling into a crouch.
A flicker of pride rose in my chest… Peter had done really well. When it came right down to it, Steve, Bucky and Clint were three of the best marksmen in the entire world, and he’d still almost gotten through it without getting hit.
A while back I’d gone over what I knew about the extent of Peter’s abilities and the Avengers had used that, plus what data they were able to get directly, to formulate a basic training plan for the teenager for the next twelve months. I was really looking forward to how he developed. Eventually, he should be able to do drills like this literally blindfolded, using only his Peter Tingle to predict and dodge incoming attacks.
As the guys reconvened in the middle of the training area, I vaulted over the railing and walked up to them. There was a small chorus of greetings, and Peter pulled off his mask and gestured toward himself awkwardly, a huge grin plastered across his face. “What do you think of the new suit? It’s my first time using it.”
I smiled back. “It looks perfect, Peter.” As far as I could tell, it was basically the same as the first suit that Tony had given to him in the other timeline, too—form-fitting, red and blue high-performance material with the classic web design, and expressive eye lenses. “It looks like you’re doing really well with your training so far,” I added.
Steve nodded his agreement, then cocked his head to one side. “He’s definitely learning quickly. Care to join in?” When he saw the look on my face, he grinned and lifted his pistol demonstratively. “Shielding and target practice? We can give the kid a break, run you through something like what we’re doing for him, if you’d like?”
A thought occurred to me and a small smile curved my lips. “Actually, Cap, I have an idea… maybe we can do some sparring?”
“Oh?” Steve looked at me, rightfully suspicious of my expression—he knew this was a trap, somehow, but asked anyway. “What did you have in mind?”
“Full contact. No real handicaps beyond keeping things nonlethal. Me against all of you. Four on one. If any one of you actually manages to knock me on my ass, I’ll take everyone out somewhere for dinner tonight. On me.” Clint and Bucky exchanged a dubious look and I smiled at them sweetly. “What? Don’t think you’re up for it?”
Steve’s eyes flicked over to the other two men, something unspoken passing between them. He took a moment to look at Peter as well, considering it. “What do you think, Pete?”
Peter grinned. “Do you know any good places to eat at in Japan?”
“Sukiyabashi Jiro,” Clint said immediately. “I can get us in—Jiro’s an old friend. It’ll have to be a late dinner, though. Early lunch for them. Time zones.”
Bucky set his jaw, an eager glint in his eye. “Weapons?” he asked, hefting his rifle.
I waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, you can use your little zap guns, but the rules are still the same. Tagging me with a shot isn’t enough—you still have to actually knock me down.”
He nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching as though he was suppressing a smile. “Sounds fair.” Reaching down, he fiddled with a control on the side of his weapon and I heard a distinct, slightly-alarming charging-up noise.
“…What did you just do?”
Steve shrugged, unable to stop himself from smiling. “We’ve just been keeping them on the lowest setting for training with Peter, is all.” He reached down and adjusted his pistol as well, resulting in the same ominous sound.
Peter glanced between the two of us, his eyes widening slightly. “That’s the lowest setting?” he asked, then looked at me, a little concern leaking into his tone. “That’s… They sting.”
“Alright then, if you think that’ll help.” I nodded slowly, then had a thought and glanced back toward where Shuri was still watching from the sidelines. The Wakandan princess met my gaze evenly. “How about you, Shuri? Want to join in? Make it five on one?”
“No,” she said, with no hesitation. Simple, firm, direct.
I spread my arms out in a challenging gesture, letting a wide, predatory grin spread across my face. “And here I thought you might just jump at the chance to wipe this smug look off my face.” God, I really was being a brat today, wasn’t I?
Shuri scowled at me, her jaw working silently. What was stronger—her resolve not to interact with me or give in to my goading, or her desire to punch me in the face? After a moment, she dismissed the projected interface and straightened up. “Fine,” she growled, her tone clipped and low.