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seriousficTitle: Tea time (The Middle of the Story Remix)
Fandom: X-Men: First Class/Avengers
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,609
Characters/Pairings: Wanda Maximoff, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, and Lorna Dane
Author’s notes: Written for Remix Redux.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
likeadeuce betaed this. Based on Tea Time by isilweth.
Summary: Before, she was a hero, then a monster. Soon, she'll be in Wundagore, an ordinary person. For now, she's adrift.
Breathe in. One, two, three…
It wasn't working.
Despite it being the dead of night, despite Avengers Mansion being condemned and deserted, despite herself, Wanda couldn't meditate. She opened her eyes. She could just barely remember the Avengers Mansion as it had been, in those years when they were all so young and invincible.
*
Jarvis, craftier than anyone had realized, had enticed a young fan into managing the garden. Its maintenance offended his cleanly sensibilities. The kid – what was his name? Wanda remembered that when he turned eighteen, Tony had given him a six-pack of German beer with a ribbon on it – had done a good job and been paid well for his 'summer job,' but one weekend he'd gone to a concert and ended up driving back to Mexico with a new girlfriend. And Jarvis was out of town, so when Ororo came over, she was the first to notice that their beautiful garden was overrun with weeds. Jean's plan for an evening of profound meditation had been dead on arrival, as Ororo dropped to her hands and knees and said "This will just take a minute, dear-heart…"
Wanda's noting of a weed-whacker in the tool shed had earned her a fierce, white-eyed look.
*
Just the memory of it brought up a giggle. Of course, now the gardens were totally overrun with weeds, which was the least of the mansion's problems. It had never been repaired from its last destruction, a physical reminder of the gaping wound the Avengers had left in the world. With a slight twitch of her power, the weeds withered and died. She was so powerful now. So much to fight with, and nothing to fight for.
Wanda was glad the young ones had started using the mansion as a clubhouse. At least a wastebasket of condoms and fast food wrappers was a sign of life. Hawkeye would've been proud.
*
Wanda remembered how Clint had had a little feud with Jarvis over proper hygiene. He'd never trusted the butler with his unmentionables, having literally grown up in a circus, so it wasn't unusual to see purple briefs hung up to dry wherever it would annoy Jarvis and/or Cap the most. Clint loved getting a rise out of people. His magnum opus had been when Tony had been giving a tour to the Secretary of Defense and found Clint ironing his shirts in the command center.
*
Was it odd that she remembered the silly little moments best? They were called Earth's Mightiest Heroes, among other superlatives (Jean read them giggling, not the least bit resentful that the next page would shriek about the mutant menace), but Wanda had never felt like a hero or a god or a legend. What she liked best was that everyone listened to her and took her seriously. Being a celebrity was nothing compared to everyone treating her like Jean had.
Jean.
Wanda sat down and didn't try to stop the tears from coming to her eyes.
*
While Ororo had been ruining her manicure in the dirt (she shared Wanda's ignorance over why fingernails should be anything but short and healthy), Jean had nodded just a little too brightly and said that Ororo could catch up. When she started meditating, Wanda had joined in, letting Jean's power lift her as well.
In honesty, she would've been happy following their normal sleepover ritual of watching scary movies and teasing Jean about her boyfriend and his skintight blue spandex (Wanda had been very jealous), but she had wanted to show solidarity. Jean wanted to take care of everyone, and while the others found that a little tiresome in their heart of hearts, Wanda was so grateful for it. Someone loved her, not the controlling, possessive love of her brother, but someone who cared above all else about her happiness.
So, for Jean's sake, she had closed her eyes and tried to ponder the oneness of the universe for about ten minutes before recalling what Steve had looked like sparring with Tony. If Jean read her mind, she'd just have to forgive it. They hadn't been wearing shirts, after all.
*
Wanda stopped crying. There were too many good memories here to sully them with tears. She wiped her eyes and climbed the trellis, trying to recall more. On the roof, a dormer window had been ripped away by some long-dispensed phantom, and ensconced inside the garret so one could climb down to it was a sleeping bag. It stank of sex. When did those young Avengers find time to fight the forces of evil?
Lorna would've been pleased.
*
Lorna was just a little naughtier than the other girls. Ororo had been introduced to Wanda sunbathing naked atop the X-Mansion, and Jean had been very comfortable keeping both Warren and Scott wrapped around her finger (for a while). But though only Wanda could be described as chaste with a straight face (and Jean, true to form, refused to allow any teasing on that front), Lorna had been sexual in a way they just weren't. Wanda could talk about boys with Jean and Ororo, but she'd talked about sex with Lorna. And it'd been very comforting to know she wasn't the only one who thought about Tony and Steve… sparring.
*
Making sure to keep the probability of losing her footing down, Wanda walked up to a weathervane and sat down against it. A long time ago, Beast had modified it so Storm replaced the traditional rooster, appearing to direct the winds that swung the vane around.
*
Wanda had been a little jealous over how close Ororo and Jean had gotten when the storm-rider had joined the team, but it didn't take long for Jean to hug her and kiss her and tell her she would always have enough love for her.
The reverse hadn't been true. Wanda had gone to the funeral and felt like a liar in a farce as they buried an empty coffin and said it was Jean. It had hurt, and through her tears she had thought maybe Pietro had been right. Maybe all she could count on was family.
When Jean had returned, Wanda had cried for two hours. Clint had tried, in his own fumblingly smitten way, to comfort her, not understanding she was happy. But Jean and Wanda had never reconnected. In the middle of those crises that demanded both the X-Men and the Avengers, they had shared a smile, 'hey you.' That was all the intensity of their youth amounted to. A smile. Maybe Wanda was afraid that she would lose Jean again, that this was some cruel trick like the moments of normalcy in her childhood, moments that were inevitably stolen away by her family, like her happiness could be used as ammo in their war. What mattered was that she was afraid.
*
What had become of the great heroes of yesterday? Lorna gone mad, her playful rebellion against Jean's planned activities giving way to a rebellion against her life. Ororo gone to Africa on the arm of a king, leaving the X-Men to whatever their fate might be. Jean dead, again and again, like a flame the universe kept trying to snuff out.
Were they being punished for something, for hubris? Wanda had never wanted to change the world. She'd just wanted to spend some time with the most beautiful people she'd ever known, and make up for the past's misdeeds in the process. And now, here she was.
A villain.
Was there another word for it?
Clinging to the weathervane, Wanda shut her eyes. Breathed in. Counted to four. The probabilities shifted and eddied around her, bending toward déjà vu. When she opened her eyes, her friends were all around her, in a half-remembered scent, an echo of words carried on a gust of wind, a shadow cast beside her. A long time ago, their only crisis had been an attack of loose laundry. Wanda had been in a love affair with her own life then, laughing at this beautiful, absurd thing her fate had led her to.
Now she did penance in a prison of her memories. But maybe she could be pardoned.
Wanda walked to the edge of the roof. She was so high up, and it was so dark, that the ground was an inky blur. Wanda didn't let that stop her from climbing over the wrought-iron balustrade that crowned the mansion. Her coat ripped on the spear points. It was gray. She hadn't worn a color as vivid as red in a long time.
Look down into the black. What were the odds that if she fell, she'd land in a rabbit hole and hit Wonderland? The odds she could be happy? The odds she'd be forgiven?
"Let go," someone whispered in her ear. It wasn't Jean. Jean was dead. But déjà vu was enough. Alive or dead, Marvel Girl or Dark Phoenix, Jean would want her to be happy.
Wanda fell.
Her memories tumbled away from her as reality cascaded out from under her, slipping and sliding as she burrowed in. She let go of her husband and her children. She let go of her friends and family. She let go of the Scarlet Witch.
But she kept the knowledge that there'd been a time when she was happy, and her friends were happy, and she was beautiful and her friends were beautiful, and she was loved and she loved her friends.
If just as a reminder that things which once were could be so again.
She landed.
When she awoke, she'd wear something red. Drink a little tea.
*
Fandom: X-Men: First Class/Avengers
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,609
Characters/Pairings: Wanda Maximoff, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, and Lorna Dane
Author’s notes: Written for Remix Redux.
likeadeuce betaed this. Based on Tea Time by isilweth.Summary: Before, she was a hero, then a monster. Soon, she'll be in Wundagore, an ordinary person. For now, she's adrift.
Breathe in. One, two, three…
It wasn't working.
Despite it being the dead of night, despite Avengers Mansion being condemned and deserted, despite herself, Wanda couldn't meditate. She opened her eyes. She could just barely remember the Avengers Mansion as it had been, in those years when they were all so young and invincible.
*
Jarvis, craftier than anyone had realized, had enticed a young fan into managing the garden. Its maintenance offended his cleanly sensibilities. The kid – what was his name? Wanda remembered that when he turned eighteen, Tony had given him a six-pack of German beer with a ribbon on it – had done a good job and been paid well for his 'summer job,' but one weekend he'd gone to a concert and ended up driving back to Mexico with a new girlfriend. And Jarvis was out of town, so when Ororo came over, she was the first to notice that their beautiful garden was overrun with weeds. Jean's plan for an evening of profound meditation had been dead on arrival, as Ororo dropped to her hands and knees and said "This will just take a minute, dear-heart…"
Wanda's noting of a weed-whacker in the tool shed had earned her a fierce, white-eyed look.
*
Just the memory of it brought up a giggle. Of course, now the gardens were totally overrun with weeds, which was the least of the mansion's problems. It had never been repaired from its last destruction, a physical reminder of the gaping wound the Avengers had left in the world. With a slight twitch of her power, the weeds withered and died. She was so powerful now. So much to fight with, and nothing to fight for.
Wanda was glad the young ones had started using the mansion as a clubhouse. At least a wastebasket of condoms and fast food wrappers was a sign of life. Hawkeye would've been proud.
*
Wanda remembered how Clint had had a little feud with Jarvis over proper hygiene. He'd never trusted the butler with his unmentionables, having literally grown up in a circus, so it wasn't unusual to see purple briefs hung up to dry wherever it would annoy Jarvis and/or Cap the most. Clint loved getting a rise out of people. His magnum opus had been when Tony had been giving a tour to the Secretary of Defense and found Clint ironing his shirts in the command center.
*
Was it odd that she remembered the silly little moments best? They were called Earth's Mightiest Heroes, among other superlatives (Jean read them giggling, not the least bit resentful that the next page would shriek about the mutant menace), but Wanda had never felt like a hero or a god or a legend. What she liked best was that everyone listened to her and took her seriously. Being a celebrity was nothing compared to everyone treating her like Jean had.
Jean.
Wanda sat down and didn't try to stop the tears from coming to her eyes.
*
While Ororo had been ruining her manicure in the dirt (she shared Wanda's ignorance over why fingernails should be anything but short and healthy), Jean had nodded just a little too brightly and said that Ororo could catch up. When she started meditating, Wanda had joined in, letting Jean's power lift her as well.
In honesty, she would've been happy following their normal sleepover ritual of watching scary movies and teasing Jean about her boyfriend and his skintight blue spandex (Wanda had been very jealous), but she had wanted to show solidarity. Jean wanted to take care of everyone, and while the others found that a little tiresome in their heart of hearts, Wanda was so grateful for it. Someone loved her, not the controlling, possessive love of her brother, but someone who cared above all else about her happiness.
So, for Jean's sake, she had closed her eyes and tried to ponder the oneness of the universe for about ten minutes before recalling what Steve had looked like sparring with Tony. If Jean read her mind, she'd just have to forgive it. They hadn't been wearing shirts, after all.
*
Wanda stopped crying. There were too many good memories here to sully them with tears. She wiped her eyes and climbed the trellis, trying to recall more. On the roof, a dormer window had been ripped away by some long-dispensed phantom, and ensconced inside the garret so one could climb down to it was a sleeping bag. It stank of sex. When did those young Avengers find time to fight the forces of evil?
Lorna would've been pleased.
*
Lorna was just a little naughtier than the other girls. Ororo had been introduced to Wanda sunbathing naked atop the X-Mansion, and Jean had been very comfortable keeping both Warren and Scott wrapped around her finger (for a while). But though only Wanda could be described as chaste with a straight face (and Jean, true to form, refused to allow any teasing on that front), Lorna had been sexual in a way they just weren't. Wanda could talk about boys with Jean and Ororo, but she'd talked about sex with Lorna. And it'd been very comforting to know she wasn't the only one who thought about Tony and Steve… sparring.
*
Making sure to keep the probability of losing her footing down, Wanda walked up to a weathervane and sat down against it. A long time ago, Beast had modified it so Storm replaced the traditional rooster, appearing to direct the winds that swung the vane around.
*
Wanda had been a little jealous over how close Ororo and Jean had gotten when the storm-rider had joined the team, but it didn't take long for Jean to hug her and kiss her and tell her she would always have enough love for her.
The reverse hadn't been true. Wanda had gone to the funeral and felt like a liar in a farce as they buried an empty coffin and said it was Jean. It had hurt, and through her tears she had thought maybe Pietro had been right. Maybe all she could count on was family.
When Jean had returned, Wanda had cried for two hours. Clint had tried, in his own fumblingly smitten way, to comfort her, not understanding she was happy. But Jean and Wanda had never reconnected. In the middle of those crises that demanded both the X-Men and the Avengers, they had shared a smile, 'hey you.' That was all the intensity of their youth amounted to. A smile. Maybe Wanda was afraid that she would lose Jean again, that this was some cruel trick like the moments of normalcy in her childhood, moments that were inevitably stolen away by her family, like her happiness could be used as ammo in their war. What mattered was that she was afraid.
*
What had become of the great heroes of yesterday? Lorna gone mad, her playful rebellion against Jean's planned activities giving way to a rebellion against her life. Ororo gone to Africa on the arm of a king, leaving the X-Men to whatever their fate might be. Jean dead, again and again, like a flame the universe kept trying to snuff out.
Were they being punished for something, for hubris? Wanda had never wanted to change the world. She'd just wanted to spend some time with the most beautiful people she'd ever known, and make up for the past's misdeeds in the process. And now, here she was.
A villain.
Was there another word for it?
Clinging to the weathervane, Wanda shut her eyes. Breathed in. Counted to four. The probabilities shifted and eddied around her, bending toward déjà vu. When she opened her eyes, her friends were all around her, in a half-remembered scent, an echo of words carried on a gust of wind, a shadow cast beside her. A long time ago, their only crisis had been an attack of loose laundry. Wanda had been in a love affair with her own life then, laughing at this beautiful, absurd thing her fate had led her to.
Now she did penance in a prison of her memories. But maybe she could be pardoned.
Wanda walked to the edge of the roof. She was so high up, and it was so dark, that the ground was an inky blur. Wanda didn't let that stop her from climbing over the wrought-iron balustrade that crowned the mansion. Her coat ripped on the spear points. It was gray. She hadn't worn a color as vivid as red in a long time.
Look down into the black. What were the odds that if she fell, she'd land in a rabbit hole and hit Wonderland? The odds she could be happy? The odds she'd be forgiven?
"Let go," someone whispered in her ear. It wasn't Jean. Jean was dead. But déjà vu was enough. Alive or dead, Marvel Girl or Dark Phoenix, Jean would want her to be happy.
Wanda fell.
Her memories tumbled away from her as reality cascaded out from under her, slipping and sliding as she burrowed in. She let go of her husband and her children. She let go of her friends and family. She let go of the Scarlet Witch.
But she kept the knowledge that there'd been a time when she was happy, and her friends were happy, and she was beautiful and her friends were beautiful, and she was loved and she loved her friends.
If just as a reminder that things which once were could be so again.
She landed.
When she awoke, she'd wear something red. Drink a little tea.
*
