( wanda doesn't actually think he's entirely sorry for staying away, even if the sentiment in his words is true. he does regret it, that much she can feel in waves coming from him, in this way that she can 'read' others, but there's also another aspect to it that he considers trueβthat in staying away, that he was doing good, protecting her.
and that's what she is scared of the most: that he will make choices for her, even without intending to. the same way pietro had.
she is not as subtle about the way she leans entirely into his hand once he places it on her cheek, letting her eyes close for a moment and bask in the warmth of this moment. it hits her how much she has missed him, missed them. halcyon days are called that for a reason, and it's best to have had before than never having at all, but wanda finds herself constantly in the absence of it all, that it breaks her heart.
wanda brings up a hand to grab onto the one that cups her cheek, keeping him there, and chides, gently, )
You can't really promise me that.
( that he's not going anywhere.
especially when he has so many secrets he keeps.
sniffling, wanda just pulls his hand a touch away from her cheek and draws back, pressing a kiss to his palm, a gentle gesture that is not beyond her when they were in sync, in good terms. it's a tactile promise to him that she loves him, cares for him, even when her words are a little sharper than she ever intends them to be. she then stands up again to find him his advil. she's got them all in rectangular tea tin; it jostles as she brings it down from its place atop her fridge, going through its contents to find him two of the medicine.
she stays where she is, though, leaning back against the counter, tin pressed to her belly, for balance. )
Father Lantom isn't here to mediate between us and our problems, and whatever life gets to throw at us. ( because life gets to. two orphaned children who were never adopted: matt, because of his being blind and what being special needs in a home would entail; wanda and pietro, because they wouldn't be separated, and there's still a lot of stigma for those who escaped war-torn sokovia amidst the political climate then and now. neither of them gets to have good things unless they fight for them, but it can all so easily be taken away from them. it's just fact. ) I know you still go to mass.
( on sundays. that he talks to lantom, because wanda goes in, once a month or so, every other weekend, to help out at the orphanage, a little reprieve from adult life (she gets to be fawned on by the sisters that took care of her before, and wanda thinks they weren't as short before, or had that many wrinkles before she left), and she hears about it from the old priest. even if he's mostly fishing.
wanda doesn't go to mass, because she's not catholic. she doesn't think she's anything, even if she remembers jewish celebrations, but all that was lost when her parents died.
she gnaws on her bottom lip. )
...if you're not planning to be honest about your explanation, then don't bother with it. I don't want you to lie to me. Just tell me that you can't tell me.
no subject
and that's what she is scared of the most: that he will make choices for her, even without intending to. the same way pietro had.
she is not as subtle about the way she leans entirely into his hand once he places it on her cheek, letting her eyes close for a moment and bask in the warmth of this moment. it hits her how much she has missed him, missed them. halcyon days are called that for a reason, and it's best to have had before than never having at all, but wanda finds herself constantly in the absence of it all, that it breaks her heart.
wanda brings up a hand to grab onto the one that cups her cheek, keeping him there, and chides, gently, )
You can't really promise me that.
( that he's not going anywhere.
especially when he has so many secrets he keeps.
sniffling, wanda just pulls his hand a touch away from her cheek and draws back, pressing a kiss to his palm, a gentle gesture that is not beyond her when they were in sync, in good terms. it's a tactile promise to him that she loves him, cares for him, even when her words are a little sharper than she ever intends them to be. she then stands up again to find him his advil. she's got them all in rectangular tea tin; it jostles as she brings it down from its place atop her fridge, going through its contents to find him two of the medicine.
she stays where she is, though, leaning back against the counter, tin pressed to her belly, for balance. )
Father Lantom isn't here to mediate between us and our problems, and whatever life gets to throw at us. ( because life gets to. two orphaned children who were never adopted: matt, because of his being blind and what being special needs in a home would entail; wanda and pietro, because they wouldn't be separated, and there's still a lot of stigma for those who escaped war-torn sokovia amidst the political climate then and now. neither of them gets to have good things unless they fight for them, but it can all so easily be taken away from them. it's just fact. ) I know you still go to mass.
( on sundays. that he talks to lantom, because wanda goes in, once a month or so, every other weekend, to help out at the orphanage, a little reprieve from adult life (she gets to be fawned on by the sisters that took care of her before, and wanda thinks they weren't as short before, or had that many wrinkles before she left), and she hears about it from the old priest. even if he's mostly fishing.
wanda doesn't go to mass, because she's not catholic. she doesn't think she's anything, even if she remembers jewish celebrations, but all that was lost when her parents died.
she gnaws on her bottom lip. )
...if you're not planning to be honest about your explanation, then don't bother with it. I don't want you to lie to me. Just tell me that you can't tell me.
( that'd be enough, so long... )
So long as β I get to see you more.