Aug. 30th, 2015

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Lacuna [also at ao3 | tumblr]
1300 words | PG-ish | Wanda Maximoff, Steve Rogers

The five stages of grief are meaningless in the moment.

By the time she had heard of the warning "before you go on a journey of revenge, dig two graves," Wanda had already dug more than that. It was cold comfort to know that even if she'd known of it beforehand, she would have done everything the same. Her rage had been a cold fire, burning everything it touched, and what she had been willing to do in its name, what she had done in its name... She had paid an appalling, unbearable price for her arrogance, but she wasn't sure if she could ever erase the debt of the rest.

Pietro, half of her soul and all of her light, was buried on a beautiful morning in the same cemetery as their parents with the other victims of Sokovia's endless wars. Wanda wasn't so sure about that, but Steve told her that she could not take the blame for his death.

"A very wise woman once told me that if I truly loved someone, I had to respect their agency and their choices," he said as they stood on a hill overlooking the cemetery. They'd walked up here by accident and by intent, her aimless direction and his determination to stay by her side. "Even if those choices had led them to following me where they didn't have to go and dying because of it. Or worse."

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