Word count: 2576

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Within three days, the household had become accustomed to Stella's presence. Stella had gotten used to being there with everyone, though she couldn't help but want to tell them about Pietro.

    Natasha had explained Wanda's backstory, though she already knew most of it from what Pietro had said and from what she had seen for those 11 days where she had been stalking her. Stella had learned all of her mannerisms, all of her tells, and was ready to engage in part two of the plan: pushing Wanda away. For now, she was cozy at the home. Lila and Cooper, Clint's children, had come to like her after she taught them how to make brownies the night after she had arrived.

    She woke up on her first morning in the home fairly early. She slept on the couch, having insisted that she didn't need her own bed, and the first thing she saw was a purplish-reddish man-ish thing hovering over her, inspecting her.

    She immediately tried to push the creature away before a calming but metallic voice said, "You do not need to defend yourself. I will not hurt you."

    She sat up slowly, skeptical of this... thing. She had to admit, she kind of did like that it sounded English.

    "Who and what are you?" She asks. "How did you get here?"

    "My name is Vision. I was invited," it replies. "You must be Stella."

    Stella was understandably confused by this creature's sudden arrival. She hadn't heard a single word about him coming, yet, here he was. What even was he?

    "Uh... yeah. How do you know my name?" She stands up, putting a little distance between herself and the robotic entity.

    "Mr. Stark told me," he replies simply. Stella was making her way around the couch before Tony walks downstairs calmly.

    "Vision, you're here, finally," Tony says, greeting the robot casually. "How was the trip?"

    "It was well," he replies simply before looking at Stella again. He opens his mouth to speak before Tony speaks again.

    "I see you've met Stella. She came here yesterday morning. We checked her alibi and she seemed to be an actual person," Tony says, going into the kitchen to make coffee. The stairs gently creaked to announce the arrival of Natasha, who was wearing a robe over her pajamas. She walks into the kitchen and smiles softly upon seeing the two already down there.

    "Stark— how is it that I always come downstairs while you're standing at the coffee grinder?" She asks. Tony rolls his eyes and keeps working on the coffee. The redhead then looks at Stella. "I did some research on you last night. It looks like your story checks out, Miss Stevenson-with-a-v."

    "You know, you can just call me Stella," she rolls her eyes. Natasha shrugs before going to a cabinet, pulling out two empty mugs.

    "Frankly, I think Julianna is a much prettier name," she hands an empty mug to her.

    "Please don't tell me you'll be calling me Julianna from now on," Stella rolls her eyes before Vision approaches again.

    "I personally agree with Natasha," Vision adds in. "Julianna was your birth name, and it's very graceful. Do you know what Julianna means?"

    "I've heard a gazillion different meanings. Odds are, I've heard the right one," Stella says before turning to switch the conversation to something with Tony. Natasha steps in front of her as if to stop her.

    "If you don't want me to, I could just call you Stella. I just think Julianna suits you better," Natasha says before Tony nearly interrupts her.

    "Coffee's ready. Get a cup, then we can discuss today's itinerary."

    For a moment, the word was lost on Stella. Once she remembered what it meant, she replies, "And what's the itinerary?"

    "Figuring out how long you'll be here. Oh, and what to do with the robot's sleeping arrangements."

    Wanda stayed in Virginia for three days.

    On the first day, she just stayed in the car until it got too hot, then she drove to a more metropolitan town. Once she was satisfied with her choice of nearby Charlottesville, she decided to park in a public garage and walk around the city for a bit to clear her head. She wandered aimlessly, only going into shops to cool down or take a seat. She returned to the car that night and slept in the backseat again, having forgotten to eat that day. Despite the summer heat, she never removed Pietro's jacket even for a moment.

    On the second day, she discovered a credit card in the crevice between the driver's seat and the armrest. She used this to buy herself some clothes to keep her cool and a night in a hotel. She stayed inside the hotel the entire day. She bought herself a meal at the pseudo-bistro in the lobby and took a shower. She found herself breathing easier for a couple hours that day, seeing as the grime was off of her skin and she had the energy to do something other than wander. She had laid Pietro's jacket near her and only put it on when she got cold. She didn't bother to get under the sheets until early that evening, when she decided to take a nap.

    On the morning of the third day, she was awoken by a knock on her hotel room's door. It wasn't early. She had fallen asleep around five-thirty the night before and had slept until nearly noon. Usually, too much sleep made her groggy. This time, though, she felt oddly refreshed. She had taken off the jacket before going to bed, though it sat laid out on the seat near the bed. She slowly stood up out of bed, going to the door. She expected to see the maid, but when she looked through the peephole, she instead saw a familiar face.

    "Wanda," the man's voice says. "Come on out. I know you're in here."

    Wanda slowly opened the door to face the man on the other side. She says quietly, "Why are you here?"

    Sam Wilson, one of Steve's colleagues from his bout in DC, stood with his arms crossed. He says simply, "They miss you. They're worried about you. Go back to 'em."

    She opens the door wider and Sam steps in.

    "How did you find me?"

    "Clint got a text from his credit card company," he gently closes the door, then gestures for Wanda to follow him as he sits on the bed. "He knew it was a long, long drive, so he sent me."

    She took a seat beside him slowly. She didn't say a word, so Sam carried on the conversation.

    "Life goes on. You do know that, right? You've been through a lot more shit in your life than any of us can imagine. No matter what, life has always gone on, right?"

    She still didn't respond. He knew she was listening. She was too smart not to.

    "What have you been doing since you left?" Sam asks. This time, Wanda does answer.

    "I just... I've been wandering. I walked around a bit in the city the day before yesterday and I just stayed inside yesterday," her accent came out a little stronger. An unknown emotion pushed at her. She wasn't sure if she wanted to speak or not. She wasn't sure whether or not she could speak at all anymore. The memories of the past two weeks had been fused together. She couldn't tell one day from another or pull one specific memory out. She had been living in a haze. The only memory she could think of at the moment was the tear-clouded view she had of the bonfire, of screaming at Steve Rogers, of stealing Clint's keys and vowing to herself never to return. This memory wasn't poignant because it was a proud moment for her. The emotion it gave her was too complicated to put into words. It was a mix of pride, shame, relief and regret...

    "You should go home. Even if it's just to pick up your stuff and say goodbye," Sam says slowly and quietly. Usually, it would sound demeaning or patronizing, but it was comforting coming from him. Wanda feels him take her shaky hand in his. "I'll drive you if you want me to."

    Wanda looks down again. This time, the feeling she had was clear: shame. She gently leans into him, saying under her breath, "Thank you..."

    She had never spoken deeply with Sam before, they had only really met twice, but the way he spoke and the calm demeanor of his voice made her feel like everything would be okay. Maybe it was because he used to work with people like her: people who have undergone a trauma, people who need help.

    "Just say the word and we can go. We'll pick up some breakfast if you want, but you don't have to drive."

    "I can get back by myself," she stands and begins gathering her discarded and used clothes.

    "Thing is— you don't have to," he responds simply. "It's not a burden for me to help you. From what I heard, that seems to be a concern for you. From the way they told me you were when you left, I think you're doing better. We can go for a drive and try not to undo what good you've done."

    Wanda takes a deep breath and nods slowly, "Thank you..."

    "Don't thank me," Sam stands up. "I was going to come up there eventually anyway."

    He extends a hand to her and she gently takes it, allowing him to lead her out of the hotel room.

    The pair arrived home around 8:45 that night. They had taken a couple stops along the way for food and gas, but the drive seemed shorter than the drive away had been. The rolling hills which guarded the farmhouse were enough to make Wanda just a little sleepy, though something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. For a moment, her eye had played a trick on her. She thought she had seen something white in the trees flanking the hills, but it was gone as soon as she looked that way.

    "What?" Sam asks. He had been listening to NPR, but turns it down to chat.

    "Nothing. I just thought I saw something," she says.

    "Huh. What was it?" He asks.

    "I'm not sure. It was whitish. It was probably a bird or something."

    Sam nods as the house came into view. The door was open still. Because of the way the sun set in the summer, the fireflies were still outside. Lila and Cooper were chasing them with jars before they see the headlights of Sam and Wanda's car. The children then rush inside as Sam parks the car. A new, nervous feeling rushed through Wanda, chilling her limbs. She began to realize that maybe she didn't want to come home. They would only question her, unintentionally (or intentionally? She wasn't sure) guilt her and make her regret both leaving and coming back, but she needed to pack up. Sam comfortingly took her hand as a few people leave the house.

    Steve and Clint were outside first, but Tony and the kids followed soon after. When the car came to a stop and the whine of the brake made her heart sink a little before something else piqued her interest.

    Standing inside, leaning out the front window leading to the porch, was a girl. A new girl. She had blonde, nearly white hair and a striking but oddly familiar face. She couldn't place where she knew her, but she knew she had seen her before. The feeling, however, began to fade as Clint began approaching the car. Wanda gets out and silently walks inside, ignoring as Clint asks if she's okay, if she was going to stay, and if she was still mad. She goes to her old bedroom and begins to pack. Her hexes sped up the process with her drawers and closet being quickly opened, the various items of clothing flying into a duffle bag pulled out from under the bed.

    Clint had followed her and closes the door behind her, "Wanda, just take a second to breathe and talk to us, okay?"

    "There's nothing to talk about," she replies snidely. The duffle bag was full at this point and it zips itself closed.

    "Wanda," his voice was more stern. "This isn't a choice anymore. You're angry and you're emotional. You're going to make bad decisions."

    She stopped moving. Clint misread it as her taking a moment to think until he noticed hexes dancing around her fingers. She was getting rid of her energy, trying to contain herself before she hurt someone. He locks the door and sits on her bed.

    "Just calm down, okay? Stop tensing up and sit down. Relax for a moment."

    This time, Wanda was more complicit. After all, she had listened to Sam and had felt so much better. She sits on the bed next to him.

    "You're angry, aren't you?" He asks.

    She didn't say a word, only nodding her head to confirm.

    "There isn't anything I can say to make you less angry, right?"

    She nods again.

    "Then I won't say anything."

    There came a moment of silence. The two left around three feet between them, just letting themselves think.

    Clint thought about Wanda. He had no control over her. He had no control over any aspect of the situation. She didn't want to confront her problems, so maybe he shouldn't have forced her to. The silence was torturous to him, he couldn't imagine how much worse it was for Wanda.

    "Vision is here now. Helen left yesterday, since Viz's going to be making sure everyone is in good health instead," Clint says. "The day after you left, a girl arrived. Stella. Natasha seems to trust her now, so I think she's safe."

    Wanda looks at him. The chat made the weight on her chest feel less intense. She replies quietly, "I think I know her. She seems familiar."

    "Does she? I think she just has that kind of face," he replies. "She's nice. I think you and her would get along."

    Wanda doesn't say another word, just scooting closer to Clint and laying her head on his shoulder. She takes his hand, feeling more serene at this point. She says weakly, "I'm sorry for leaving. I-"

    "No, no. It's okay. You were mad and you needed space, I understand," he assures her. She takes a deep breath, then smiles softly.

    "Thank you..." she closes her eyes and feels Clint gently play with her fingers before soothingly tracing circles on her palm.

    Clint looks at her, "Are you still going to leave...?"

    No words leave Wanda's lips before she turned her face into his shirt. She shakes her head, feeling her lip begin to quiver.

    "No?" He keeps tracing circles on her hand.

    "No..." she keeps shaking her head, a smile coming to her lips despite tears beginning to build in her eyes. "I- I'm staying..."

    "You're staying?" He asks. He starts smiling a little too. Wanda sniffles and wipes her eyes before any water dripped onto her cheek.

    She needed the time away. A couple days had healed her better than all the time she had spent at the farmhouse, but she wanted to be home. Now she was home.