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Day 3: imprisonment
Wanda stood in the corner of her cell, dressed in grey sweatpants and a grey t-shirt, and stared glumly at the vibranium bars separating her from Peter, who stood closer to his tiny window, dressed in grey sweatpants and a grey t-shirt, and looking just as glum.
The both chose to ignore the obvious recording equipment pointing into both of their cells.
“You know,” Peter stepped closer to the divide. “We’re never going to hear the end of this, right?” Peter groaned as he leaned over to fuss with the vibranium shackles securing his ankles.
Wanda cocked her head, confused, and moved to sit on the meagre cot secured to the wall. “We’ve mounted rescues for the other Avengers before. Why would ours be a problem?”
“C’mon, Wanda, seriously? Think about it. The two youngest team members captured on what is supposed to be a basic ‘grab n’ go’ mission.” He rolled his eyes in frustration and paced up and down the length of the bars, choosing to ignore the clatter of the chains against the floor. “Ugh! And Clint is going to be the worst! For real! You use a fraction to tell someone how old you are ONE TIME and suddenly it’s all about being the baby of the family!”
Wanda couldn’t help but giggle softly at Peter’s tirade and then added her own spin, “Well, if you are talking about Clint, I doubt I’ll hear about age.”
It was Peter’s turn to wait for an explanation. “Clint likes to tease me about my ‘magic fingers,’ and I’m sure there will be no end to it once he gets here and gets us out.” She gave a little finger wiggle for effect, then flinched as the collar she had been outfitted with gave her another zap. She whispered an, “Ow,” and the two superheroes quieted, choosing to lie down on their respective cots; plotting and waiting.
There was no way to tell how much time had passed, but eventually Peter broke the silence. “Wanda?” He turned his head to look at her. “Can I ask you a question—and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to but, well...”
Wanda continued staring at the ceiling. “You can ask me anything, Peter. You know this.”
If she had paid him any actual attention, she’d have seen his face redden when he finally asked, “Are you okay?”
Wanda finally turned to face him. “Am I okay?”
Peter sat back up again, obviously building up the courage to ask what he really wanted to ask. “I mean, I know that you’re not ‘okay’ okay, ‘cuz we’re here and all, but you’re acting not yourself and sort of mellow and um...”
She saw the blush now.
“You were, uh, you were alone with them for a while when they were doing the... you know,” he waved a hand, gesturing to her collar and his bonds. “I guess I just want to make sure they didn’t do anything worse, ‘cuz you know I wouldn’t be okay with that, not that anyone would be, I’d hope but if they did...” He jerked his feet apart, hoping that this would be the moment that links would shatter.
They didn’t.
And then Wanda understood that she wasn’t seeing a youthful embarrassment in his colouring. No. She was witnessing the righteous anger of Spider-Man—and she was grateful.
“I am fine, Peter.” She smiled in appreciation, and then smirked as she explained. “I was not as cooperative as they would have hoped when I was being outfitted with my new necklace.” She tapped the collar for effect.
Peter visibly deflated in front of her. “Oh. Thank goodness. I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask... and I wasn’t there to help keep you safe.”
Wanda sat up again, mirroring his position on her cot. “We were both dealing with our own challenges, correct?”
Peter nodded, silently acknowledging the bruises she couldn’t see.
“So then we accept that if we could have helped, we would have. Peter. You know you are not to blame for this, yes?”
He stared blankly at her.
She understood. “Then we will work on that later.” And she laid back down on her cot.
Peter did the same.
Another stretch passed. “Wanda?”
“Yes, Peter?”
“You never did explain what’s going on. It’s like you’re sad or something.”
She thought for a moment and then, “I am simply reminded of my time spent with Strucker... and my brother, Pietro.”
“Oh.” Peter looked around the gloomy cell. Even the harshness of the fluorescent lights in the hallway along the front of their cells and the tiny window couldn’t chase away the awfulness of the place. “That must have sucked.”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t so bad. Pietro was with me and one can get through almost anything when you’re with family.”
Peter’s thoughts turned to his Aunt May... and Uncle Ben—an awful mix of gratitude and melancholy welled up inside him. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
And time stretched on again.
There was no natural light coming from the outside when the only door at the end of their hallway was thrown open. A man that both Peter and Wanda recognized from their time being stripped of all things superhero came through with a second man that neither of them recognized.
“You two, stand up, NOW!” the one known to them barked. “Step away from the front of the cell and turn to face the wall.”
Neither of them moved to listen.
“Do it, now.” The man growled low now.
Peter was the first to voice it. “And how do we know you’re not gonna shoot us in the back when we do?”
“If you think I’d show you mercy, then you’re an idiot. I’d sooner watch freaks like you bleed out like the vermin you are then not. Now, for the last time, get to the back of the cell and face the wall.”
Peter and Wanda shared a quick glance and then followed the directive, tensing in anticipation of a bullet to the back.
He spoke again, “Listen up, mutants. I am going to approach the bars now. You will not move. You will not scratch your asses. You will not sneeze. If you do, my friend here will shoot—but he won’t shoot you. Nope. He’ll shoot your buddy, so if really do like each other, I’d suggest being good little freaks and then we’ll get outta your hair.”
They both refrained from flinching when they heard the cocking of the gun.
Shortly after, both Peter and Wanda could hear the sound of something scraping along the floor and then hard steps away from the bars.
“Good doggies. You may turn around now.”
They did.
“So you can learn. Good to know.” He gazed upon his two captives with disgust. “Going forward, if you hear that door open, you assume that position. If you don’t, you die. Got it?”
Neither of them answered, both keeping an eye on the man with the gun.
“Also,” he pointed to the cameras, “We are watching you. We are listening to you. There will be no plotting. There will be no escape attempts. You cannot work simultaneously, so if you do escape, the other will die.” The man looked pointedly between the two of them and leered at the two of them. “It’s my idea of a buddy system, ya’ got it?”
They remained silent.
“I’m going to guess that you understand what I’ve said, and if you haven’t, well, I guess we’ll figure that out soon enough, won’t we?”
The man went to leave, tapping the man with the gun on the arm, “C’mon, Boris, let’s leave these folks to it.” Boris turned and exited first, and then the leader.
And Peter and Wanda could finally take a deep breath.
“Wow. Dude was a little on the intense side, if you ask me,” Peter quipped as he tried to shake off the lingering fear that he was about to get a bullet to the back.
Wanda agreed. “I imagine he’s into some pretty high stakes stuff if he’s got two imprisoned Avengers hanging around.” She thought about it for a second. “If you think about it, I’m surprised we have not been moved yet.” She was onto something, she thought. “I don’t think we’re more than a few hours outside of New York. There must be something going on.”
The theory absolutely warranted further examination, but that could wait, if Wanda had asked Peter.
They’d delivered food.
Each cell had a thin paper plate carrying exactly one sandwich (two slices of white bread and one slice of processed American cheese, dry) and six apple slices. It was accompanied by a full, disposable water bottle.
For Peter, it was manna from heaven. He practically threw himself at the plate, his stomach crying for something to satiate the hunger. His fingers brushed against the slightly stale bread, he moved to put it in his hand, and then—
“Stop!”
Peter couldn’t contain the look of incredulity on his face. “What?! Why?”
“It could be drugged or worse! We have to be cautious!” She looked around the cell, trying to come up with a test or anything from thin air. All of the Avengers knew about Peter’s appetite, and she’d been fortunate the Peter was too polite to complain, but she couldn’t allow him to suffer. A thought came to her mind, “Peter! What is your spider sense telling you right now?!”
He looked around the cell and then looked at her like she’d sprouted a second head. “Um, it’s been going off since before we got here, Wanda, ya’ know, because we’ve been kidnapped!?”
“Oh.” Wanda visibly deflated.
Peter closed his eyes and drew in a big, centering breath. “I’m sorry, Wanda. I think the fluorescent lights are causing a headache and I’m tired. It’s not fair that I take it out on you.” He looked down at the meal still sitting on the floor and, with his foot, nudged it under the bars and back into the hall. “But you owe me the biggest pizza when we’re out of here—and you can’t put any of your weird stuff on it! Deal?”
She nudged her plate out, too. “Deal” She thought for a second. “But artichokes aren’t weird.”
Peter laughed and gestured to the sink and seatless toilet bowl built into the wall of each of the cells. “At least we won’t dehydrate, right?”
She took the offering for what it was and nodded, “Right.”
Time passed, maybe an hour, but they couldn’t be sure. The door at the end of the hallway opened and Wanda and Peter rushed to their positions against the back wall.
“I’m impressed. Such good little freaks.” His steps stopped short. “What’s this? Are you too good for what we provide for you?” The rustling of clothing and soft grunt told them that he’d leaned down and picked up one of the plates. “Well, our chef will be disappointed that his cuisine was not up to snuff for you.” And then the sound of loud, exaggerated chewing. “Too bad.” He spoke as he chewed. “He used the good cheese today.”
Peter and Wanda stood stock still as more sounds came from behind. He’d collected everything, continued snacking, and then spoke. “If you’re not gonna eat it, I’m not gonna bring it. It’s bad enough that we’ve got you here. We don’t need fruit flies, too.”
The door opened and the leader stepped out.
Neither moved.
Wanda was horrified. “Peter.”
Peter kept his eyes on the wall, pulling himself together. “It’s okay, Wanda. I promise,” he choked out. “Just no artichokes and we’ll call it good.”
Wanda nodded and watched as Peter moved from the wall and lay down on his cot facing the wall.
“No artichokes, Peter, I promise.”
* * * * * *
Hours passed.
And Wanda crossed fingers that Peter hadn’t fallen asleep, so she called to him, “Peter? Are you awake?”
The fluorescent lights burned brighter than anything found in nature, making sleep almost impossible. Peter turned to face the room. “With a light like that, how can anyone be anything other than awake?”
She chuckled and then grew serious. “Please know that I am so sorry, Peter. When Pietro and I were first with Strucker, he would drug our food, take us from our cells... perform experiments on us. It was...” she paused to pull herself together. “It was a difficult time to get through.” She flashed on the memory, briefly, “It has apparently stuck with me after all this time.”
“Wanda, I promise you. It’s alright.” He shifted a bit, trying to get comfortable in a place meant for anything but. “To be fair, you’d think I’d be used to the whole kidnapping and captivity thing by now. Heck, with my Parker luck, I’d have absolutely been drugged at some point.”
Her brow furrowed. “Parker luck?”
“Oh, yeah, it’s totally a thing!” His eyes grew bright. “I should tell you about the time my Uncle Ben got stuck out on the fire escape in his underwear in the middle of January—while May’s book club was in the living room!”
So Peter spent the next however long sharing stories; until Wanda opened up and starting sharing tales of her own—most of them about her brother. And most of those about his many, MANY dating adventures.
“... and when he came home, he had to explain to our house-mother why he looked like he had soiled himself and had a handprint on each cheek!”
Peter grinned. “Man, it must have been great to grow up with a brother.” He grew wistful. “I think I’ve wanted a sibling forever, but then my parents died and May and Ben hadn’t planned on having any kids anyways, but then Ben... well, Ben was gone so it was always just me.”
Wanda stared off sadly for a moment. “We were together for everything, and depending on the day, he was a blessing or a bane. But he was Pietro.”
No one spoke for a while; each lost in thought.
“Mr. Stark once told me ‘family is where you find it,’” He smiled wistfully, “and he was right.”
“Why don’t we try to rest before the sun comes up?” Wanda softly suggested. “Even with this infernal light on, we should be able to rest a little.”
Peter didn’t respond, simply smiled and closed his eyes.
* * * * * *
It seemed that they both managed to catch some sleep, in the end, because they were both startled awake by a banging on the door at the end of the hallway.
“Rise and shine, monsters!” The leader hollered, “We need to have a little conversation about prisoner etiquette before we start the day.”
Wanda and Peter could barely glance at each other before they stationed themselves against the back wall.
“It seems,” he began, “that some mutants think that this is a summer camp and that night time is for sharing silly stories and painting fingernails.” He tapped something metal against the bars. “I am here to tell you that you will not be doing that again. My man here is not paid enough to listen to two poor orphans go down memory lane about some dead relatives.” He tapped the bars again and spit onto the floor. “No more. Going forward, you are not allowed to speak to each other. Failure to follow the rules will result in consequences.”
The leader stood there for another minute, maybe two.
It felt like forever for the two captives.
“I am hopeful that this arrangement will only be for another day or two. You were an unexpected boon and we had to contact some folks. Our buyer should arrive by then and we’ll all go on our merry ways.” The man laughed. “Well, I will.”
He dragged his fingers along the bars as he exited the hallway. The door opened and then closed.
Peter and Wanda turned to face each other, Peter opening his mouth to speak. Wanda pressed a finger to her lip and shook her head desperately.
And Peter caught himself. Instead, he looked around the room, walked to the bars, and dropped down to the floor, sitting cross-legged. He waited for Wanda to follow suit.
“B-A-D-H-O-U-S-E-K-E-E-P-E-R,” Peter spelled in the dust on the floor when she finally joined him, then looked at Wanda and giving his eyebrows a playful wiggle.
“B-U-Y-E-R-?” She wrote back in reply.
Peter wiped away his first words, then wrote, “W-H-E-N-D-O-Y-O-U-T-H-I-N-K-O-U-R-G-U-Y-S-W-I-L-L-G-E-T-H-E-R-E?”
Wanda thought before answering, wiped away her own first words then answered, “S-O-O-N-I-H-O-P-E-C-L-I-N-T-I-M-P-A-T-I-E-N-T-!”
Peter read the words smiled, and nodded in agreement.
Neither of them had anything else to say after that
* * * * * *
The difficulty with not being able to speak was that there was nothing to distract from the awful sounds Peter’s stomach made it when it was empty.
Wanda winced in sympathy and reached through the bars to hold his hand in support. He gave a slight squeeze in appreciation and kept hold.
* * * * * *
Peter eventually gave up Wanda’s hand in order to curl his arms around his painfully empty stomach. Yes, the team joked about the bottomless pit that was Peter Parker, but he knew he didn’t have much longer before the nausea, dizziness and weakness became obvious. They’d been taken during an early morning breakfast run for the gang, and he hadn’t eaten since earlier the night before that. It was already too long, but he couldn’t allow himself to be a burden.
Wanda mindlessly played with the curls at the nape of his neck through the bars.
And Peter visualized what it would be like for his stomach to grow teeth and devour him whole.
* * * * * *
Wanda would give his hair a little tug and mime drinking every so often, reminding Peter that they at least had to drink some water.
“That’s right,” he thought to himself, “At least we won’t be dehydrated.” He had joked.
Yeah, it wasn’t so funny now. In fact, he was really starting to hate water.
She tugged his hair, so he looked to her. He could see the discomfort on her face and so he asked the silent question. She nodded a yes and Peter got up, moved to the farthest corner and turned away from her half of their little set up to give her some privacy.
And then she did the same.
Yup. Peter really hated water.
When both were done, they returned to their little spot on the floor beside each other, and silently promised to the other that this would never, ever be spoken of.
* * * * * *
The sun had fallen again.
It had now been two full days since Peter had eaten and Wanda was worried. He pretended, but she could see him swaying and staggering as he’d move to the sink to drink and all of that other ‘stuff’.
She’d given him a little shove and pointed toward the cot across the room. “G-O-R-E-S-T-!” she scrawled in the dust.
He’d squinted, like he couldn’t quite grasp what she’s said, and then he did. “N-O-T-L-E-A-V-I-N-G-Y-O-U-A-L-O-N-E,” he replied, and that was the end of it.
* * * * * *
Wanda was dozing, leaned against the bars, head to head with Peter, who had either fallen asleep or passed out some time ago. She wasn’t sure.
Honestly, she was starting to feel pretty shaky herself. This was on her head though, and she would suffer the consequences without complaint.
And then the building shook.
She took in the cells, as if it would give a clue as to what was going on—but nothing.
“Peter,” she whispered. If where they were being held was under attack, then whispering didn’t seem so unforgivable.
He didn’t move.
She moved so she could grasp his shoulder, gave it a vigorous shake. “Peter! Wake up! Something’s happening!” She hissed louder.
He mumbled something unintelligible and swung his head up to see what had disturbed his unconsciousness. “Wha? Wanda?” He was confused. “Do I need to face tha’ wall?”
“No,” she shook him again, hoping he’d pull himself together. “I think our rescue party is here!”
That woke Peter up. “They’re here?!” He slurred and struggled to stand. His feet couldn’t quite keep him up. The shackles were feeling particularly weighted just then.
“Well, I hope it’s them!” She replied, “Or we’re in more trouble than anyone had anticipated.”
The glass of the small window shattered, and an arrow flew through the air, imbedding in the concrete floor of Wanda’s cell.
She smiled as she moved to retrieve it. “Clint!” She shouted out in relief. Her fingers fumbled with the small box attached to the shaft. Finally able to manage it, she pulled out one of Natasha’s lock picking sets and got to work on her cell door. Never had she been so grateful for those lessons.
Once freed, Wanda hurried to Peter’s cell door and made quick work of it. Peter watched from the floor, where he’d eventually resigned himself to stay until he could find the strength. She rushed to him, and quickly removed the shackles on his feet, “Peter, can you stand?”
He blinked, unsure if he was really seeing what he was seeing. “Are we getting outta here?”
“We are,” she started tugging at him, trying to get him to stand. “But we need to move!”
Peter tried. He did, but once most of the way up, he listed to the side, barely grabbing at the bars to keep from dead dropping to the floor. “Shit.”
“Peter!” Another explosion rocked the building, and this time concrete dust floated around them. “I think we need to get out of here on our own. You need to help me get you out!”
She couldn’t hide the desperation in her voice.
“Too dizzy,” he panted.
“But you’re too heavy! Peter!” She pulled on his arm. “Please try!”
Another boom echoed closer still, accompanied by larger pieces of debris. The adrenaline helped to clear Peter’s head, and with a laser focus, he figured out what they needed to do. He forced himself to sit, leaned against those damned vibranium bars, and stretched his arms forward in beckoning to her, “Quick, c’mere.”
Wanda knelt beside him, confused. “Peter? Please. Wha--?”
She stopped speaking as he reached up, placed his hands inside the collar that shackled the strongest parts of Wanda... and he pulled.
The second the collar tore away from her skin, Wanda’s eyes burned red and she revelled as the power once again freely flowing through her body.
Another blast, most likely inside of the building proper, shook the ground. Wanda needed no prompting to cast a protective shield around her and the now gasping Peter.
He was shaking, weak, and had given the last of his energy to help the cause.
And Wanda would do the rest.
Her powers surged, the red glow cast a strange shadow as she carried the near unconscious Peter through the unoccupied hallways.
Another explosion, and then the sound of shouts—salvation was just ahead.
She turned a corner, expecting more emptiness and an exit, but was met instead by the man who’d been so cruel in his neglect.
He hadn’t been expecting her either, as he raised his gun to shoot.
With a flick of a finger, the gun crumbled to powder and fell to the floor.
Wanda delighted in his fear. “You know, you weren’t very kind to us...” she stepped towards him and then paused for a moment. “You know what? We never found out your name! You are...?” She waited expectantly for an answer.
And none came. He trembled.
“Alright then, maybe my friends will have better luck getting information from you.” The red haze encompassing Peter split in two, and the leader was pulled off of his feet and encased within.
She grinned at her captive. “Don’t worry. It’s harmless, unless something happens to this boy.” She gestured toward Peter, “If he does come to harm because of you...” She starting walking toward the now visible door and dragging them both with her. “Well, know that I would never, ever forgive someone for harming my new brother.”