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[unquiets]

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"You've reached David. Leave a message after the tone."

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[unquiets]

( he huffs when she retaliates to his theft, a soft exhale through his nose. her reaction is about what he'd been expecting, and so for now, he does nothing in return, just refocuses on the waffles. this second batch cooks quicker and more consistently than the first, not through anything david does or has done, but simply because the heating element's had time to be at temperature for longer.

he plates them like the others, before his attention slides between the rest of the batter and the waffle maker, internally debating on how many waffles he's willing to eat in one sitting. the thought's there in his expression, the momentary scrunch of his mouth, before he decides that yeah, another batch would be good. even if they (he) don't eat all of them today, whatever's left over can be reheated in the morning.

this time, though, he's a touch overzealous with the batter, and he mutters a quiet fuck when it spills over as he closes the waffle maker, just in time for wanda to poke him. he stiffens, just momentarily, and then turns.

(he hadn't missed the implied challenge in her question about the wine, either.)

his mouth quirks and he concedes, ) Guess I'm having wine with my waffles. I'd offer you some, but—. ( he waves a hand. you don't like it. )

[carmesi]

( at the sight of the spilt batter over the cooking surface, wanda snorts but makes no further comment on it. told you so hangs in the air, but not in any way that wanda is trying to make him feel bad about it. spilt batter is no big deal; he can figure it out. )

You could still have offered.

( she returns to the fridge, bringing out the bottle with what's left of the wine. wanda has no real desire to have wine for a third night in a row. out comes also a carton of milk along with the syrup. the fridge door is closed, the items placed on the table, and she returns to his side to see how bad the spill is (disguised in looking for glasses—two teacups, actually).

not bad, the look she gives him, teasing.

it's only but a few minutes later that they are done with the making of waffles and can sit to eat. wanda sits on her knees, dishing out a few waffles for herself and some fruit, her cup already filled with milk, thanks. sitting down cross-legged on the carpet proper, she uses her telekinesis to serve him what's left of the wine—a sparkly, red glow enveloping around the bottle as it moves about, fingers curling in the air. )

The official roommate welcome.

( red glow gone, the bottle back on the table, wanda raises her cup of milk over towards him. the music from the cassette she had chosen continues, a little drowned out in the background, cozy. this otherwise warm sentiment gets overlapped by a cheeky comment, )

May there be less spills on the waffle maker in the future.

[unquiets]

( he could have, but they both know she's only saying that to make a point. and so the remark goes ignored, even as wanda spends her time getting first one thing from the fridge, and then a second, and then the syrup. his attention half shifts with the sound of each hitting the coffee table, and then more fully when wanda reappears and gives him a look that he still doesn't respond to.

not verbally, anyway.

a scrunch of a face, an expression that amounts, essentially, to shut up, and then they're on the floor. he starts to divide his waffles into vague, rough pieces when wanda uses her powers to pour his teacup of wine. it's fascinating, the way that it differs from what he does, how his appears look (or don't, as it were). the red, the precision. he reaches out with a hand to pluck the cup away from the tendrils, mouth quirking in a lopsided smile as she says official roommate welcome, before— )

—Spills are how you know it's being used. Do you want it to just sit and become decoration?

( said after he returns her loose gesture of cheers and has opted to nestle the teacup on the carpet next to him. he's in no hurry to drink it, certainly not interested in necking it in one go like wanda had the night previous.

a forkful of waffle punctuated by a flicker of thought and— ) —What's your favourite food?

[carmesi]

Alright, you're the expert, after all.

( said with a bit of a playful tone of exasperation. no need to argue about the state of the waffle maker; spills will definitely continue to happen, especially if they do more home cooked waffles. for now, there's the pleasant comfort that david seems eager to tuck in to eating the waffles. he divides his own in vague, rough pieces, while wanda cuts along the lines of the squares.

it's also cozier still, the whole sharing a meal experience. it means a lot to wanda, even if she doesn't express it—not wanting this to be an unfair expectation of their arrangement as roommates. they had breakfast together, yes, and now dinner, but—

it's fine either way.

she stretches her legs under the table at the question, knee bumping against one of the legs of the table, socked feet against the carpet. she's halfway through chewing, so, eager to respond, she puts a hand over her mouth, )

Favorite? ( a beat, thinking, eyes looking up at the ceiling. ) I guess... cholent?

( preposterous, that she doesn't even have a favorite food that she can name quickly in a beat. )

Chicken paprikash, if I wanted spicy. Krofne, for something sweet.

( figures that none of these could be normal names that david (likely) recognizes. she shrugs. )

Fruit jams.

[unquiets]

( sharing a meal is neither here nor there for david. it's one of those things that he can enjoy, does when the company's right, but it's not necessarily important except for when it's made to be important, or when he wants company. still, even if wanda does make a point of sharing what it means to her, even if she doesn't want that to be known, there's still a sliver of it. a hint, a quiet, subtle indication, and david—

—decides he won't ignore it.

(not feeling alone is important.
not every night, or even every day, certainly, but— often enough.)

it doesn't escape him that she doesn't have an easy, immediate answer for his question; it doesn't escape him, either, that he doesn't know the foods she mentions. his upbringing hadn't been like that, and he hadn't travelled, so cholent. krofne. they're foreign in a way he can't begin to guess at, not without digging into wanda's mind which he wouldn't be opposed to if he knew wanda wouldn't know. but, because she would — well. there's a library. wanda had mentioned it. )

—We'll need a cooking thermometer to make jams. ( he knows that much. )

[carmesi]

( it could be as easy as asking her what any of those foods that he doesn't recognize actually are, but it seems that david enjoys employing the most difficult ways to concert understanding. she uses her fork to take a four-squares piece from her waffles, stopping only when he mentions that they'll need a cooking thermometer to make jams.

we'll need.

it's not that they haven't been without their moments of suggesting they do one thing for the benefit of the other, or to do things together, in tandem. but — it's new, ultimately, this friend-whatever-it-is-ship; david isn't selfish, per se, but.

wanda tries her best to hide that it pleases her, him saying something like that, in a childish sort of way. same as with the stars, with the stickers, the breaking into the thrift store late at night. not feeling alone. )

We could pick up fruits in Acreage.

( she busies herself with these fruits, on the table, fork on a strawberry, bringing it closer to her plate. she also does not succeed in keeping her face from showing how she feels. )

We can take the train. A lot more convenient than driving the distance.

[unquiets]

( he could ask, and perhaps he would if the circumstances were slightly different, if wanda hadn't taken it upon herself to find a book about the stars, if she hadn't thought of him and took them on a detour to get a waffle maker. asking is easy and, for now, that's why he doesn't do it. it's the surprise of it all.

he doesn't think there's anything different or special or unique about his use of we, and so while wanda's happiness over it isn't wholly missed, neither does david read into it. it's easy to assume that it's surface-level, that there's nothing deeper to it than someone being given a loose promise of something that they like — even if it doesn't escape david that there's a chance she mentioned jams only because they're something david would know.

—not that any of that stops the shift in wanda's expression, even as she semi-attempts to hide it by busying herself with fruit.

(he busies himself with waffle—.)

he half-pauses chewing, prepared to say something about how the train's unnecessary, too, but that's not quite true here, and so he continues chewing a moment later. train it is. it's not about convenience, per se, it's about preference, and he's not driving all that way. )

The countryside. ( a statement as much as it is a question; he still hasn't been. ) We can make a trip out of it. ( stargazing. fruit picking. whatever. )

[carmesi]

( get a grip, david; it's not all about you. wanda does actually like fruit jams a lot for their multiple, potential uses. getting to make it fresh is just a plus when it comes to the kinds of foods one can get here. )

Hm— ( yes, the countryside. she picks up her teacup and takes a sip. ) It takes about six hours to get there from here, so. ( a shrug; making a trip out of it would be the way. it's tedious, she knows, especially considering how david will feel about things that aren't engaging, but the other option is several days by car. ) Make it a few days, until you've got your fill of the countryside.

( train tickets are also expensive. silvia might be able to sponsor one or two, but... it's definitely going to need some saving and planning ahead of time. or a little crime (she thinks) to make it possible. all these logistics, it reminds her—

she points at him with the hand that holds her cup. )

You get tired when you teleport, don't you? Or use your powers for too long?

( an observation she had made for herself the previous day. sure, maybe it's because of his horrible sleeping habits (not that wanda knows about that at this point), but what he mentioned, too. about this place, maybe it being her. she sets the cup down. )

I've had it happen sometimes. Not — the tired part, specifically. Mostly my powers not working too well.

[unquiets]

I shouldn't. ( it's not irritable, but there's a palpable note of displeasure. ) I can't travel as far. If I try to do too much, I get — headaches. ( he doesn't mean just teleportation, but he also doesn't bother to clarify that for the moment. he hasn't tested it, not properly, hasn't tried to find what the exact limits are, how much he can do before it gets too much, if it progresses beyond a headache. he should — will — because it's better to know than to find out at the wrong time, but there'll be a better time for ...experimenting.

her admission that she's had something similar happen suggests it's this place and not a side-effect or whatever of them being together — or, he supposes, it could be both. for her, it could also be that she doesn't fully know her powers yet, and that has an affect. (where's cary when you need him—.) (does he know anyone to ask?) the only person that comes to mind is charles, and that's not a conversation he's willing to have with the guy. it'd open unwanted doors. but he can't be the only scientist—. )

A few hours cross-country should be nothing.

( should be.

he stabs another piece of waffle, chews as he thinks. he glances back to her, abrupt and interested. )

—Has there been any pattern to it? For you.

[carmesi]

( i shouldn't, he says, with the confidence of someone who claimed just the night before i'm powerful. part arrogance, part truth. wanda has no reason to distrust him on the matter, and she also doesn't care to be better or stronger than him; there are already so many people with so many powers here in panorama and those without, why should it even matter? wanda decides to not try and answer that question.

instead, she reaches for the syrup bottle, serves herself some more. considers. )

There was — a cosmic storm that reached the train once. I broke an illusion it had put myself and someone else in, and that was... Felt like being strangled. ( wanda feels a lot with her powers. it did take a lot out of her at the time. ) The Cube distorted my powers, so it felt like I wasn't in control... ( a scrunch of her nose, the telltale sign of how unpleasant something was to her. ) When I'm far out in the Fringes for a while, my powers don't work properly.

( she raises her gaze up at him, brow furrowing momentarily. )

I haven't really gone out of my way to test it. I spent several months pretending I wasn't...

( this. 'special', 'magic', whatever he'd want to call it. it took her quite a long time to be alright with being open about herself. she had been perceived quite quickly by some, like charles, like erik, henry. it was only a matter of time before it felt foolish to try and hide what she is. david's the first one she feels incredibly comfortable with regarding her powers, but it's probably due to all these months of owning up to them than just he as a condition.

wanda tilts her head, setting the syrup bottle down, and lingering on him. )

Is there something you want to do? Other than leave this world? Go back home to your friends?

( who wouldn't? people like her, who don't want to face their own future; too cowardly yet comforted by some of the normalcy and routine in the diadem. it doesn't escape her, though, that while david has shared snippets of his life-before-the-diadem, he hasn't really painted a full picture. )

[unquiets]

( it's not about being more powerful than anyone else, per se — while david enjoys his power, it's about control — even if that's not something he'll acknowledge in any way that really matters, in any way that accepts accountability. he's not interested in pissing matches, in proving himself; he is powerful. that's a statement of fact. it's not posturing, it's not ego. he's not going to pretend otherwise just because it sounds more humble.

but she doesn't comment on his I shouldn't, just answers his question, and so he doesn't return to it either. instead, she answers his question in a way that mostly amounts to 'it happens outside of the city', and — that's good to know. perhaps not a one-for-one of his experiences, but they're not one-for-one, either. )

—Charles mentioned the cube, ( he murmurs, a momentary interruption in-between mouthfuls of waffle. charles had mentioned it was strange, but it'd been a short-lived part of their conversation, and they'd quickly moved on. the cube being the cube hadn't really had any degree of relevance to anything else. he doesn't miss the scrunch of her nose, though, but she's moving on again before he can get a word (or thought) in edgeways.

did he ever say he wanted to leave this world? he's not sure he did. she's not wrong, but he's not necessarily in any hurry to do it. he's got things he wants (needs) to do, but there's no timeline he's working with. here, at least, there's no D3, to get in his way, to make assumptions about what he's doing and why. there's nothing to say that he can't achieve what he wants to from here, either, so—.

placing his knife and fork down on his plate, he has a sip of wine before offering an mm in response, light and thoughtful. )

I haven't thought about it.

( he doesn't need to guess at why she's spent time pretending she's not who and what she is, and while he could ask more, if there's anything else, he instead— )

What do you want to do?

( it'll give a similar impression, a similar answer, just in a different form. )

[carmesi]

( wanda has a quiet feeling that it's not so much that david hasn't thought about it. maybe it's more that he's trying to find his bearings in this place, still, consider his options. he would seem like the type to do so. still, it's bouncing the question back to her, and now she has to actually put her thoughts into words; what she actually thinks about what she wants to do.

so, she chews on it, giving him a light shrug and tilt of her head as she worries herself with another bite of waffle and fruit and syrup. it's not dismissive, even if it appears to be, and david should be able to catch on to the way this pause is meaningful, won't last long if he gives her the chance to— )

I think I want to stay.

( (is it really that simply summed up?) wanda leans back, lets her hands press flat against the carpet. legs stretched out, elbows taut, she considers the lamp overhead. david changed it, and the design is— well, she rather likes it, actually. )

Maybe one day my brother will show up. If people from my future have, then it stands to reason those from my past might, too. ( it may never come to pass, but she seems okay with getting older just waiting on that very slim possibility. with a soft smile, she adds, ) If he ever did, I might have to ask you to leave. Take your room from you.

( —as if to drive home, with humor, how she considers it even happening an impossibility. just in case, though, )

Just kidding.

( the next she says after something of a pause. it sounds like she might be retelling some classic story. )

...some time ago, a man called Stephen arrived here. I met him in the Scrapyard and he was— Everything about him felt wrong. Cluttered, like so many different... creatures inside him. I was frightened of him, but he was scared of me. I sensed it. The way he spoke, the way he stepped around me. His hands became dark claws for a moment, suffocating, it was making me sick.

( a tilt of her head against her shoulder, eyes meeting his. )

He spoke of knowing me in other timelines. That there's a dark path ahead for me. Because of my powers, he'd said. The Scarlet Witch.

( her first contact with the multiverse, that was. she's still not very convinced. wanda shifts, raises her left hand, pulling down her sleeve, to show him her watch. )

He gave me this. ( then, back to leaning on her hands, swaying a bit from side to side. ) I'm tired of bad outcomes and dark paths. Even if it's because of my powers, and even if it's going to happen, at least I can try and figure it out at my own pace here.

[unquiets]

( it's a lot to offer all at once — the admission that she'd stay, the quiet hope that her brother may one day turn up, that (one of) her future(s) is something bad. there's a familiarity to it, to what she tells him, and though he knows she has no way of knowing what syd said, what the vermillion said, it's still a coincidence that should feel nice — or something like it, perhaps — but doesn't.

it's a little backwards, the way she offers her answer, the why of it coming second, but it makes sense. david imagines he'd be the same if he wasn't so sure he had a means of changing things, fixing them, making them better.

(would he want amy here?)
(no.)

he keeps his fingers curled around his cup and, unlike wanda, doesn't move to stretch out. his focus remains wholly on her, on the way her expression shifts, where her attention falls. at length— )

People lie. ( firm. assured. certain. ) Did you read his mind? How do you know he's telling you the truth? No-one wants to be told they're a bad person. ( he leans forward then, the wine in his teacup sloshing with the abrupt movement but not spilling. he pauses and stills, lets the liquid resettle before continuing. ) Maybe he just wanted you scared, frightened of what you're capable of doing.

( because she is (was?) scared. they've established that. rightly or wrongly, that's how she feels and has felt for a long time. all because of how people perceive her and what she's done, what she might do.

a beat; a tilt of his head and a small, fleeting smile. a suggestion. ) How do you know he's not just scared of you because you stopped him from doing something terrible?

( he lets the question sit for a moment, and then drops his gaze and gestures lazily towards her wrist, the watch now covered again by her sleeve. )

Is that just a watch?

( or: "why?" )

[carmesi]

I tried to.

( —read his mind, that is, but all she got were undecipherable horrors that made her, as she mentioned, sick. all those multiversal monsters within stephen did not like to be intruded upon in a way that most people's defenses don't react like. even david's mind isn't so... like that (but maybe it's because he's invited her, from the start). this much she says immediately after his question, making it clear that she did try. but david continues, how do you know he's telling the truth?

his suggestion, dressed as a question, shapes wanda's expression into silent appreciation for... this very particular way that he talks in. it's not constant, but once in a while, his tone softens, his voice takes on this sense of gentle authority, to compel.

how quick he is to turn something around, spin it in its head, seek alternatives. he's not wrong to think that wanda is (continues to be) scared of the potential within her, and this very much limits how far she considers the opposite of what she's told. where most times, when talking about herself, this, her powers, she finds herself walking into walls, david's responses feel refreshingly like walls with windows wide open, offering another path, option. like it's been thought through, for a while, in his own way.

anyway, much to think about.

so, maybe, her response is not one for his questions. )

...you talk like that a lot.

( does not elaborate. wanda picks at her left wrist, removes her watch, and leans over the table, setting it down in the center. )

Do you feel anything on it? ( anything a psychic could pick up, some kind of manipulation to its components? wanda isn't one who understands mechanics, but it seems like a simple watch to her. she saw stephen pick it up from the store they had been at. ) He said he wanted to help me, so I guess this was his way of showing me some kindness. I always know what time it is now.

( a shrug; what does it matter, ultimately? stephen strange was no longer here, left her with more questions than answers, and her future is still uncertain, albeit written already for those who come from it. she sits cross-legged again, and picks at the remnants of her waffles. )

But, you said you'd help me.

( in no real terms, just that he'd 'make it softer', that he'd 'teach her' about the astral plane. which he has done, but. there's still so much more she feels she could learn from david. she smiles softly. )

Right?

[unquiets]

( the mm her 'tried to' gets is perfunctory, accepting. this stephen, whoever he is, had barriers and walls, intentional or not, that sat as a companion to whatever creatures he had inside of him. (or — whatever they were. it's hard to say whether wanda's assessment is correct, or if that's just how stephen appeared to her.) he'd wonder more if this stephen were still here in the city, but she speaks of him as if he's not, or at least as if he doesn't bother to make his presence known, so— )

Talk like what?

( she doesn't elaborate, and david doesn't know what she means, can't even guess at what she means. it's levelled back at her, a quizzical frown knitting his brow as he studies her, tries to infer her meaning before placing his cup down on the table and reaching to slide the watch closer. touch doesn't make any difference to his abilities, but he's still curious about it. it's bright, almost distinctly un-wanda-esque from everything he's been able to pick up about her so far.

he thinks he could see switch wearing it. )

—No, ( he answers, tone mild. maybe it is just a watch. maybe it wasn't, but with stephen no longer around, now that is all it is. he lifts a shoulders in a shrug that mirrors hers, mouth quirking in quiet acknowledgement of guess it is just a watch.

he pulls his hands away and places them in his lap, one atop the other. )

I will help you. ( another flicker of a frown, this one more questioning than the first. a cant of his head as he adds, ) You know that.

[carmesi]

( it's there, briefly, his trying to infer what she means without being able to read her mind. wanda, still, doesn't elaborate, but watches instead as he studies the watch. she sets her now empty plate to the side, leaning all the way into the table, elbows on the surface, waiting for his assessment—no—and then grabbing back at the watch once he draws away from it. )

I do.

( she hadn't been trying to assess whether he'd keep to what he had offered or not. wanda has no real choice but to take david at his word, but she also doesn't want to assume that he doesn't have other things he'd rather do with his time.

watch latched back onto her wrist, she lingers there, thumb padding the soft skin on her wrist, before her eyes divert to the couch. )

...you talk like you've thought about what I wonder about a lot. Not because I've wondered about it, I know that. Just — you understand what this is. ( unsaid: be it because of his own experiences or own thoughts on the matter, about himself. she turns back to him. this idea of 'i've never met someone like you before'. differences, but such close similarities. beyond that, everything else—

she points at the couch with a thumb over her shoulder. ) Your things from the car, by the way.

( just as he had tossed them in the car, now inside a bag that wanda used to carry them up. she wasn't going to look over his things or anything, but figured she might as well just bring it up. )

I have trousers like that. The striped ones. ( the last statement, said like a question. ) You like striped things a lot. ( in any case, he doesn't seem to have a lot of clothes, so, ) There's a washing machine and dryer you can use.

[unquiets]

( at first, it seems like she's not going to elaborate at all, just reaffirming her opinion that he talks like that before it becomes evident that she's mostly just putting her watch back on. in some ways, what she adds is tangential to her story about stephen, adjacent in a way that makes sense albeit only from a certain perspective — that is, david, by virtue of having been in a position similar to wanda, has thought about it.

but it circles back to that question of how much he wants to share and say. she knows about farouk, she's seen a flash of memory of his trial, but she doesn't know the details of it all. the build-up, the fallout, the why. the what they called him.

in turn, then, it's almost as if he's not going to respond to that. you've thought about it. you understand. he looks over her shoulder towards the bag on the couch, mouth opening in a small 'o' of acknowledgement that takes a moment to turn into— )

Thank you. I was going to get them later, ( while his gaze drops reflexively to his feet, to his striped socks, before back up to wanda. his expression, a muted kind of sheepishness, suggests no-one's ever actually commented on the stripes before, says that yes, he does like stripes.

punctuated by a moment's silence, then two, then— ) I have thought about it. The same things as you. There are people that are scared of me, too. ( his turn for his gaze to flick up to the ceiling, to rest momentarily on the light. ) But people are scared by power that they don't control, so. ( you know. ) You can't take what they think to heart.

[carmesi]

( makes no difference to wanda, really; she had used his car for the convenience of grocery shopping, so the least she could do was bring everything else up. again, not an issue when she can just move things with her mind. there's a brief smile at his gratitude, at the quiet way he looks down at his (striped) socks and that's just— a slightly different side of david.

like the david who was bemused at the uncomplicated way she pointed out that they do know what north is; the david who took her notebook from her to draw the constellations he had mentioned, the first night here, enthused about their planned trip; the david who laughed at her hiccups, but softened the blow of any perceived ridicule by drawing her close. when he talks about powers, others opinion on them, you talk what way a lot, it's like a different guy; defensive, careful. nothing wrong with that, not really, but for all that he has been honest with her (and wanda has to trust that much), there's a lot that he keeps close to his chest.

then again, they know each other for less than a week.

wanda reaches for a strawberry from the bowl in the center of the table, biting down on it, slowly, just as he starts to talk again. thought about it. her eyes flick up to him, then down on the wooden surface as he looks up at the ceiling; there are scratches on the surface of the table, circles from cups and glasses from previous use. she swallows the strawberry. )

What people are scared of you?

( not that she doesn't believe that they are, but it's. a more nuanced question than what it may appear. he talked about some of his friends (ptonomy, she remembers that name), mentioned an ex, who broke up with him. she rubs the back of her thumb against her chin. )

...being someone others see differently can be lonely. I get that, so.

( she wants to help, too, the same way he is helping her, even if not in the same way. wanda offers him a shrug, offer's there, and steals at another piece of waffle (just a small piece) so she can scoop up the leftover syrup on her plate with it. )

[unquiets]

( her question has a different response to her statement, both of them reflexive, sitting on the tip of his tongue. it doesn't matter what people, they're not here. (too defensive, too evasive—. she'll think it's weird, think he's weird.) he's always been seen as different. (alienating, driving a deliberate point of difference between the both of them when nearly everything else he's said has sought the opposite—.)

there's an ease to wanda that implies she'd accept it if he didn't answer, a willingness to not necessarily accept people as they present themselves, but that she won't push if she doesn't feel it necessary or worth it. he could probably slide into the former, but it wouldn't be good for them.

he inhales a breath, long and slow, and watches as she drags a piece of waffle over syrup. it's sticky, tacky, and leaves streaks on the plate. )

People I worked with. ( worked with, oddly similar to how wanda had worked with the avengers. ) They... helped me at first. Taught me about my powers, helped me reconsider everything I thought about myself. Then—. ( a flick of a hand, dismissive. ) Someone came up with a maybe. An idea, a delusion. Something that might happen in the future. A David Haller that doesn't exist anywhere but in imagination.

( a quick, thin, bitter smile, there and gone. )

I haven't done anything. ( I'm a good person. ) People get these ideas. Even you, at first. ( simple, not accusatory. ) Am I safe?

[carmesi]

( david starts to talk, and wanda sits up on her knees, rests on her legs, back straight, attentive. all that, yet her attention remains on her plate, as she pulls another piece of waffle to finish up the syrup. he'd be right to assume that she really wouldn't have minded if he had decided not to answer, but it helps, and plenty, that he does.

she can fill in some of the blanks: what he thought about himself, the psychiatric hospital, then his powers— )

A delusion?

( quietly asked, between when he states the word and continues, something that might happen in the future. agonizingly familiar, but instead of just the one person saying this, it seems that, for him, it was a group of people thinking this way.

and it's not accusatory. wanda knows; they've been over it. if she didn't think of him as 'safe', they wouldn't be roommates. wouldn't be eating waffles on the floor. there are always concerns, though, when getting into people's heads, especially with someone who had admitted to her that there had been a scary monster in his mind, poisoning him.

wanda's quiet, then looks up at him. )

David— ( another pause, eyes down over to his shoulder, thoughtful, before they're back to meeting his own. he had spoken of people that he lived with, that he was used to that, but. for what it's worth, the timbre of her voice doesn't fluctuate; he can't read her mind, but he could perceive that she isn't suddenly regretting asking or coming to her own conclusions based on his words that would otherwise accelerate her heartbeat; consequences. ) Fear really changes people. That's not your fault.

( and although she is scared of her powers, what she can do, it still stands— i can't control their fear, only my own. her hand on the table, her fingers curl inward, making a fist, and she stands abruptly (she does this a lot), back to the kitchen. it takes her but a moment to come back, with the sticker sheet in hand. she's pulling at one of the sparkly stars just as she sits down besides him. wanda looks at him. )

I'll take my chances with the real David Haller here. Even if we won't always agree, I mean it. We're friends.

( and she places the sticker on his shirt, close to the collar. they don't have the star charts yet, so she presses it proper, making sure it sticks on the fabric. )

You help me, I'll help you. We won't have to be alone anymore. Whatever happens back home— we can try and figure it out.

[unquiets]

( fear really changes people. she's not wrong, but that doesn't make it better. doesn't change outcomes. doesn't change the starting point, or the journey. it's better not to have it.

as she stands, abrupt and sudden, the cassette clicks and there's a thunk as the side they'd been listening to comes to an end. david doesn't move to change it immediately — wanda's back from the kitchen too quickly for that — he does turn towards it as if the thought's there. wanda's re-emergence ensures it's only a fleeting consideration. he casts her a glance, lightly quizzical at the sight of the sheet of stickers in her hand.

moreso when she just sits down next to him. )

I don't need you to always agree with me. ( for all intents and purposes, he means it; right now, in this moment, it's the truth, so when she starts to press the star into his top, he exhales a laugh, short and fond. he reaches up to gently pull her hand away once she's pressed it in firmly enough that it won't immediately fall off; he keeps his hand wrapped gently around her wrist, the touch of his fingers light.

he knows she's not alone here, even without him, but that doesn't mean he disregards her anymore. regardless of whatever else happens, they'll have each other.

but—.

he shakes his head, small, slight. he appreciates her offer, the we can try, but he doesn't need it. ) I've figured it out. Home. ( gentle, sincere. ) What I need to do. I'm not in any rush, so if I'm here for a while, that's fine. It won't make any difference. I'm not going to leave you.

[carmesi]

( wanda is uncertain the star will stick for too long, the glue catching the fuzzy elements of the fabric over time, but she allows for him to pull her hand away. her eyes remain on the star, even as he says i've figured it out. though he is gentle and sincere, the hand on her wrist warm, wanda can't help this... wayward feeling. it comes from him, and david had told her that emotions are a journey and he should be allowed them, choose what to feel, what to portray. it's not like she can quite place what the emotion is, but it makes her a bit nervous.

still, she opts to trust him, despite how she sees it, and slides her wrist from his hand just so that her own hand can takes its place. a reassurance, for herself.

this, in a roundabout way, answers wanda's question about what he wants to do. david needs to go back home to do what he has to do, which he has figured out, but he's in no rush to do so. wanda looks down at their joined hands, strands of hair falling over her face and shoulders. it's still hard to ignore—the feeling, so, )

I'm going to hug you now.

( both as a warning (that he doesn't really need) and as a way to push herself into moving. david isn't wrong: though wanda has these shining moments of pushing past her fears, she finds it unbearably difficult to find courage when she's stumped by the possibility of loss, more so than anything else. her powers are one thing; she's been getting more comfortable with them, the more she is here, surrounded by people who accept her and them. but it was in losing her parents, countless of people she knew back home throughout the years, pietro, those she cares for here—that it makes her choosing (?) to have a roommate such an emotionally risky thing for her.

thus, i'm not going to leave you are exactly the right words, even when she knows that there's no real certainty in the matter. could david promise that certainty, with his powers? for now— he's here.

wanda lets go of his hand and scoots a little closer, wrapping her arms around him, pressing herself close. something twists in her gut, and it's not— it's not him, so much as the realization of something she's always known. how she's never got to say goodbye to anyone she ever loved. it's quiet and a little sentimental when she speaks, her hands curling against his shirt. )

You can't leave without saying goodbye.

[unquiets]

( though david's recently aware that wanda can pick up feelings, he assumes — for now — that it's limited to when they speak to each other telepathically; he assumes, too — foolishly, a little arrogantly — that it won't be with all things, that his emotions aren't as transparent as all that, not all the time. (he knows he's emotional, it's just — he tries to be less so these days. tries to be calmer. outwardly if not inwardly.) he doesn't begin to imagine, then, that there's anything from his I've figured it out that she might pick up; imagines even less that she might be biased in her decision to ignore any hint of anything less than pleasant simply thanks to what else has been shared between them.

while wanda looks down at their hands and tells him she's going to hug him, he stays looking at her, the way her hair casts shadows across her face, hides her expression. he doesn't think it's shyness that has her telling him, she's been more than open with small touches here and there — the poking at his back to get his attention earlier, the comfort in proximity when they were looking at the stars — which means it's more to do with the rest of it.

she wraps her arms around him and he does the same in return, a tight, easy, comfortable hug that, when her fingers toy with his shirt and tells him not to leave without saying goodbye, he punctuates with a sudden exhale of breath, warm against her hair, her ear. he pulls away, just a fraction, hands resting against the tops of her arms, just below her shoulders.

he dips his head to catch her eyes, and— )

I just got here. Why are we talking about saying goodbye?

[carmesi]

( it would be easier to hide this growing anxiety if only they hugged for longer, but david—wanda has come to learn—bulldozes through when he's feeling particularly strong about something. so, now that he pulls away this fraction of a distance, hands just below her shoulders, wanda's caught in just leaving her hands to lightly hold onto the sides of his shirt.

he tries to catch her eyes, but wanda's looking down, away. it's not about being shifty, it's just— embarrassing, really, how much emotion can just wrap itself around her, leaving her to managing all sorts of complicated feelings that aren't just her own (though they are, mostly her own, just this barrage of grief that she's been carrying with her so long). )

I didn't mean it like that. ( her voice is quiet, like she's trying to hold her breath, lest it gives life to choked vocal chords. it's fine—she's fine. ) I'm just ... trying not to read into it.

( telling him without telling him, that she's felt something through him that she's been trying to parse and the result isn't great. the sticker on his shirt has tangled itself on her hair, and wanda notices, drawing her hands away from him to try and get it off. it distracts her enough to be able to say, with a little more strength in the volume of her voice, ) We don't choose to come here, and we don't get to choose when we leave. It's just... ( she catches the sticker, which sticks to her thumb. wanda brings her hands down to her lap, careful of not ruining or losing the star. ) I never get to say goodbye.

( this isn't about david, even if it partly is, and wanda recognizes it as much. she raises her hand to show him the star; it's clearly for sticking on paper and other such surfaces, not randomly on shirts. )

Glue's probably old. ( not at all related to the star: ) Sorry.

[unquiets]

( —read into it? read into what? his response? something else? the question catches, sits to one side of his thoughts, even as his hands remain resting on her arms, reluctant to pull away entirely. it's notable that he doesn't make the same effort — trying not to read into it (whatever it is) — when her voice is quiet, when she avoids looking at him, and he inhales a breath before glancing away to the side. after a loose count of three, he straightens, finally dropping his hands and sitting back further when she pulls her hands away from his top to deal with the sticker caught in her hair.

he looks back to her, to her hands, as she continues. is that all it is? not getting to say goodbye? it's not precisely impatience the explanation sparks, but it's decisiveness, a thought and a(n almost) solution— ) Then I'll write you a letter. I'm not going to let the choice be taken from me, but if it is, then— You'll have that.

( it doesn't quite solve the problem of her reciprocating, of saying goodbye in return, but it's something. perhaps not closure in the truest sense of it, but it'd mean less wondering, fewer questions. while it's not to the extent of wanda, david knows what it's like not to get to say goodbye, too, and so—.

he reaches out to take the star balanced on the tip of her finger, the corners of his lips curving up into a small smile. ) You're being silly. This was supposed to be a nice, happy new roommates dinner. ( he leans forward again, quiet teasing, almost coaxing in his tone. ) Don't make it sad.