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i.
This is peace, after Ultron: the Maximoffs at the Bartons, welcomed in peace and given a peaceful place to be. Wanda does not think she could have taken the facility so immediately after, so new and shiny, such a show of ostentatious wealth, and certainly not without Pietro to poke fun at it.
(Pietro so still and close to death, locked into a Cradle until finally he awoke.)
So she waited at the Bartons, accepted the hospitality of the man who owed her a debt for the price of her brother’s wellbeing.
For all her once-fears, for all her part-hate for the chance-loss of Pietro, Barton is not so terrible a person. More than that, he means what he says: when he said she would be an Avenger he spoke in truth.
ii.
Pietro likes the farm. There is space to run, space to get away (space to take Wanda away, when her head aches and her mind drifts, take her to a clearing in the woods and let her rest in a pool of sunlight until the aspirin kicks in), space to be free. Space to heal, and space to play hide-and-seek with Lila and Cooper, who seem as enchanted by his speed as they are amused by his accent.
iii.
Wanda likes sitting downstairs in the morning, watching the sun rise, and so she’s there when Clint’s truck rumbles down the drive just before dawn and she’s nursing her second mug of tea when he returns, a large IKEA box in the back.
“’s a new crib,” Clint says as he hauls it up the steps. “Cooper broke the old one trying to tuck Lila in when she was three. Shifted her to a cot after that.”
Wanda smiles - she remembers the foster homes, remembers children clambering into cribs and cots and cradles to tuck in younger siblings, remembers the creaks and occasionally loud cracks as old and strained wood finally broke. The children never minded though - when children only had one another they would do anything for the company of their siblings, or those they considered as close as.
“You will need help?” she asks. “Shall I get Pietro?”
Clint frowns at her a moment but she lifts swollen hands - her joints do this some days, after the experiments. To twist scarlet into the world her hands must strain against reality itself, after all, and, some days, her hands rebel and refuse and it is hard enough to hold a mug with hands that, other days, can help her to tear through metal.
iv.
There is much swearing - some muffled and some not - as Pietro and Clint put the crib together. The instructions, so far as Wanda can see, are not that complicated, but apparently the screws do not want to go into their neat-drilled holes and, besides that, there appears to be an extra piece.
When they are done, half an hour later, they realise where the spare piece was meant to go.
“No,” Clint says. “I am not starting from scratch to put that in.”
Pietro laughs, shrugs, and sprints off. He’s back in a split of silver, a hammer and an electric drill in his hands.
“So,” he says. “We cheat.”
They have Lila and Coop test the crib out, though, just to make sure it’s definitely solid.
v.
When Laura and Clint bring home the baby Wanda and Pietro wait with almost as much apprehension as Lila and Coop. They’re standing in the doorway, watching the truck rumble down the drive, and, as one, they hold their breaths as it stops, and Clint clambers out before going to the other door.
As Laura Barton steps out, cradling a bundle, Lila and Coop break rank, and run towards their parents. Clint scoops up Lila, spins her around, and Coop bounces up once at Laura before stilling and taking her hand, walking towards the veranda with great seriousness.
Its not until they’re inside and Clint is making hot chocolate for them all - the proper way, at that, melting down a dark bar and stirring it into milk and sugar - that Laura sets the baby down on her legs and lets them all see.
“Everyone,” she says softly, and looks first to her children, and then to the twins. “I’d like you to meet Nathaniel Pietro Barton.”
Wanda feels her brother go still at her side.
vi.
“You almost gave your life for me,” Clint says. “You could have died doing what you did. You did die, three times before we stabilised you. You’re the only reason I’m alive to see my son today.”
Pietro seems to shrink in on himself, shoulders hunched, all his usual confidence and bluster gone.
Wanda’s hand rests gently on her brother’s shoulder. “Clint,” she says. “Your life would not ever have been threatened if we-”
“You have a right to want justice,” Clint says. “You told us about the bomb. You told us why. You fought with us in the end.”
“But we still-” Pietro starts and Clint waves him away.
“Besides,” Clint says. “It was Laura’s choice.”
vii.
Wanda wakes from sleep and cannot feel her brother’s slow breathing in the next bed. He is breathing his over-fast pace, that of wakefulness or nightmares, and Wanda follows the tendrils of his thought, padding over wooden floors, to find him standing at the door of Nathaniel Pietro Barton’s little nursery.
His mind is quiet, the winds between his mind and hers a thick buffer and he startles slightly when she takes his hand in hers, interlinks their fingers.
He shudders and then he relaxes as she leans her head on his shoulder.
“They trust us,” he whispers in Sokovian. “They like us.”
“They are like family,” Wanda whispers. “I think that is what they want for us. To have a family again.”
Pietro is quiet, frowns. “We have each other,” he says, tone absolute.
Wanda’s eyes are shut as she replies, “All we have ever needed has been each other.”
Tight muscles in Pietro’s shoulders relax.
“That doesn’t mean,” Wanda adds, “That we can’t accept more, if we want.” She’s quiet for a long moment. “We need each other,” she says gently. “But we can want more. But only if we both want.”
Pietro is quiet, his eyes fixed on the days-old baby sleeping in his crib.
Wanda feels his mind shift, the winds sharpening, as he says, “If anyone hurts that child, I will kill them.”