I will know what I am hoping to find when I find it. Also, I am the one who is recovering, so I should not be allowed near the kitchen or any other chores in the house.
[pietro feels confident that he deserves more "rest time".
[Her solution to that is just never sleeping, but she wants better for her brother. Wanda stops her attempts at annoying him in favor of leaning in to kiss his cheek.
She'll always have a soft spot for him.]
I'll make us lasagna and then we'll take a nap. Good?
Might I ask if you are making your sleep schedule be the same as mine?
[is this a good thing? is wanda sleeping more because of him??]
I will keep you company as you cook.
[atta boy, here he goes—getting up from the bed in one swift, normal-speed movement, and stretching. he'll have to wash these exemplary marker-tattoos from his hand, huh.]
[pietro grabs her held out hand and pulls her up. stained or not from the marker scribbled disaster on his hand will be no matter, just another sign that they're both so intrinsically entwined together.
his grip is firm on her hand, her subsequent removal from the bed an easy task.]
Now you cannot ever complain to me about being annoying to you.
My job here is to keep conversation going. I am running out of things to talk about.
[bullshit, pietro always has something to say if he finds the right inspiration and direction for it. which isn't too hard when he's going through thoughts at a fast rate; he could probably just go into a million tangents were his sister not such a grounding force to him.
it's easy to tell that he acquiesces to her plan, sitting down after the kiss and already racking his head for topics of conversation. it's almost nostalgic the way they left the tv on, the muted sound of old timey-whimey cartoons ricocheting down the hall into the kitchen.]
Can you also choose dreams if you make me sleep with your magic?
[She knows it's bullshit. Her brother can tell stories, invent stories, or complain about this and that. Ask questions. Go on and on. A thing she's missed dearly, because no matter the memories or dreams she'd have of him, it wasn't her brother in the flesh, breathing and speaking.
She had good and bad dreams about him over the years. It's why, after bringing out a pan and some ingredients, she heads back over to him. She wraps her arms around his shoulders from behind the chair and rests her chin on the top of his head. Really, the only time she can do this is when he's sitting down, so she takes advantage.]
The fun thing about dreams, Wanda— [he starts, pausing a moment as he feels her chin atop his head; wah, sooo heavy] —is that they are so random that they will surprise me in a good way because I am not planning them.
[he pats the arms interlocked over his chest.]
I can write a list of ideas though. Throw them into a magic randomizer blender for ultimate surprise.
I'm not giving you naughty dreams about Sports Illustrated models.
[She squeezes him tightly.]
Have you been having bad dreams?
[No shame in it. The both of them were plagued by nightmares after their apartment was bombed, and there's only been more fuel for them since. Some of her strongest memories from their childhood was waking up sweating, in a panic, tears streaming down her face--and crying against Pietro until she could sleep again.]
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Always tough? That seems excessive.
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[it's always about food]
...I remember you said something about lasagna not too long ago?
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[She adores him. Wanda reaches over to try and mess up hair hair. Except it's always fuckin' messy.]
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[like messing his hair??]
When you are busy cooking, I can go and do some snooping.
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[Nevermind that book up in the attic that she might read, or be reading right this moment. Magic. And there are no stairs to get up there.]
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[pietro feels confident that he deserves more "rest time".
only when convenient, though.]
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[No fun allowed.]
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[She'll try to poke him in the side.]
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Can you make me pass out with your magic?
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[She can do just about anything, but she's not eager to really lay that out.]
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[there was no suggestion box!]
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[Wanda playfully taps his temple.]
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Not now. After lasagna, though.
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You? Suggesting nap time?
[If she wasn't already certain this was her brother, she'd be worried.]
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She'll always have a soft spot for him.]
I'll make us lasagna and then we'll take a nap. Good?
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[is this a good thing? is wanda sleeping more because of him??]
I will keep you company as you cook.
[atta boy, here he goes—getting up from the bed in one swift, normal-speed movement, and stretching. he'll have to wash these exemplary marker-tattoos from his hand, huh.]
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[More like lonely. More like she worries if he's dead again. More like she likes to spend every waking moment with him.
Wanda holds out a hand to be helped up. She's going to get stained.]
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[pietro grabs her held out hand and pulls her up. stained or not from the marker scribbled disaster on his hand will be no matter, just another sign that they're both so intrinsically entwined together.
his grip is firm on her hand, her subsequent removal from the bed an easy task.]
Now you cannot ever complain to me about being annoying to you.
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[Never with any real seriousness, at least. Wanda keeps Pietro's hand in hers as she leads them out to the kitchen.]
You can sit at the table and talk to me while I cook.
[She's so okay with that plan that she pauses to kiss his cheek.]
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[bullshit, pietro always has something to say if he finds the right inspiration and direction for it. which isn't too hard when he's going through thoughts at a fast rate; he could probably just go into a million tangents were his sister not such a grounding force to him.
it's easy to tell that he acquiesces to her plan, sitting down after the kiss and already racking his head for topics of conversation. it's almost nostalgic the way they left the tv on, the muted sound of old timey-whimey cartoons ricocheting down the hall into the kitchen.]
Can you also choose dreams if you make me sleep with your magic?
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She had good and bad dreams about him over the years. It's why, after bringing out a pan and some ingredients, she heads back over to him. She wraps her arms around his shoulders from behind the chair and rests her chin on the top of his head. Really, the only time she can do this is when he's sitting down, so she takes advantage.]
What do you want to dream about?
[A yes, then.]
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[he pats the arms interlocked over his chest.]
I can write a list of ideas though. Throw them into a magic randomizer blender for ultimate surprise.
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[She squeezes him tightly.]
Have you been having bad dreams?
[No shame in it. The both of them were plagued by nightmares after their apartment was bombed, and there's only been more fuel for them since. Some of her strongest memories from their childhood was waking up sweating, in a panic, tears streaming down her face--and crying against Pietro until she could sleep again.]
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SLAMS BACK IN
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