Chapter 8

A Knight on the side cannot abide

In retrospect, she should have known that attending the autopsy of the Hulk-creature would make her sick. To be more precise, Wanda should have known a few years ago, from the moment the decided to attend postmortems for her clinical elective, but back then, she had been too stubborn and stupid to even acknowledge her sensitivity concerning this faculty. But then again, if she had done so, it wouldn't have saved her from her current predicament in any way. Moreover, her personal attendance hadn't changed a thing in her view; the subject had been previously animated by necromancy, full stop, and for that conclusion, no autopsy was needed. While the Hulk's anatomy was certainly intriguing, she would have much preferred to read about it in the autopsy report. But for that matter, what she just witnessed was not a proper postmortem per se, rather a dissection, or butchery in the most common of senses.

Who had had the idea of doing the autopsy in the Stark Tower’s medical facility anyway? She took a short moment of time to rest her head against the cool surface of the elevator cabin. Cold – cold was good. Cold somehow alleviated the feeling of nausea to a level where it could possibly ignored. That would be welcome, as she would hate to appear such a sissy when the elevator door slid open and a woman entered. She was rather pretty, with wavy red hair, luscious curves, long eyelashes and a lovely, symmetric face. She wore fashionable clothes and had her hair done in a practical ponytail. But her eyes were cold and calculating as she studied Wanda, who had straightened the moment the elevator door had opened. The woman simply stood beside her, chose the floor and waited. The elevator door closed and with a quick motion, she hit the emergency stop button and turned to Wanda.

“Shall we play a game?”

Okay. Wanda had just dissected a giant green monster. Strange women quoting old movie lines weren’t the oddest thing she had seen today, so she felt her eyebrows arching while she organized her thoughts to figure out what exactly to think . “Whatever you have for me, bring it on.” She said, her voice a little more tired than she really was.

The woman’s smile faded after she nodded in appreciation, then got down to business, although her tone remained reserved and friendly. “I’m Natasha. You must be Wanda. I’ve heard much about you and it’s about time we had a little chat.”

Natasha? As in Natasha Romanoff? Of course, Barton would never go against his duties for S.H.I.E.L.D. and tell her about a girl he successfully recruited by sparing her life, in a similar fashion he had done with Wanda, no less. At least, he wouldn’t do that officially. Privately, he might have mentioned that Natasha was by far the most talented spy he ever met and gave him a brilliant chase when they first met. She had impressed him with unusual skills, and he had respected those so much, he didn’t want her to end.

Yes, Wanda was curious about this woman. And apparently, this woman liked to open in a playful way or wanted to think Wanda so. So, it was only prudent to play along for the time being.

“What’s the name of the game, then?” Wanda asked, smiling politely and adjusting her body language to a neutral, businesslike stance.

The smile dawned again in the corner of Romanoff’s mouth. “Perception.” Then she eyed Wanda from head to toe, like she was analyzing every detail. “Clear nail polish, subtle make-up, all done with skilled hand and I bet that hair didn’t magically fall into place either. Aren’t we a bit vain for working in the basement or are we dating? Questions, questions …”

So Ms. Romanoff wanted to play Sherlock Scan? That was a game Wanda played differently, and for some reason, was a bit more eager to play than she thought. Perhaps the thought of going head to head with a world-class spy in social matters had more appeal than it was given credit. But judging a person’s character by analyzing clothes and hairdo wasn’t Wanda’s style. She rather trusted in her intuition and the general feeling she got from a person. From her studies she knew that she subconsciously simply interpreted the same facts and perceptions that Natasha did consciously, but it was still a different approach. “You, however, take an aggressive stance while carefully hiding your usual modus operandi to throw me off-guard. It was rather hastily done, so you didn’t know what to expect from me. Is she dangerous? Is she a normal person? Or does she have weaknesses like any other?”

“I think that she is vain, considering how quickly she jumped to the chance.” Subtlely, barely perceptible, Natasha adjusted her body weight, and Wanda was pretty sure she had done that deliberately. Other than that and a slight variance in the stance of her feet, the spy had the uncanny ability to appear perfectly normal and at the same time offering scarcely any information about her. “Going for these kind of challenges indicates a much more active and adventurous persona under the air of sadness. Make-up hides shades under the eyes - insomnia. Symptom of clinical depression.”

“How cheap. That’s in the files.” Wanda smiled. Usually, the mention of her being struck by this illness would trigger an episode of dark thoughts and misery. But now, she just enjoyed the game that got so playfully under the skin without hurting.

“True. I wanted to see a reaction, but I’m a little surprised.” Romanoff explained, her face still carefully polite, but ultimately neutral.

“Let’s see. Approaches me with playfulness, switches gears and calls for a game … to what end?” Wanda mused.

“Secrets.”

“Secrets?” Wanda arched an eyebrow. “Which secret did I tell you?”

“The secret that you answer if challenged, but that you are not spiteful, nor hurtful. That is very important to me.” Indeed, the spy looked like she was very relieved, as if she initiated the whole test and had several scenarios played beforehand. Perhaps that was exactly what happened … that would explain her seemingly chaotic behaviour, since this kind of strategy quickly brought out the truth about a conversational partner, but it was a gamble. It was also prudent to assume that Natasha knew about Wanda’s rudimentary psychological training during her medical studies, and that she would come to this conclusion. Ergo: The gamble hadn’t been a gamble, but a way to throw her off-guard again about her personality. Plans within plans - this woman was rational and cautious without being lethargic. In a way, they had much in common. “Did you uncover a secret?”

“Oh yes. You chose to show me said switch of gears. You told me that you have many faces and can be everyone and everywhere.” It was a subtle threat, if Wanda wanted to see it as a threat. She chose instead to see it as a statement, as a simple fact. “People who act like another person just portrait one part of themselves. They can do it better if they have an anchor, if they have a sense of identity. You know exactly who you are and where you stand, and that gives you strength.”

The glance that Natasha gave her was almost approving, and when the elevator finally moved, she got out the next stop and left Wanda with her thoughts. What an intense woman … no wonder Clint had been impressed with her. In a way, that little game had been bracing, so Wanda let out a sigh and waited until she arrived at the basement to step out of the elevator.

She had been given access to the laboratory previously occupied by Dr. Banner, and his ghost seemed to loom behind every corner. The whole floor deep beneath the surface was designed to keep the Hulk in check, with thick walls, massively built furniture and a lot of security protocols firmly put into place. But it was also a floor where Dr. Banner had conducted his experiments and pursued his scientific interests, which had made the need protection against radiation paramount while Wanda couldn’t even guessed the purpose of the equipment and devices the laboratory was flooded with. But the high security also meant that the floor was built to house Bruce Banner alone most of the time, and he had insisted to refrain from cleaning personnel.

So, the first thing Wanda had done after setting herself on a desk that looked mostly unused, she had armed herself with rug, mop and bucket and started scrubbing. It was so much easier to clean other people's messes than one's own. She had noticed that while Dr. Banner was by no means an overly neat person, he had a strange order in the piles of notes and chaos, one that she didn’t comprehend or dare to disturb. So she had cleaned around places that looked like they were abandoned in the middle of some work and had left any documents or instruments untouched as good as she could, only lifting them and putting them carefully back exactly into place when she felt that she had no other choice whatsoever if the war against bacteria was to be won. Bruce Banner was also apparently something of a forgetful sweet-tooth, since she had found no less than four pastries that might have been doughnuts in another lifetime. Complete and utter cleaning was the only answer to this revolting habit, but she had spared the two well-hidden candy stashes, merely checked the contents for date of expiry, but otherwise left them alone. Despite the fact that she most likely prevented Hulk-radiated doughnut-mould from taking over the world, she had made herself a mental note to thoroughly apologize to Dr. Banner if he ever returned and bake him some pastries.

That's why she was so taken aback and even a little irritated when she discovered that all the instruments, devices and notes she had so carefully avoided were disturbed, shoved aside and replaced by new ones. There was even a carelessly thrown bag occupying the chair that Wanda had used to sit on when doing research the last two days. Or at least, that was the furniture she had allowed herself to use and leave Dr. Banners privacy mostly intact. This plan had been evidently thrown to pieces – not violently, but without care. In the center of the laboratory, presented like a piece of art was a strange spear-like weapon that in the witch's eyes glowed with magic. This one too was circled with devices that a layman like her couldn't possibly identify – she only knew that she had avoided them while cleaning. And just when she thought that the sheer space within this laboratory couldn't possibly be filled, a newcomer appeared and proved her wrong.

Said newcomer was standing not far away from the magical staff, deep in a conversation with Steve Rogers – that man seemed to be everywhere. The woman herself was petite, and as Wanda had to admit to herself with a little envy, rather pretty. They both must have been roughly the same age, but this woman's brown eyes shone brightly while she spoke, her features delicate and soft, her complexion flawless and her fine chestnut hair worn loose. This woman wasn't even pretty anymore; she was by all means beautiful.

So this was Jane Foster whom she heard so much about. From all the talk, she had to be a sweet girl with a strong sense of morality, paired with a genius intellect. It was her that had inspired Thor to take Earth under his protection – that at least was the word. She also looked very lively and enthusiastic while explaining Captain Rogers about what sounded like theories about radiation. Her conversational partner just smiled and nodded occasionally, politely pretending to be interested.

When she approached, Ms. Foster turned around and acknowledged Wanda's presence by making the briefest of eye-contacts. Perhaps Wanda could simply weasle herself out of introductions while she talked to the Captain. Furthermore, she was definitely distracted by the glowing magic staff that she had heard so much about.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it? I don’t know where the energy source is, either.” She heard Jane Foster say, and unglued her gaze from the staff. Before she could open her mouth to answer something, Ms. Foster continued. “You’re staff?” She smiled a little. “Because I so don’t know my way around here.”

Somehow, the implications of being an underling that came with the term ‘staff’ felt demeaning, although it wasn’t incorrect. But there was a way to rescue this situation in Wanda’s eyes - she just had learned that unconventional greetings built bridges and rescued moods even if a scientist had messed up Bruce Banner’s workplace. So she turned around, putting her hands folded behind her back and kept her face as straight and polite as possible, while she modulated her voice to sound meek and demure. “How do you do, I’m Wanda. I’m the tower’s resident witch for the time being.”

While Steve Rogers raised both eyebrows, Jane Foster took the information with remarkable casualness. “Oh. I didn’t know we had those.” She simply said, drawing an unbelieving look from the man beside her.

Lo and behold, that girl evidently had had some experience with the supernatural. Even Wanda was stunned for a moment to hear that. Perhaps she had misjudged this person, as she seemed genuinely not joking. Perhaps she thought out of the box and accepted sorcery. Interesting.

“I mean, Loki did his illusions somehow and was called a sorcerer. I would love to know how the process worked. Do you think I can run a few tests?” Jane asked, now sounding even a little greedy.

She couldn’t know, but Wanda had strong opinions concerning tests on human subjects like herself. When she used to run with her father, he was a criminal, but he also had a point. They would raid mainly medical facilities and free the ‘Gifted’ within from being further subjugated to tests. These tests were oftentimes immoral, hurtful, intrusive, and sometimes even deadly. She felt sick to her stomach and knew that her discomfort must have displayed on her face. She turned to the staff before she said something rude or uncalled for, pretending to study it.

“So.” She finally said when she felt a little better, quickly changing the subject. “You have experience with sorcerers? I hope my kind didn’t disappoint.”

”Well … Loki invaded New York, killed hundreds of good people AND mind-controlled a dear friend of mine, so yes, I’m not disappointed.” Oh dear. Jane Foster revealed a lot in this little speech, not only that she had strong feelings about this invasion - naturally, this was her home that was attacked, the people she knew that where slaughtered, and her friend that was used like a tool. But she showed also determination, stubbornness and above all, spirit. All in all, even if currently a little annoyed and working up her anger, she was still an impressive woman, as Wanda hated to admit to herself.

“My sympathies.” Even if it sounded rehearsed, Wanda felt herself softening up, all her frustration melting when she pictured the helplessness that woman must be feeling - losing friends and colleagues was something that she had experienced mere days ago. “It’s not easy recovering from mind control, and your friend will find himself in an unusual predicament. We have to make it count.” There was no comfort she could give or this spirited young lady would accept for the act of violence done to her friend. She attempted to turn around to investigate the staff further, but was yet again interrupted by an outraged Jane Foster.

“How can you be so cold about this?” The astrophysicist sounded almost hurt, but more than that, she was annoyed, even appalled. What was that coming from? Was she now held responsible and accused not to care? It just wasn’t turned to anger; when she saw the missing buildings in this bustling city that was great and mighty New York, she just didn't feel angry. She felt rather sad, and sadness was something she forbade herself right now.

“Anger is not my natural state, Ms. Foster.” She had calmed down and her voice had returned to the gentle, smooth tone she was accustomed to, but that only served to provoke the other woman even further, it seemed. Wanda side-glanced to the gentleman in the room, who looked awfully uncomfortable, eying the exit and obviously ready to flee the scene, and she couldn't fault him for that.

So it came more or less as a surprise that she saw something glimmering in the corner of her eye, turned her attention to it and frowned when she discovered familiar symbols on the scepter that was so important to all of them. “You couldn't tap the energy within, no?” Wanda’s gaze was fixed on the staff, which made her question look like a side-note.

“No ...” If one could get drunk on anger and frustration, Jane Foster had just sobered up from one moment to the other, stepping closer and appearing now like the professional astrophysicist she was. “No, but I don't know why. There's clearly the tesseract's energy signature, but it's inaccessible. I first thought it was the material, but that's a simple ferrous alloy with a few precious metals molten in. Radiation tests have been made over the last year, but I can't imagine that radiation could have this effect on an energy source ...”

“You can't tap it because it's warded against humans.” Clever. It appeared as if the previous wielder of this scepter had allowed the possibility of it falling into the wrong hands. Warding an item against a specific race was a time-consuming and complicated process, one that required intimate knowledge and high skill in magic. Failing that, blood sacrifices helped a lot as well, and from the look of things, this ward was made with the latter method. So crude, so sloppy, so disgusting.
Wanda slowly reached out for the staff's hilt, feeling the magic prickle on her skin, and bracing herself, grasped it carefully. She immediately felt her focus faltering, some force scratching at the fortress of her mind. Kill the rage. Kill the fear. Kill the pain. Clenching her teeth, she steeled her mental defense, which was more brittle than she was used to. Only when she did felt secure enough, she finally closed her hand around the hilt, feeling the magic pulsing inside. The spear was heavy, heavier than she thought, strange in design, too short for a proper spear – nothing human to be sure. The blades at the head of it looked as vicious as the magic inside felt, while simultaneously feeling like something that more distant and yet much more broad and powerful, at the point of almost being overwhelming. After the initial flood, it steadied itself on a constant pressure on the mind, like a background headache.

More importantly, she could access the magic within.

“A racist ward. It doesn't recognize me as human.” There were small beads of sweat on her forehead, she was shaking ever so slightly, but felt elated nevertheless. That was one of the most heavy enchantments she had ever seen, and she had managed to pass it and successfully, if barely evaded the mind-controlling feature of the device. “I would recommend psych evaluations for everyone who has been in the proximity. It radiates a field ...”

“Wait.” The astrophysicist interrupted again. Couldn't that woman let people finish their sentences? “Why doesn’t it recognize you? Because you are a witch?”

“And a mutant, thank you very much.” Wanda felt far too exultant to feel threatened or offended now, even if Miss Foster herself sounded more skeptical than hostile. If the witch would take offense at any slight thrust upon her, imagined or real, she would soon go on a rampage of destruction, and that would really be despicable. Not to mention rude. “As I mentioned before, it is my opinion that psych evaluations for individuals who have been in close proximity are necessary.” When the witch laid the spear down, the painful pressure on her temples receded, letting her breath a sigh of relief. “I think this staff generates a responsive field that feels somewhat empathic, but also manipulating. It also feels more like a channeling device with only traces of what it was before. It must have been very scary at its height. Still, I can try to ward it, but ...”

Again, it was Jane Foster who interrupted mid-sentence. What a foul habit that woman had developed. “Hold on. If you block the field, then you block the energy source. I need to take measurements. I could use that data to locate residues and traces which could lead us directly to Loki, or even better, finally open a stable Einstein-Rosen-Bridge. You have no idea how long I've waited for … “ She obviously stopped herself before throwing around technical terms, which was considerate given that she was close to lecturing. “I need that energy source unlocked.”

“I'm sorry, Miss Foster. I'm not experimenting with an unknown magical source that could manipulate an unknown number of people in an unknown magnitude in the middle of New York. These are too many unknowns for my taste.” Wanda stated diplomatically, retaining every ounce of poise she possessed, how difficult it may be. She even tried to smile in a friendly manner, but the smile never reached the eyes. “I'm sure that after safety measures are firmly in place, we can find a mutually beneficial solu-”

“How long will it take?” The scientist was outright snappish now.

“Hours, days. Perhaps even a week. I don't know exactly what I'm dealing with. It should be alright, though, the field is mostly dormant at the present ti-”

“Yeah, and while you chant and read your tea leaves, who knows what is enjoying his hostage. Way to go.”

“I was under the impression that this was my call to make.” She glanced at Captain Rogers, making an offering gesture.

The Captain didn't hesitate a second and addressed Wanda in a firm manner. “I agree: your call. Safety first.” He turned to Jane Foster, still polite and proper, but missing the warmth underneath that came so natural to him. “I'm sorry.”

Clearly displeased and frustrated, Jane shrugged, and she couldn't do without throwing a barb. “Very well. I'll get myself a cat then to pass the time.” With that, she left the scene in a huff, and to be completely honest, Wanda felt a small amount of relief because of the potential danger averted and presence of willful scientist relieved.

“We're not done here.” Steve Rogers still had an air of professionalism and confidence around him while he spoke to the witch. “You said it radiates a manipulating field.”

“Weak, but definitely there. Keep your focus up and you will be fine for now.”

“This isn't going to cut it. The last time Loki waved that thing around, he controlled people left and right.” He looked her straight in the eye. “Good people. We need to know how we can defend against it.”

Wanda took a deep breath before carefully weighing her answer. “You can't.” Her statement was simple and met by a frown from Captain and Agent alike. “Don't get me wrong; one can deter the untrained, weak and inexperienced, but that's not the category you are asking about. When the situation and the adversary is this powerful, you can only delay the inevitable. With that device fully powered up and used by an accomplished sorcerer, the targeted mind will be overwhelmed. I was trained by Mastermind himself against telepathic illusions since I was a child and regularly targeted by an enchanter for most of my adult life. I'm good.” Even though at least Mr. Rogers was unlikely to comprehend the degree of her references, she hoped that her statement wasn't misinterpreted as boasting, but as the matter of fact it was. She had little confidence in her ability to control her magic, but it could never be said that she wasn't well-trained. “But if a powerful telepath or enchanter would try to take over, I couldn't delay the process for more than a few seconds.”

“A few seconds can decide a battle.” Rogers reminded her with a kind and slightly amused smile. Recalling her own meager combat experience, she inwardly agreed.

“Words are pretty, but demonstration is better.” She finally said, pulling up a chair and positioning it in the middle of the room. “You see, the mind is not unlike the body in this matter. Mr. Rogers, would you do me the honors?” She couldn't help but smile as this huge man was apparently struck by sudden shyness as he approached slowly and after some hesitation. “Don't worry, Captain. I assure you, I hold no dominion over the mind.”

He laughed nervously and even made the effort of joking. “That's what you say.” He didn't object or offered any resistance when she guided him into position ready to sit down on the chair, while the seat pressed into his legs.

Not taking the palms off his shoulders, Wanda looked up to the soldier. “Captain, I'd like you to disobey when I ask you to sit down, yes?” He was clearly bewildered, but nodded in response. The witch now took her time to do up a button on his shirt that had loosened and brushed some imaginary dust from his shoulders. She could see him shift, but he wasn't uncomfortable. In fact, he even seemed to be a little entertained. Only then she took a step back, retaining the air of friendly teasing. “Please sit down, Mr. Rogers.”

“Uhm … no?”

Wanda took another step back, closed her eyes and summoned all the strength she could muster, pulled every trick she knew: straightening back and shoulders, lifted her chin, rose to full height and let all the authority, all her will and all the fire she had thought to be forgotten run to every fiber of her being. When she opened her eyes again, she threw all her force of will, all her strength into his face, her voice nothing short of a roar.

“I said SIT!”

A moment later, valiant Captain America sat on his chair, looking awfully surprised at her and himself in equal measure. It actually took him a moment to regain his composure, his brow wrinkled in concern and confusion. “What just happened?”

“You tell me, Captain Rogers. I just told you to sit down.” Wanda smiled in amusement.

“I didn't see that coming.”

“Exactly.” Her smile faded as she got down to business to explain what she had wanted to demonstrate in this way. “Your defenses were down, so to speak. Your periphery was breached, your personal space invaded, you were unfocused, lulled into false security and – pardon me for saying so – not taking the situation or me seriously. But worst of all, subconsciously, you never really and truly objected to sit down.” She watched closely to make sure that Mr. Rogers wasn't cross with her, but he took it in a sporting manner. No big surprise there. Agent Coulson had raised both eyebrows, but said nothing. “The mind is like the body. If hurt by lingering injury, violence or torture, it will succumb much more easily to assault.”

“Like an infection has an easy time when a wound isn't bound.” Steve Rogers added pensively.

“Precisely, that's why your emotional training to counter PTSD and general positive disposition is helping the case. But the true danger lies in what a person subconsciously willing to do. A true pacifist, even if fully mind-controlled, can never be forced to kill if it absolutely disagrees with his nature. The key lies in conditioning yourself, to affirm your own nature and turn it against the invader. It's not “I will not bow.”, as the sub-conscience will only hear “bow”. It's rather “I will stand my ground.”, then it hears “mine”. It must be that simple.”

There was a short and pensive silence, and while Mr. Rogers stroked his chin, and he addressed the witch with a mixture of amusement and enlightenment on his face. “Can you work out a training program?”

“I can devise a supplemental for the training program I suspect your agents receive.”

The Captain visibly took his time to contemplate the situation. “So he was right.” He looked not only pondering anymore, but even a little disheartened.

“I beg your pardon?”

He raised his head, but otherwise, he had slumped himself on a rather comfortable position on his chair. He tried to search for words, even uttered a brief laugh of helplessness. “Well … someone said that humanity craved subjugation. That's it, isn't it? When all thoughts are wiped away, human nature just wants to be commanded.”

“What? That's rubbish!” Wanda could barely withhold a laugh. “Humanity craves to be fed, appreciated and to explore. Don't you even know the basics, Captain?” Her smile just broadened as she offered a helping hand to rise. “Who said that?”

At first, it looked like the soldier had a long explanation for her in store. In the last moment however, he thought the better of it and shook his head, gladly accepting her extended hand to rise from the chair. “An idiot.” He forced himself to smile. “A raving idiot. I’m one as well to even listen to him.”

“Misanthropy just doesn’t deserve to take root.”

“Another thing, though … you said that mind control can’t change a person.” He back-pedaled to watch for her approval, and was simply gestured to go on. “What about Barton?”

Ah. That was the way the wind was blowing. Clint had privately confided with Wanda already on this subject; he had been dominated by this very device she was examining, and had already described in detail what had happened to him. But she had thought the mind-controlling powers originally coming from the wielder of the scepter, but this was not the case. That wasn’t the Captain’s question, however, and the question was something very private, so she shook her head. “I know what you speak of, but I don’t discuss my friends’ profile with …” Strangers? Random charming army officers? She had to settle on something before the silence became awkward. “... acquaintances.”

To her surprise, Steve Rogers smiled at her briefly in a way that seemed appreciative and raised his hands defensively. “It’s not about profiles, honestly. But … understand: I’m his commanding officer. His well-being’s my responsibility. I’ve already talked about this with him and he’s quite open.”

What did he want from her, then?

He wasn’t so much struggling for words as she suspected he would. Indeed, when she talked with him, he seemed to switch between a shy boy and a straight and righteous soldier who was able and accustomed to command. So he continued firmly. “He told me everything he could. What I want from you is another opinion, something that Barton might not even know himself. Is that all right?”

Was it? On one hand, she didn’t like the thought of sharing her knowledge about the person who supported her time and time again, but on the other hand, Captain Rogers obviously genuinely cared about Clint. Wanda decided that she still considered it a kind of betrayal to just spill everything and opted to tell the Captain what he already knew, but hadn’t considered before.

“Captain Rogers, you are a war veteran. What can you tell me about the personality of a classical sniper?”

He briefly furrowed his brow, but straightened his shoulders and folded his hands behind his back, as if in recital. “Intelligent, cool head even under heavy fire. Reliable. Efficient. Patient. It’s odd … they go to war, kill people in spades and then go drinking a beer like nothing’s happened.”

“Their profiles all look similar. Also, they are not in a great danger to get shell-shocked. But tell me, have you ever heard what happens when a sniper cracks?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t happen to me or my unit, but I’ve heard a story. Don’t know if it’s true.” When he saw her questioning look, he elaborated. “In a recon unit, the sniper just went dingo and disappeared into the woods. Then he hunted his own unit down, one by one. The weakest first, then he worked himself through to the strongest. Only two people were left in the end.”

Wanda nodded slowly - that was exactly what was to be expected if the situation was too much for a person to handle. “What did he do, then? What part of his nature did he appeal to?”

It didn’t take him long to find the answer, although he expressed it as though he was solving a riddle for himself. “A … hunter. Going for the kill, not for battle.”

“And that is exactly what Hawkeye is at the end of the day.” Wanda concluded solemnly. “He is as loyal and level-headed as your next sniper in battle, but at heart, he’s a predator.” One that enjoys the fruit of his labor and takes an intellectual satisfaction from a job well and efficiently done, but she kept that one to herself. “But never forget what Clint Barton respects most: Competence. When he sees something or someone who displays a great deal of competence, he wants to keep and preserve it.” He will either join what he perceives as competence, or want to hunt it down. Morals didn’t matter much in this, but that was something she didn’t dare to tell the good-hearted captain. When the hunt was open, Clint Barton didn’t want it to end. Simple as that. “But you knew that already, no?”

The soldier before he nodded slowly. “You didn’t tell me anything new, I guess.” Of course he had seen through her little scheme, he wasn’t stupid. It was nice for him to play along, perhaps to appease her conscience, perhaps to confirm his supposed knowledge. It didn’t matter much, she still felt a little guilty.

“I would like to keep that between ourselves, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure thing.” She half-expected him to turn into the shy boy again, but his confidence didn’t falter; he remained sure of himself when he extended his hand to her. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

Evidently, he had not forgotten about being called an acquaintance. Even if he was just that, who was she to refuse such a charming gesture that felt as genuine as the whole man did? “Wanda.” She exclaimed, shaking his hand in confirmation. He gave her hand one last, gentle squeeze, then left her to her pile of work.

Notes