Chapter Text
The most irritating thing about Natalie Dayspring Askani’daughter Soldier X Jesus Messiah Percival Summers a.k.a. Cable a.k.a. Nat is how freaking hot she is. You’d think that for all the gun-toting, large-muscled badassery she would at least be on the wrong side of grizzled for the label ‘attractive,’ but noooo, Wanda is never that lucky. Here she is, so far past grizzled that she looks like she’d met with an unfortunate accident with a meat grinder and been crudely pasted back together. Sure, she could survive a bullet to the brain and kick Cable’s stupid perfect ass in hand-to-hand (Most of the time, honest! When she remembered to stop punching that ridiculous metal arm anyway), but it’s hardly worth it with her ugly mug.
“It’s just not fair,” Wanda announces with finality, half-upside down on Nat’s office sofa.
From the desk, Cable doesn’t bother looking up from her paperwork. She makes a vague sound of disagreement.
Wanda huffs a sigh and makes a blind grab for the end table above her head. A pad of paper, nice.
It still takes three perfectly aimed crumpled-up paper balls for Nat to switch her irritated glare from the desk to Wanda. Success!
“What?”
“I said, ‘it’s not fair.’ Like, an hour ago.”
Nat is already pinching at the bridge of her nose which is an expression that, when used in her office, usually precedes Wanda being bodily thrown out. Damn, she’d been going for a record today too.
“And, what exactly, isn’t fair?”
“What’s not fair is how you’ve got guys crawling all over you and I don’t have diddly squat.”
Nat hums, going back to what honestly looks like shifting papers from one pile to another. “Who are you referring to?”
“Oh, I don’t know, a certain panda-faced ex-merc in a skin-tight black jumpsuit and an equally hot new chief of staff come to mind. Not to mention the hordes of groupies clamoring for your attention. Of both sexes, I should add.” Wanda includes an upside-down expansive hand gesture just to indicate the vast amount of people that that encompasses.
Nat gives her one of her better unimpressed looks. “It’s not as if I’m sleeping with any of them.”
Wanda sits upright. Woo, blood flow, dizzy. “That makes it even unfair-er! Er! You could be having all this hot people sex and you’re not even taking advantage. Meanwhile, I’m rotting in singleness and solo time, alone forever.”
Nat pauses in affixing her signature to some document. “And how would my having tons of ridiculous sex change any of that?”
The phrase ‘tons of ridiculous sex’ and Nat together kind of short circuits Wanda’s brain for a second, and by the time it boots back up, Nat’s already rolled her eyes and gone back to her peace treaty, or wildlife protection act, or marriage license for gay penguins, or whatever. But, there’s a vague sort of amusement around the flat line of her lips, so when Wade leaves, she barely even taunts Ivan, the good little lapdog that he is, for his tight-fitting, totally-straight-guy vest.
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The other really irritating thing about Natalie Gesundheit Summers is the growing frequency with which Wanda kinda, sorta, maybe wants to kiss her smug, stupid face.
Wanda’s imagination always gets away from her at the worst times too, like when a few seconds of appreciation for Nat’s figure will apparently result in a metal elbow to her nose.
By the time Wanda determines that nose blood does not always translate to broken, huh, Nat has fetched herself a towel while remaining utterly unconcerned for Wanda’s face. Granted, her face heals itself and it probably doesn’t look that much worse broken, but still. Jerk.
“I’m not at all sorry that I bled all over your stupid gym mats,” Wanda mutters. It’s a little muffled what with her hands still over her face.
Nat shrugs, because she’s apparently not concerned about that either. “Want to get some dinner? We can go to that place you like.”
Wanda glares. “I don’t make a habit of eating with nose-breakers.”
“It’s not broken,” Nat says. “You can’t pronounce your ‘S’s when it’s broken.”
“It really says a lot about us that you know that.”
---
It’s kind of nice in a totally gal pals way when Nat doesn’t have crises of states or whatever keeps her looking so serious and grim most days.
Dinner leads to television at Wanda’s place, and she’s starting to wonder if it’s her birthday or something because Nat is being oddly nice, cheap shots to the nose aside. Whatever’s on TV seems to be 80% commercials, which is fine, but it has hit that lull where Wanda can’t even remember what they’re supposed to be watching. She turns from her sprawl to lean against the arm of the couch, plopping booted feet into Nat’s lap. Nat raises an eyebrow in Wanda’s direction but simply returns to her intense perusal of the commercial exclaiming the virtues of the latest thing in chopping and/or pureeing food. This has to be an informercial by now. Do they have those before four in the morning?
Wanda keeps up the suspicious side glances at Nat’s profile. She almost says something when Nat starts biting her lip, teeth worrying at the skin, but the uncertain gesture is so unfamiliar on Nat and so weird, that Wanda can’t come up with anything to say.
Then Nat casually rests a hand on her ankle.
“Okay, seriously, what is up with you?!” It’s maybe a bit of an outburst and she’s a little worried she has crazy eyes (should always leave the mask on), but Nat looks properly taken aback at least. “You’ve been acting weird all day. And nice,” Wanda seethes. “You haven’t even threatened to throw me out of a window!”
Nat winces. “Do I do that that often?”
“Yes!”
“Okay, okay. I… just.” Nat shoves Wanda’s feet to the floor (finally), so she rolls with it and sits up fully. Nat scoots a little closer on the couch. “I’ve had something to tell you for a while, and what you said this morning prompted me into actually doing something about it.”
Wanda scours her brain to try to remember what she said in Nat’s office earlier, but she can’t, because Nat is looking so hesitant, and that scatters all the thoughts racing in her head.
Nat hand goes up to her jaw, barely touching. “Just… don’t freak out,” she says, and then she kisses Wanda, a gentle press of lips, like Wanda’s made of glass.
Wanda freezes and Nat pulls back only a second later; she’s still wearing that damn uncertain expression, her eyebrows starting to knit up. It’s all kinds of wrong for Nat’s face, so Wanda does the only thing she can think to do to erase it: slam forward and kiss Nat for real. Nat falters for a moment, but the hand on her jaw tightens and a second later it’s in her hair. Wanda does her best to go along with this, no questions, shut up mind seriously, and it’s, well, good. The kisses are nice, firm presses, and it’s nothing at all to open her mouth, and then it’s wet and tongues and amazing.
By the time Nat pulls back to take a deep breath, Wanda is in her lap, her fingers tight on Nat’s shoulders with no recollection of actually getting there. Nat’s eyes are half-lidded in a way that’s totally sexy, and there is definitely more making-out on the table, but they’ve paused just long enough for Wanda’s brain to sputter back to life.
Wanda panics. She’s sprawled in Nat’s lap and she’s staring at Nat, who is starting to look worried again, which means her face is probably doing a thing, and oh god, she made out with Nat.
“Wanda?”
“What? No, I’m good, thanks for asking. I’m just gonna—” She pulls back out of Nat’s grasp, flopping back onto the couch. Nat’s fingers clench for a second on her hips, but she lets go without incident. Wanda scoots a little away for some safe distance. “I know I talked a big game about my dry spell and everything, but you didn’t have to take pity on me.” Nat tries to interrupt, but Wanda keeps going. “I mean, it was more just the topic of the day, and, uh, yeah, I guess I appreciate it, but I’m really not sure which way I bend. I mean, no, I’m definitely straight, so this is kind of weird, and you can do better anyway, so I’m sure this is cool, right?” She’s babbling, and that is so not cool. It’s hard to meet Nat’s gaze, and she wants to run. She’s faster than Nat; she can just run, right?
“Wanda, wait.” Nat’s hand tugs on her wrist, and Wanda realizes she’s half off of the couch. She exhales, falls back onto it. This isn’t weird; it’s fine. Nat bites her lip again. It’s driving Wanda crazy. “It’s okay,” Nat says. “I shouldn’t have pushed, and if you’re not interested, I get it—”
“What, no, I mean, I don’t know?” Damn it, traitor mouth.
Nat’s eyes go wide. “Oh, uh, then maybe… I should give you time to process?”
Right, yeah, that’s pretty smart, but Wanda’s clapped her hands over her mouth, so she just nods. Vigorously.
Nat still looks a little freaked out, but her lips quirk up a touch at that, so there’s a small victory. Nat gets up from the couch, takes a few steps to the door, before turning back.
Before she can say whatever stupid thing she’s thinking, Wanda, eyes bulging, says, “Just go!” It’s muffled, because her hands are still over her face.
That gets a full-blown grin, which stops her heart, but then thankfully Nat is leaving without another word. The sound of the door shutting is quiet.
Wanda flops back on the couch, limbs everywhere, exhaling. What the hell was that?
The TV is still blaring nonsense, now about some stain remover. Wanda wonders if it works on blood.
She wonders if Nat's for real.
She wonders if it’s rude to tell other people that they made out. It probably is. Damn it.