[the hold in her arm is not unusual; she's had that done to her many a times before, by men—funnily enough—who are looking out for her. she's not so stupid as to not see it for what it is. still, it does reflect a constant in her life, of people wanting to rein her in.

of her movements stalling as she's swept to a stop, turning back to look at michael. her expression mirrors his own, stiff, a slight ounce of anger in her tightening jaw.

the 'human' comment she gets—understands. that's what she is, scarlet witch or not, at her core, and that's why she makes mistakes, that's why she has regrets, that's why she lies and asks for forgiveness and hopes and dreams. the one about being a younger sibling—

no, for as comfortable and as close as they are with one another, that is not something he has a right to. pietro may be gone, but—in her anger—she hates the idea of anyone robbing him of that role.]

You're not my brother.

[she says, scathingly, and she will later regret having said it so bluntly, without the hundred of caveats that go with that, explaining the exceptional nature of their relationship. wanda pulls at her arm so it's no longer in michael's hold.]

Don't use that as a way to find reason in my actions. I did what was necessary. I didn't just recklessly make a decision, even if you see it that way.

[and, almost in opposite of the time when he had helped her with the ritual for the scrying bowl—]

I can handle this.