[wanda holds her breath, knowing that this moment—in this embrace—won't last too long. peter would have questions, and she would need to have answers for him. he deserves those answers, much as anyone else she's ever hurt, but part of her worries that she will not get a chance to explain herself or that she won't be understood.

but peter, this sweet child wanda had only ever met from a distance in battlefields and a funeral, he looks at her and asks without anger, without any semblance of resentment. are you okay? her hands hold on lightly to his shoulders, forearms, then down to his wrists. her hands are shaking as she makes a point of holding his hands together between them.

she swallows, and repeats:]

I'm sorry. I—

I didn't know it was you. My powers, they're... [volatile. the word stings, because it's shameful of how true it is. she's supposed to have better control over them than this.] I didn't know — about your aunt. It caught me off guard and I, [she stops, looking down at their hands, biting down to keep herself quiet.

but peter deserves an answer other than half-breathed excuses. she nods to herself, then speaks, not yet looking at him.] It's been acting up for a few days now, my chaos magic. It takes over. It... it draws from my feelings, you know? And — I was pulled towards you, but I didn't expect all of this pain. Your pain.

[she looks up at him, her hands squeezing his.]

When I realized, about your aunt, I tried to pull away. I— I couldn't do it quickly enough.