Peter Maximoff/Quicksilver Imagines

Pietro, Not Peter (Part Five)

Your smile falters, dropping like a stone. "What are you talking about?" Your voice is quiet, smooth. Peter's eyes flicker to your hands, clasped in front of you. Usually, whenever the two of you have arguments, your fingers can never stay calm, always fiddling with the edge of your shirt or tugging at your sleeve. Now, however, they are motionless, almost deathly still. His eyes go back to you.

"You're controlling me too. It makes so much sense, I don't know how I couldn't see it before, unless you took that away from me too. Maybe you didn't bring me here, but you're making sure I can't leave." You sigh. "Peter, you and I both know that I don't have that kind of power. I can only heal, remember?" You hold up a hand in demonstration, and Peter flinches just slightly. You can tell he regrets the motion seconds after he does it, but you don't know whether or not that's because he still trusts you or because of the fierce look in your eyes after he moved.

You lower your hand again. "Fine. Hate me. Just know that I did all of this for you." Peter, who had been starting to back away, freezes in place. "What do you mean, you did this for me? I didn't ask for any of this." You purse your lips. "Neither did I." You look away, silently steeling yourself for the choice you're about to make. Peter notices this slight change in your demeanor and moves forward again. Peter, who always knew when you were happy or sad or hurt, can tell that something is wrong, even when he's terrified of you.

"Y/N, whatever you're going to do, you don't have to go through with it. We can figure this out together, right? It's what we always do. Are you really going to be the villain here?" You shake your head slowly. "No, I'm not." Peter's face clears for a second, but then you say one last word. "Agatha." The name itself seems charged with power, and Peter turns back to you with a frantic expression.

"What are you doing? You're summoning her-you know what she'll do!" His eyes wall over with distrust, and above all, betrayal. The sight hurts you more than you'd like to admit. "How did you know her real name, Y/N? So it's true- you really have been working with her. All this time, you've been by her side." You bite your tongue to stop yourself from shouting all the words you'd like to say. "I haven't been working with her."

There's a flash of inky indigo smoke, and Agatha appears beside you. "She certainly hasn't been working with me, honey. She's actually been making things a lot more difficult than I would have liked. So," she says, resting one finger against her chin in a painting of serene curiosity, "Why have you finally come calling, Y/N?"

You keep your eyes trained on the witch. You don't think you could go through with this if you had to see Peter's face, see that flash of shock and betrayal that will haunt you for days. "I think you needed him with Monica, didn't you?" Agatha laughs once, the gleeful shriek making you shiver. "You've gotten in over your head and you want me to clean things up a bit, don't you? I'm curious, though- you've already played your hand. Why not change his memory yourself?" You turn away from the two of them. "I can't. Not that." Agatha clicks her tongue, disappointed. "Consciences. They don't get you anywhere, you know."

Peter sees your hesitation and calls out to you one more time. "Y/N, I know this is hurting you. You don't have to go through with this. I'll still be here with you." You snap your eyes shut, not wanting to see him go. "That's exactly why it has to happen." Agatha, growing tired of the conversation, recites some incantation and Peter's eyes glow purple once before he turns and heads down the sidewalk, moving methodically and with an almost inhuman steadiness towards Agatha's house once more. You watch him go, willing away the tears that want to bubble up inside of you.

Agatha rolls her eyes. "Come on, honey, pull it together. He'll get over it eventually. Or, he will if you make him feel that way." You don't move, and Agatha just shrugs, disappearing in another wave of purple smoke. After a while, you force yourself to start walking back through the suburbs again. It's hard to find the motivation to do anything- it feels like everything is falling apart. You had your reasons for what you'd done, but they seem so hard to reach right now. What were they, again? Were they worth all of this?