Quiver | Pietro Maximoff ✔

Chapter Twenty Seven

~Third Persons POV~

Bruce nodded, his smile fixed carefully in place. He didn't want to admit it, but he wasn't ready for Eliza to leave the facility. He felt such a paternal love for her - he wanted to keep her safe, and close.

How could he keep her safe, look after her and make sure they were okay, if the Maximoff group were leaving to travel to the other side of the world.

Eliza squeezed her hands softly, wringing them together as she gulped. She didn't want to upset him, and she could see his eyes beginning to glisten softly.

He reached out to shake her hand, his way of saying that he would be okay. She couldn't hold it together any more though, and was suddenly overcome with emotion. She stepped into his open arms, wrapping her arms around him as he enveloped her. They stood in a hug for several moments, both close to tears at the thought of being separated, if only for a few weeks.

She stepped back slowly, trying to laugh as she wiped a single finger underneath each eye, "I'm not dying, just going on holiday."

"And what a great holiday!" Bruce turned to look the other way, pretending to shuffle through a few sheets of paper, "and leaving tomorrow morning too."

She paused, her hand shaking a little. "Actually, it's leaving tonight. About 1am. Pietro got a call from the airport, they moved the flight forwards."

"Oh?" Bruce tapped his finger on the notebook on his desk, beside him. "Well then you definitely need to go and pack."

He practically hurried her out of the room, a mess of stumbling words and waving arms. He almost tripped over his shoe as he swung the door open, patting her shoulder as she stepped into the hall.

She stared at the closed door, brows crinkling as her throat tightened. She didn't have any family left - she wasn't claiming her brother or father - and Bruce had become her only father figure.

After a moment, she shook her head, fluffed her hair back behind her ears, and turned to walk towards the bedrooms. Pietro's door was wide open, as was Wanda and Ravens.

They were shouting to one another, calling about what toiletries they should bring, what weather they would be experiencing, and how many clothes were really too many.

She peered into Pietro's room, seeing him dangling over the bed as he stretched, trying to fish something out from underneath. She carefully lined herself behind him, then climbed over so she could lie lazily across his back.

"Hurngh," Pietro grunted as his girlfriend sunk onto his back. He swung an arm up and behind, gently tapping her, "are you okay, my Eliza?"

"Hmm," she mumbled, resting her face into his shoulder. Her voice came out almost like a grunt, syllables over lapping into an incoherent mess of words.

"Now you see, this is not my first language," Pietro flopped his arms back over the edge of the bed, his fingers scrabbling for a book he had accidentally kicked under it a few weeks ago, "but I am pretty sure what you just said was that you're in love with me and you'll do anything I say because I'm amazing."

Eliza snorted, and carefully rolled off his back, and onto the pile of pillows and blankets. "Pietro, I love you, but I will not do anything you say."

"Will you do some things?"

"Depends what."

"Pack your bag."

She frowned, her eyes pulling to the open window. "I will."

"We have six hours before we need to leave and you haven't picked a bag to use yet, let alone pack clothes." He finally grabbed the book, then swung himself upright and back onto his bed. He stretched his legs out, tilting his head to the side with a concerned smile on his face, "if something was wrong, would you tell me?"