The Sokovian countryside stretched out in vibrant greens and golds, a stark contrast to the shadowed halls of the Citadel. Wanda Maximoff stood barefoot in the soft grass, her Chitauri Scepter leaning against a nearby tree. Natasha Romanoff circled her with the practiced ease of a predator, her movements fluid and deliberate.

  “First rule of hand-to-hand combat,” Natasha said, her voice calm but commanding. “Stay light on your feet. You’re quick, but magic’s made you zy. We’re going to fix that.”

  Wanda rolled her eyes, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “You’ve got a funny definition of zy.”

  Natasha smirked. “You can hurl magic at people, Maximoff. What happens when someone gets close enough to stop you?”

  Wanda shrugged. “They usually regret it.”

  “That’s not a strategy,” Natasha said, her piercing green eyes locking onto Wanda’s. “It’s a lucky streak. Let’s make it a skill instead.”

  The first few sessions were brutal. Natasha didn’t hold back, her strikes precise and relentless. Wanda struggled to keep up, her breathing ragged as she blocked, dodged, and occasionally failed to counter Natasha’s attacks.

  “You’re holding back,” Natasha said during a break, tossing Wanda a water bottle.

  Wanda scowled, wiping sweat from her brow. “You’re trying to kill me.”

  Natasha ughed softly, shaking her head. “No, I’m making sure you don’t get killed. There’s a difference.”

  Wanda sighed, taking a long drink. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

  Over the days that followed, Wanda’s body began to change. Her muscles grew firmer, her movements more fluid, and her stamina improved. Natasha noticed the transformation, her sharp gaze taking in every detail.

  “Your body’s filling out nicely,” Natasha commented one afternoon as they sparred. Her tone was casual, but there was a hint of admiration in her voice. “Regur meals and no poison in your food seem to agree with you.”

  Wanda flushed slightly, though she tried to py it off with a smirk. “So you’re saying I was a scrawny mess before?”

  “I’m saying you’re starting to look like someone who could win a fight,” Natasha replied with a faint smile.

  Wanda paused, gncing down at her reflection in a nearby stream. Her athletic frame was undeniable now, her once angur features softening into something more banced. She ran a hand through her hair, her lips quirking into a small smile.

  “I hope I can end up with curves like yours someday,” Wanda said, her tone half-joking but genuine.

  Natasha blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Compliments weren’t unusual for her, but coming from Wanda, they felt different—sincere, without a hint of ulterior motive.

  “Thank you,” Natasha said, her smirk softening. “Usually, I make women feel insecure, not… inspired.”

  Wanda shrugged, her crimson eyes glinting with humor. “I can see why people would be jealous. You’ve got plenty for them to envy.”

  Natasha chuckled, shaking her head. “Careful, Wanda. If you keep talking like that, I might start thinking you’re trying to ftter me.”

  “Maybe I am,” Wanda said lightly, surprising herself with how easy the words came.

  For a moment, Natasha held her gaze, something unspoken passing between them before she broke the silence with a teasing grin. “Alright, enough of that. Back to work.”

  As the weeks progressed, Wanda’s training grew more intense. Fracture began to integrate her symbiote form into the regimen, adding weight to Wanda’s body without altering her appearance.

  **“I’m increasing your load,”** Fracture expined during one session, her voice resonating in Wanda’s mind. **“You’re currently carrying an additional 300 pounds of biomass. If you can move under that, you’ll be unstoppable in normal conditions.”**

  Wanda groaned as she pushed herself up from the ground after a particurly grueling drill. “300 pounds? You could’ve warned me.”

  **“And miss the look on your face?”** Fracture replied, her tone mockingly sweet. **“You’re welcome, by the way.”**

  Natasha raised an eyebrow, watching Wanda struggle to adjust to the added weight. “You’re moving like you’re dragging a boulder. What’s going on?”

  “Fracture’s idea of training,” Wanda muttered. “She’s making me carry extra weight to ‘push my limits.’”

  Natasha smirked. “I like her style.”

  Despite the increased difficulty, Wanda adapted quickly. By the end of the first week, she could spar with Natasha while carrying the added mass, her movements growing more precise and deliberate.

  “You’re stronger than you look,” Natasha said during one session, stepping back after nding a solid punch to Wanda’s shoulder.

  “Stronger than I feel, too,” Wanda replied, wincing as she rotated her arm.

  Natasha chuckled. “Pain’s just weakness leaving the body.”

  “Then I should be invincible by now,” Wanda shot back, earning a ugh from Natasha.

  The lighthearted banter between them became a constant, each session filled with sharp quips and pyful jabs. For Wanda, it was a new experience—this easy camaraderie, the sense of being truly seen and valued.

  “You’re not bad at this,” Natasha said one evening as they cooled down after a particurly intense session.

  “High praise from the Bck Widow,” Wanda replied, her tone dry.

  Natasha smirked. “I call it like I see it.”

  As they sat together in the fading light, Natasha studied Wanda for a moment before speaking. “You’ve come a long way. Not just in the st few weeks, but… everything. Sokovia, Hydra, this.” She gestured to their surroundings. “You’ve built something real here.”

  Wanda nodded, her expression thoughtful. “I couldn’t have done it alone.”

  “You didn’t,” Natasha said simply. “But you were the spark that lit the fire.”

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