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Peter Maximoff woke up at 1:16 p.m. to the patter of unfamiliar footsteps.

It was a long-learned habit — like most people waking up if they heard their door opening, or the alarm, an unfamiliar walking pattern or car pulling up in front of his house was a bona fide alarm clock. After all, getting caught by the police while you were asleep was not fun or beneficial. He knew this from experience.

Once he was up, he was up, and it only took a few seconds for him to get his bearings, crack his neck, and hop off of his couch. He was about to slip upstairs and see who had come in, when he realized that the footsteps were definitely not an adult’s.

“Mom... ...Ann... said we... ...lunch! Is that...?”

Polly was asking Mom about something, and he heard Mom laugh and give some sort of affirmative answer that was followed by dual squeals of excitement.

‘A friend?’ he wondered absently. Polly didn’t exactly have anyone who lived close by...

Too curious now, he blinked upstairs.

His feet carried him, lighter than a feather, lighter than air. He slid around the bannister, and propelled himself straight into the living room, where there stood Mom, half-smiling and wiping down a dish on a rag, and Polly, in her princess dress, and a red-headed girl he’d never seen before, wearing fairy wings.

A brow perked naturally, confused, and he continued past them to flit outside. There was no car in sight. He glanced right, then left, and...

Oh.

For one of the first times in his life, he almost tripped. He remembered the previous night in sudden, vivid detail; everything from the girl’s nervous eyes that couldn’t focus on him unless she was angry, to her aroma that was the most indescribable mixture of summer and flowers and a million things he couldn’t place. In the same breath, he exhaled and caught himself before he slammed into his mailbox, and noticed the blanket and dolls sprawled out on her lawn, and it clicked.

‘A sister, huh? Maybe a cousin...?’

The thought was totally endearing. He imagined the girl — (‘Maisy,’ she had said, biting her lip and making his throat feel tight. ‘My name is Maisy.’) — Maisy, playing with her little sister, having to coddle her and be ridiculously patient and childish...

He shook his head to try and stop himself from going too far with his thoughts, and made a u-turn to slip by the girls again — a second look at Ann showed she definitely had her older sister’s nose and eyes — before vanishing back into the basement.

Mom was in the middle of saying something when she paused abruptly, and he smiled sheepishly. The split-second breeze that always followed him was kind of a dead giveaway.

But then he heard the front door closing, and zipped back upstairs.

“Hi Mom,” he quipped, snatching an apple off the counter. “New neighbor’s kid?”

“Good morning— well, afternoon. You shouldn’t sleep in so late, it can’t be good for you.”

“Right. Do, new neighbor’s kid?”

Mom sighed, though not unkindly. “Yep. She seems like a bundle of fun, and they look like they get along great. Her name’s Annie and Polly’s going over for lunch.”

Peter blinked. ‘Lunch? Who’s making lunch? Is it Maisy? Is she home?’ His head took a darker turn and he found himself frowning distantly: ‘Was I actually an asshole last night? Does she hate me?’ ...followed by a stream of elaborate curses. And it distressed him so badly.

The thought of Maisy being uncomfortable with him forever made him pale slightly.

“Um,” he started to say, plucking off the sticker on the apple and turning it into a bullet that stuck to a cabinet. Then he realized he had no idea what to say. “Well. Do I... Should I check on her sometime?”

Mom turned to look at him, still holding a plate.

‘Act natural. Act natural.’

“That would be nice, yes...” She replied suspiciously. “Why? Are you worried about her?”

‘Natural. Natural.’

Peter shrugged, and finished off the apple in about four seconds. “Not really. Just thought it was a good idea.”

She seemed to accept this answer, and went back to the dishes.

“She’s having lunch, but I told her she could stay till dinner.”

Dinner. Okay. He could busy himself until then. Maybe.

“Don’t disappear yet. Can you tidy up the living room and water the plants for me?”

A pang of annoyance shot through him, and he considered leaving anyway and pretending he hadn’t heard her. There wasn’t really anything she could do about it, after all, and there were endless entertaining possibilities if he left the house...

“Please, Peter.”

For a split second, Mom looked very tired, and much older than he remembered. She was wiping her hands on the front of her apron, and giving him a pleading look that made him irritated.

“Whatever, sure,” he retaliated, to make himself feel better. He heard her sigh as he vanished upstairs to shower.

The real difficulty lie in the fact that, by the time he had cleaned up and completed the chores assigned to him, it was far too soon to warrant checking on Polly.

He did everything in the book. He ate way too much food, and wondered what Polly had. He played Pong, he rearranged his room, skimmed through magazines, and gave up with an aggravated groan as he laid backwards off of his couch.

Staring at the ceiling and losing his mind, Peter remembered the date. A smile appeared on his face. The album he wanted had just come out today.

With only a faint gust, he was gone.

——

You had only sat on the couch for a moment, you thought, with your faded copy of Jane Eyre for company, but when you opened your eyes, the lighting in the room had changed.

Adjusting to the woozy sensation in your head, you fumbled to sit up, rubbing your eyes. When had you fallen asleep? It couldn’t have been long, right?

The flashing blue and red colors caught your attention. Now fully alert, you nearly tripped in your haste to run to the front window, gaping as you followed the lights to... Peter’s driveway?

Two officers got out of the car, and your heart turned into lead. All the possibilities crippled your mind, and you stood there, unable to move from the window or look away, only watching as the uniformed pair strode up to the front door and knocked.

Your stupor ended when you heard the muffled creak of a door, and the soft giggles of little girls.

‘They should not see this! Oh my god. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, Peter, is Peter okay?’

“Please don’t be hurt,” you whispered to yourself.

You were uncoordinated and panicking slightly for reasons even you couldn’t understand, but you got to the hallway before the girls could make it out and see the tell-tale police lights.

“A-ah, you’re up! Good!” You smiled as convincingly as you could, and it made your cheeks hurt. You weren’t sure how convincing it was. Both girls were a little glassy-eyed and their hair looked like haystacks, but they seemed chipper and well-rested. “Did you have a good nap?”

“Uh-huh,” Annie said with all assuredness, plunking her tiny hands on her hips as she nodded in agreement with herself. “I feel like... a HUNDRED dollars.”

Polly fidgeted with laughter. “Me too! I do too! I had a dream that there were bees in Mommy’s hair, but Peter got them all out. OH, oh, does this mean we can have the tea party now?! Can I go ask Peter?!”

Picture-perfect, Annie gasped with anticipation, and Polly looked up at you with shining, pleading eyes that matched Annie’s as she said, “Pleeeaaaaaaase?”

Your mind niggled and your insides itched to go back to the window and check on the situation. Thinking fast was important. Polly couldn’t see this, not when she was unprepared and you didn’t know the extent of what was going on.

“How about you let me fix your hair, and then we can go over together?” You compromised, a little shakily. Annie’s cheeks puffed up in response.

“I don’t wanna,” she pouted, crossing her arms immediately. You closed your eyes, breathing deeply, calmly. You could handle this. Annie was just being difficult. You tried again, “Annie, you and Polly’s hair both look like rats nests. Are you really gonna have a tea party looking like little monsters?”

Annie may have been stubborn, but she was smart and knew when to listen to reason. You thanked all your lucky stars as she dropped her temperamental stance and acquiesced.

“Fiiiiine,” she grumbled. “Let’s get it over with.”

Taking your hand with no room to argue, she tugged you off to the bathroom and your heart was left desperately waiting at the window.

After acquiring an assortment of hair ties, ribbons, clips and brushes, you brought the girls to the table, where you pulled out a chair for each of them and began to work. By the time you made it out, the lights were off, and you didn’t know whether to be relieved or not.

Despite your anxiety, pulling the brush through their hair and patiently untangling knots was therapeutic. Each of them provided directions (incoherently) on how they wanted their hair done, handing you the clips and bows they wanted in no order. Annie’s hair eventually turned into a twisted half-updo adorned with a pink bow, and Polly’s became an assortment of cute hairclips amidst slightly unbalanced pigtails.

“There. All done. You look beautiful. Go pick a nice dress, Ann, and put it on.”

Annie nodded vigorously and stormed off with a pleased Polly in tow.

This was your only chance. Careful not to let them hear you, you ran as quietly as you could to the front door and opened it. The police cruiser was still parked there, just past the yard; a harrowing reminder of what could be taking place inside. But his house was as quiet as it had been for days. Nothing unusual went on. No gun shots, no yelling, no bangs. Very slightly, you relaxed, but still wore a tight, distressed frown.

Obligated, you went back inside and shut the door, growing more and more dreadful as you pondered on what you were supposed to do about Polly Maximoff.

“MAISY CAN YOU HELP ME WITH THE ZIPPER?”

“Um, sure thing, I’ll be right there!”

The longer they were distracted, the better.

Annie was struggling hilariously with one of Mom’s old dresses. Polly seemed to be at a loss.

“Alright, lemme see it...” You knelt down behind Annie and looked at the mess they’d made of the dress. Several were strewn around the floor, and she had effectively tangled the zipper in the fabric.

“Uh, um, can I... go to the bathroom?” Polly asked after a minute.

“Of course, baby! It’s the next door in the hallway. Do you need me to show you?”

“No, that’s okay.” She drifted out and you continued unraveling the zipper until it cleanly zipped up and Mom’s seafoam dress was hanging off Annie, several sizes too big for her.

“There,” you said, rising to your feet and admiring your handiwork. “Perfect.”

“Thank you Maisy,” Annie simpered, and you rubbed her back affectionately.

As you exited the room, you noted that Polly was not in the bathroom. In fact, the bathroom door was wide open and the lights were off.

“Oh no.” Your blood ran cold.

“Annie, stay here,” you commanded before beelining to the front window. To your horror, there was the little girl in the pink dress, standing on her tiptoes as she tried to get a good look.

“P-Polly! What are you doing? I thought you needed to use the restroom! How about we go play in Annie’s room for a little bit?”

“I finished. But I thought we were going to ask Peter if he could play with us?” she frowned at you, and seemed totally unaffected by whatever she saw outside. Frantic, you went to her side and checked their house again: the police were sitting in their cruiser, and had started up the engine. You couldn’t tell if anyone was in the back seat.

“Don’t worry,” Polly said reassuringly. “The policemen come to see Peter all the time. But he never gets in trouble.” Her grin was cheeky and you stared, baffled.

“He... what? ...Does he... does he do things he... shouldn’t?”

Polly only shrugged and rested her cheek against the glass. “Mm-mm. He just does silly things and they get mad ‘cause they can’t do nothin’. He says they can’t prove anything.”

Numbly, you nodded. And the car drove off. Polly hopped, and Annie gave up waiting and joined you by the window.

“We’re gonna go ask Peter if he wants to play now, okay?”

Fear seized your heart and you grabbed Annie’s arm.

“No, Annie, you can stay here,” you quipped, and she went red-faced.

“Why!?”

“Because I said so. Polly, are you okay walking back by yourself?”

She looked a little glum, but nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Well you be safe.”

Polly left. Annie came close to throwing a fit, but you ignored her and watched Peter’s little sister tottle down the sidewalk, her pigtails swaying as she walked, until she disappeared through her own front door.

Minutes passed. Five, ten, fifteen. Annie grew restless and you had the feeling Polly wasn’t coming back.

“Annie,” you said, trying to sound soothing. “I don’t think Polly is going to be able to play.”

Immediate, angry tears welled up in her eyes. She didn’t even ask why, or protest. She just burst into bitter sobs, and that was how Mom found you — sitting on the ground with a bad feeling and looking helpless as Annie stormed off to her room, slamming the door behind her.