Quietly, Pietro leaned against the side of his bed. His eyes as glazed over as they were, made an intense effort at following his sister as she took a seat. As she moved into the down to business stance, Maximoff subconsciously raised his right hand towards his mouth. He began chewing lightly on the knuckles of his skin. A boyhood habit. He usually performed it around her when in distress. He couldn't help it. For the large part of it, Wanda was his world. Romanians bond meticulously with family, and as they only had each other, their bond grew stronger still. That was why in moments like these, her words could kill him. And she knew it. His eyes showered her with a mixture of hope and grievance. Hope that she would see in him a silent plea for her to halt, and grievance for the pain these fights caused him. He always did that as a prelude to their rare arguments.
"What of it?", he asked, refusing to deny nor hide his recent life style. Pietro was a proud man. He took pride in many things, and would never lie- especially not to Wanda. "Uh huh.", He followed her pattern. Seeing already in her eyes a place she could be heading with this. His mind buzzed off into the superhuman motion his mutation granted. He raced through all the possibilities her argument could conclude in, none of which seemed hopeful. This was all done in the thousandth of a second. She had a surprisingly quick way of sobering him up. He flinched when she openly mentioned him using his past nightly outings as a vice. Despite a certain truth in her words this attack stung bitterly. Then at the mention of their dearly departed, he felt himself claming up. Silver haired brows dropped into a slight frown. Pietro could not deny the hole Magneto's death had caused between them. He felt a rift, or if you will, a wall growing. He could clearly see her and she could see him- but they were apart at times. He just couldn't bring himself back.
"Grieving?" He asked, feeling his eyes suddenly gazing away to look his bedroom window. Was he grieving? He liked to think of it as more of an escape than of grief. Like how he suddenly wanted to escape from here very badly. In fact he could already feel the muscles in his legs twitching. A chance glance back at Wanda struck him harder than any blow he'd ever received from the X-men or the gypsies. Slowly the silver haired heir of Magnus slid on his bed, and placed his head into his hands. Wanda was crying.